Page 25 of Keepsakes and Kismet

I leave a concerned Callum by his brother and step into the ring.

The music doesn’t stop, but the people seem to quiet as they gather around the ring. I’ve never ridden a mechanical bull before, but I’d also never been an audience plant at a magic show, a human sculpture, or a fake tourist before a year or so ago. Somehow it always turns out fine.

I give one last glance at the inflatable padding surrounding the area, preparing myself for an inevitable fall in maybe a minute—if I’m lucky.

Wedging the toe of my boot into a stirrup and swinging my other leg around, I tip my hat toward the operator. He gives me a small nod.

It’s time.

A chorus of cheers sounds from the bar as the bull comes to life. It starts subtly enough, rocking back and forth. I lean into the movement with a blinding smile, like I’m having the time of my life.

The pace speeds up to a persistent-but-manageable rock, and I shout “Yippee-ki-yay!” from my perch to an enthusiastic crowd response. As the bull starts to turn, I see a line forming behind the operator.

Easy as pie, I think to myself.

The easy pie quickly turns into a difficult pie—an impossible pie—with the first real buck of the bull. It lurches forward, and my right boot slips out of the foothold. It pauses, but only for a second, before it bucks me again, loosening my other foothold.

The third buck sends me flying into the air cushions below, flat on my back. When I open my eyes, I find two very concerned hazel orbs staring down at me.

“Callum?”

He blinks down at me from his place behind the rope. “Are you okay?”

“…yes?” I prop myself up on my elbows. “I’m literally lying on inflatables. It’s like sitting in a bouncy house.”

“You closed your eyes, and I… wasn’t sure, I guess.”

Eric’s voice barks through the speakers. “She did it, folks! Round of applause to Peyton, our Bull Christener!”

I wobble on the heel of my cowgirl boots when I stand, and the operator reaches out to touch my shoulder in an attempt to stabilize me. I swerve so far to the left in avoidance of him that I topple over and fall back on my ass.

“Peyton.”

Callum’s there again, towering over me. He holds out a hand to help me off the floor but doesn’t look the least bit surprised when I stand up on my own.

I brush myself off. “I’m all good.”

Eric shoves the microphone in front of my face, and I squeal an obligatory “Yeehaw!” into the microphone.

The crowd erupts, cheering for me, as Eric turns away to speak with the operator.

“…yeehaw?” Callum raises an eyebrow. “That’s something you say?”

That eyebrow. Adorable.

“What’s wrong with ‘yeehaw,’ Callum?”

He narrows his gaze. “Nothing’s wrong with yeehaw, inherently. You just don’t seem like the kind of person to say yeehaw.”

“This is the fourth time you’ve seen me. In your whole life,” I say flatly.

“I’d like it to be more, I think,” he mumbles.

I lean forward and attempt to hear over the loud music. “What did you say?”

Instead of responding, he’s shoved to the side by his brother.

“Hell yeah! You crushed that!”