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The crowd erupts in cheers.

She might be Kodie Cutler to everyone else, but to me, she’ll always be my Dakota.

2

HAMMER

DAKOTA

She’s bold, she’s mean, and she’s got one hell of a scowl.

Did the announcer have to say that? It’s not as if I scowl at everyone. It’s just my face. But heaven forbid women don’t have a smile plastered to their mouths twenty-four seven.

“Remember, darlin’,” my dad mutters, nodding to Hammer, the snarling bull whose name fits him since he’s hammering away in the chute. “You stay loose and—”

“Flow like good tequila. Smooth and steady,” I finish, backing away from the metal rails.

My dad’s been repeating that phrase since I was old enough to string a sentence together, which looking back, isn’t the best thing to say to a two-year-old, but that’s my daddy. Bold as all get out and doesn’t give a flying fuck what anyone thinks.

I’m proud that I’m just like Colter Cutler.

He’s not just my father. He’s my best friend.

My dad is one of the most respected bull rider coaches in the state, and no one fucks with my father—just like no one fucks with me.

I eye the brown bull with a determined frown. He’s the meanest bull in this rodeo, and I’d pick him every time. I like the mean ones. They give me a good challenge. And the meaner the bull, the better my score since they’re harder to stay on.

“I know, Pops. I’ll try to stay loose.” I slap his sweaty shoulder. The heat’s oppressive today, and these chaps soak in all the heat. I might as well be swimming in lava.

This one looks like a spinner, so my dad’s right. I need to loosen up, and staying loose is my biggest problem right now. I’ve been wound tighter than a lasso ever since Boone did that interview and shattered my confidence with one sentence. It’s been tough for me to get back out here in the arena, but I’m trying.

Really damn hard.

“Right you are, darlin’.” My dad grunts under his cowboy hat. “Now, look at me and listen up.”

I focus on my dad’s intense stare while he gives me pointers for the ride. We’ve got the same amber eyes, dark waves, and dimples, so he’s always turning the ladies’ heads, even though his brow never unfurrows.

Ever since my parents divorced, he’s been strutting about with that same grumpy frown with the same cigar in his mouth, drinking from the same bottle of tequila.

He plucks a cigar from his back pocket. “You got that? Hammer’s a tough one. You watch out now, you hear? Stay relaxed out there. No more locking up.”

I begged him to give up smoking years ago, but he still likes chewing on the tip when he’s worried. His words might be steady, but I can hear the faint undercurrent of stress that always comes out before I ride, and I love that he still cares so much.

“It’s kind of hard to relax on the back of a two-thousand-pound bucking animal, Pops,” I try to tease, but my mom’s sense of humor skipped a generation, so all my jokes fall flat. “I’ll be fine. I got this.”

Fine is a gamble, a flip of a coin. Heads you live. Tails you die. Bull riding… it’s not for the weak.

As I watch the raging bull snorting in the chute, I’m not so sure I got this, but that’s what he needs to hear, and what I need to tell myself. When it comes to bull riding, doubt will get you killed, but for a chronic and cursed overthinker like me, it’s hard not to stress about the risks.

Most bull riders need to have a whatever-happens-happens mentality, but I’m constantly worrying that I could die in a blip without any children, a legacy—a family.

I really want to be a mom one day.

“I’ve got faith in you, darlin’. Always have, always will. That bull’s got the makings of a champion. If you can stay on him, you’ll be up there in the bigger circuits, just you watch.”

I straighten with hope. “You really think so?”

“There’s not a doubt in my mind.”