Page 73 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

Her smile stretched wide, excitement flickering in her eyes.

Harleigh was dressed the part, her long black hair pulled into a high ponytail, jeans snug against her frame, and a button-down tucked into a thick belt. She blended right in. Me? Not so much. I adjusted my blazer, the maroon linen shirt underneath slightly damp from the humidity though it was winter. My khaki wide-leg pants were a stark contrast to the dust-covered boots around me, but I’d been promised an office.

Maribel grinned. “Most of our auctions run through social media now. We need someone to push promotions, get the tapes up online, advertise the bulls, and make sure we keep our professional contracts in place.”

I lifted a brow. “Are they about to be taken away?”

“Every contractor’s got a one-year deal with the Bull Riding Association,” she explained. “To keep it, we gotta prove our bulls are the rankest, toughest, and can take riders to the eight-second mark.”

I nodded, following her train of thought. “And if you don’t?”

She shrugged. “Then we lose the contract. Simple as that.”

Harleigh frowned. “It’s cutthroat.”

“Yup. That’s how the business works. When a rider wins, so does the bull. And so do we.” She tipped her head toward the arena. “So if our bulls stop performing, we stop making money. And that’s not an option.” Maribel let out a dry chuckle. “We gotta keep proving to sires that they want to be in our bloodline. The bulls that don’t cut it? They get sold to rodeos or passed off to other contractors.”

Translation: Only the best stayed. The rest were expendable.

“Does every stock contractor also have auctions?”

Maribel shook her head. “Not every contractor also breeds bucking bulls. We’re special in that we breed them too.”

“Don’t worry, Maribel. We’re going to make Twisted Spur Ranch the most profitable operation you can imagine.”

Maribel smiled. “That’s the hope, ladies.”

“When’s the first auction?” I asked as she led us to the back of the barn and up a set of wooden stairs.

“Should be in a couple of weeks. Will that give y’all enough time to get everything in order?”

“Absolutely.”

She opened the office door, and I was pleasantly surprised. The space was clean and well organized, despite being decked out in full Western decor. Two desks faced each other in the center of the room, and in the back, a large couch sat against the wall. A small coffee bar was tucked into the corner, and there was even a connecting bathroom.

“This is where y’all will be working,” Maribel explained. “The door at the back of the barn is your best entrance, and from here, you’ll have a great view of the auctions.”

I walked over to the large windows overlooking the indoor arena, taking it all in.

“This is perfect,” Harleigh said, and I nodded in agreement.

It was a relief, honestly—a space that was clean, organized, and didn’t make my skin itch looking at it. The fact that there was a bathroom connected to it made me even more grateful. If I needed to wash my hands, I wouldn’t have to trek across the barn or deal with anything too unsanitary. Small victories.

“Alright, I’m headed up to the house, but feel free to holler if y’all need anything,” Maribel said, giving us a warm smile before making her way out the door.

The moment she was gone, I exhaled, pressing my palms to the glass. The arena below stretched out before me.

I turned to Harleigh. “I’m in way over my head.”

Harleigh, still looking around the office like she was already making a mental to-do list, glanced up at me and grinned. “Yeah, but when has that ever stopped you?”

I let out a weak laugh, shaking my head. “This is different, Harleigh. This isn’t some new job or a temporary thing. This is—” I gestured out to the arena, the barn, the entire operation. “This is a whole lifestyle.”

She shrugged and plopped onto the couch. “Guess it’s a good thing you’ve got me, then.”

I sighed, rubbing my hands together before glancing at the bathroom door again, debating if I needed to wash them. The familiar tingling in my fingers told me yes, but I forced myself to stay put.

“I don’t even know where to start,” I admitted.