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He laughed quietly. “I’ll take goof over bullheaded any day. And I love you, too, Ruby Rose Bennett. More than you’ll ever know.”
Return to Royal, Texas, with
Texas Cattleman’s Club: The Wedding
Reese Ryan launches the new series with
A Cowboy Kind of Thing
Available February 2023!
Keep reading for an excerpt fromHow to Catch a Cowboyby Katie Frey.
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How to Catch a Cowboy
by Katie Frey
One
The Hurt
“When you’re an athlete challenging an angry opponent ten times your weight, odds are you’re gonna get hurt. And you’re probably gonna get hurt bad.” The words stuck in his throat, but Jackson Hartmann didn’t know what else to say.
What elsecouldyou say to someone who had had the stuffing kicked out of them by an 800-pound bull? Offering comfort had never been a strong suit for Jackson, which he supposed shouldn’t surprise anyone given he’d been essentially raised by wolves. Not that his present company had any idea of his wolf pack heritage.
“That’s real sweet of you to say.” Mikey, his mentee, twirled his hat on a pointed finger before indulging in a deep drag of pale ale. “Course, you gotta admit the odds tend to look better on you these days.” Mikey frowned at him, and Jackson felt a rise of embarrassment heat his face.
Jackson’s victory tonight had been swift and well earned. He’d stayed on Viper, the meanest bull this side of the Yellowstone, three seconds longer than the next best cowboy. Mikey hadn’t made it five seconds before being thrown across the arena.
“Yeah, well, I’ve taken my falls the same as the rest of you.” Jackson leaned his weight forward, resting his elbows on the varnished bar top. This place was a far cry from the staffed kitchens of his youth, not to mention the polished accoutrements so prevalent in his family’s privileged lifestyle, but he was a man on a mission. Perhaps the contrast with his own upbringing was half the allure of the rodeo circuit. That, and there weren’t any Hartmanns in this neck of the woods.
Country music blared through tinny speakers and cigarette smoke hung low in the room, absorbing the reflection of neon lights. The no-smoking sign? Apparently more of a suggestion than a rule. This was Montana and, following a rodeo, there were a different set of rules for the cowboys.
“Hey, circuit champion!” Will, the youngest in their group, bumped against him, grooving to the banjo beats that filled the room. The blonde buckle bunny on his arm pressed her body into his side, hanging on his every word.
“What’s the bet tonight, boss?” Mikey quipped. He swept the peanut shells littering the high-top table onto the floor, crunching them under a steel-toed boot.
“Haven’t had enough losing for one evening?” Jackson dished, an elbow digging into his friend.
The bets had started as a way to distract themselves from aches and pains. Bets like who could kiss the first blonde, then who could take home a girl with a belly button ring. But none of it had aged well and the tradition now held no appeal for Jackson. He was, however, a crushing minority in that respect.
“Don’t you think you’re getting a little old for these games?”
His rebuke went unnoticed.
It had been hard enough for him to fit in, having grown up as the youngest son of the largest landholder in Montana. That’s where the pseudonym came in.
“You always were a class act, Brad,” Mikey answered, rubbing his stomach ruefully.
Jackson gave the practiced smile he now adopted as second nature. His alias, Brad Hill, was an armor, protecting him from the real hurt. A hurt way worse than anything that could happen to him in the arena. Maybe that was why he was so good at rodeo riding. Helikedgetting hurt. Especially when it was a hurt he chose. Sort of.
