Page 11 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

We’re running practice rides in the arena when one of the younger riders draws Whiskey Riot.

The horse lives up to his name.

Whiskey is a mean-tempered bay bronc with a habit of pinning his ears back like he’s personally offended by human existence. He’s a damn good bucker, though, which is why we keep him around.

The rider settles into the saddle while I watch from the fence.

“Try not to cry when he embarrasses you,” Willy calls.

The kid flips him off.

“That’s the spirit,” Willy replies. “Confidence is important right before disaster.”

Emmett shakes his head while adjusting his hat. “One day somebody’s gonna punch you.”

“People say that all the time.”

“Because it’s true.”

“Still hasn’t happened.”

Emmett shakes his head. “That’s because you’re fast.”

Willy grins like he’s proud of that fact.

The gate swings open before he can keep talking.

Whiskey launches into the arena with the enthusiasm of a horse possessed. Dirt flies beneath his hooves as he twists and bucks, trying to get rid of the rider.

The kid actually does pretty well. He stays centered through the first few jumps and looks like he might ride it out.

Then the cinch strap snaps.

The crack cuts across the arena loud enough that I hear it. The saddle jerks sideways, and the rider loses balance.

Every muscle in my body tightens.

The kid hits the dirt hard and barely rolls away before Whiskey tears across the arena, dragging half the rigging with him.

“Grab him!” I bark.

Willy’s already moving.

The idiot treats most of life like a joke, but when a horse or rider is in danger, he turns serious fast. He catches Whiskey near the far fence while Emmett heads straight for the rider sprawled in the dirt.

“You dead?” Willy yells toward the arena.

The kid groans. “No.”

“Good. I already spent my emergency paperwork budget this month.”

“That’s not a thing,” Emmett says.

“It should be.”

I ignore them and crouch beside the saddle. The broken cinch strap hangs loose from the rigging.

Beau walks over while brushing dirt from his jeans. “Hell of a break.”