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As the gate burst open, the arena echoed with thunderous applause.
Declan, merging with the bull’s movements, was a display of grace and power. Each twist, each turn of the bull made me gasp. Declan’s body moved as one with the creature’s wild dance.
His cowboy hat was flung aside, revealing a tousled mass of black hair that framed his face, drawing attention to his enticing lips, which were pressed in a firm, determined line.
A violent buck from the bull sent a shiver of apprehension through the crowd. His grip faltered, a heartbeat away from being thrown. But he held on, his body refusing to surrender.
I held my breath.
I fought the memories.
I ignored the whisper of trauma coaxing my soul.
Finally, the bell tolled, marking the end of the ride. Declan jumped off the beast, his eyes triumphant.
The crowd went wild, their cheers and applause providing the perfect backdrop for his victory.
Yet despite the thrill, my thoughts lingered on my father’s last ride.
His lifeless form in the dirt.
The paramedics that rushed to his side.
The gasps that ripped through the crowd as he was thrown.
I remembered with painful clarity how my father’s body lay sprawled in the dirt. The once vibrant and imposing figure, so full of life and authority, now lay six feet under, discarded by the harsh rodeo arena like a broken prop.
From across the arena, Declan’s intense gaze met mine again, making my heart stutter. His eyes seemed to see into my very soul, reading my every thought and desire.
It should have been exhilarating.
Maybe it should have been fun. Or exciting.
But the smell of dust and manure, the relentless buzzing of the crowd, the painful memories of my father’s accident—it was too much. I felt like I was going to be sick.
I retreated toward the back of the arena, a sour taste of dread creeping up my throat, enhancing the nervous thrumming of my heart. The incessant buzz of the crowd became a grim soundtrack to the memories of my father’s death.
“Where the hell are you, Avery?” I said out loud. Focusing on finding her was the only way my brain would survive being here.
Avery’s familiar blonde tresses caught my eye across the way, her silhouette framed against the fence as she watched the riders in the ring. But before her name could escape my lips, a forceful grip clamped down on my shoulder, halting my steps.
A voice sneered into my ear, “Where do you think you’re going, little lady?”
The pit of my stomach dropped as I turned to face the one who had spoken. I recognized him, though we had never formally met.
Hank, the notorious leader of the Dust Devils, towered over me.
Everyone knew to fear Hank. He was a modern outlaw. A dangerous mafia man running our small town.
His eyes, fierce and penetrating, and his breath, a nauseating mix of stale tobacco and cheap liquor, made me stumble.
“I’m just trying to find my sister,” I replied, clinging to the remnants of my determination.
“And who is your sister?”
I nodded nervously, not wanting to bring Avery more into this than she already was. “I’m not here to cause any trouble.”
“I’m not sure I believe you.”
