Page 119

“Let’s dance, you big ol’ brute,” I mutter to the snarling bull beneath me. “I’m not letting you take this round, you hear me?”

My ears ring loud enough to drown out the crowd. I use one hand to grip the bull rope, and the other is poised and ready in the air. I take a deep breath, adrenaline pumping through my veins.

The world narrows to just me and Diablo.

The gate man unlatches the metal chute, and I tighten my grip, feeling the rope bite into my palm. “All right,” he says. “Three… Two… One!”

The metal gate shoots open, and we’re off.

Diablo bucks around like Satan has a tight hold of his balls, and I’m whipped left, then right, then left again. The behemoth is a whirlwind of muscle, snot, and fury. I’m clinging on, every fiber of my being fighting to stay perched atop this raging beast, but I stay centered, loose, and fluid.

It's terrifying.

It's exhilarating.

It's intoxicating.

Diablo kicks me around the arena, and I thought I’d be mentally chanting my dad’s tequila phrase or thinking of all those two-step lessons with Wyatt, but the only thing on my mind is my little devil and how I have to stay on for her. I never thought I’d fall in love with someone else’s kid, but I love Wyatt, so of course I’d fall hard for his daughter.

The crowd’s roar grows louder and louder with each second I hold onto the beast, until finally, the buzzer rings through the arena.

Holy fucking shit.

I did it.

Eight seconds.

I made it all eight seconds—and then some.

A rider comes to help me off Diablo’s hide, and I run away in the dirt so the bull doesn’t come after me. A grin spreads across my face as I search for Wyatt in the stands. He’s the first person I want to see, so I keep scanning until I find him. He’s standing alone in front of the rails with his knuckles clenched tight, but he’s grinning bright.

I fucking did it, I mouth.

You fucking did it, he says like he knew I would all along.

His smile has me smiling, but it drops when his eyes narrow on something over my shoulder. The air shifts and I feel it, the crowd sucking in a collective gasp.

“Dakota!” he booms out, eyes wide with panic. “Run!”

49

MINE

DAKOTA

Iwhirl around just in time to see Diablo barreling toward me, a hurricane of snot and rage. The meaner ones always charge. The barrel men are trying to rope the animal, but it’s no use; he’s a fast one, and he’s headed right for me.

There’s only one option in times like this—run, and run like hell.

I don’t hesitate.

I sprint straight for Wyatt’s waiting arms because I know he’ll always catch me.

I’m not even thinking about the bull gunning for me. I hear a snarl behind me, but the adrenaline drives me forward, pushing me toward Wyatt.

With a heavy grunt, I heave myself over the metal railing separating the arena from the crowd and tumble into his waiting embrace, pushing him down onto the stands. This happens more often than you’d think at rodeos—having to jump the railing to safety to escape a runaway bull.

I fall into him, and he wraps me up in his arms, breathing just as hard as I am. “You’re good. I’ve got you. Holy shit. Diablo was this close to getting you, but the barrel men roped him just in time. You okay?”