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“Julia,” he says under his breath. “I can see you’re upset.”
Ignoring his words, I give him a hard look. “Let’s get this done, shall we?”
Kyle counts us in and starts recording. The rest of the interview is a blur to me. It feels like I’m watching someone else smile, ask questions and nod like a bobble-head doll. How could this be me? The woman that was screaming out Ryder last night at his kitchen sink and now I’m pretending nothing happened. Every time I have to make eye contact with him, it’s like a shot to the gut. He’s so perfect, he’s hard to look at. And memories of what he tasted like and how he made me feel torture me.
“Well, thank you, Ryder, for letting our audience get to know you. Best of luck next week at the finals.” I turn to the camera. “For WSPN, this is Julia Rutherford on location in Baker’s Creek, Montana. Stay tuned for my interview with T.J. Heston, the number one ranked bull rider in the world.”
“And we’re out!” Kyle calls. “Great work you two.”
“Thanks,” Ryder says, his voice totally devoid of enthusiasm.
“Yup,” I say in a clipped voice. “So, Kyle and I need to shoot some of the questions again with different camera angles. No need for you to stick around for that.”
Ryder puts his hand on my elbow. “Julia—”
“Walk away, Ryder. You’ve got that move mastered,” I say, tugging my arm away and keeping my voice low.
When my eyes meet his, the look on his face almost melts me. He looks like he’s as wrecked about what happened as I am. But how is that possible? He’s the one who left. He’s the one who doesn’t want me. I harden myself against the hurt in his moss green eyes.
He pauses for a minute, then says, “Be careful with T.J. He’s not always a good guy.”
“Well, in that case, you two have more in common than riding bulls.”
Ten
Ryder
I stride out of the barn, then kick over a garbage can once I’m outside. The thought of her at T.J. Heston’s place makes my blood boil. That’s one guy who doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself and if I know him, Julia will be just his type. If he so much as lays one finger on her, I swear I’ll kill him.
I storm into the house, then pour myself a coffee and stand at the kitchen window, waiting for her to come out of the barn. I need to think of what to say so she’ll know I just need her to hang on until I can explain. How do I tell her that I’m so overcome by her that I can’t think straight when she’s around? How do I tell her that I want to keep her here forever?
I can’t, so, I have to just hope that I can fix everything when the time is right.
Four Days Later
I hate Vegas. Always have. Always will. The air here feels like breathing a whole lot of nothing. Everything is too bright, too loud, and too plastic. It’s the opposite of the wide-open spaces and fresh air of Montana. Every time I come here for a competition, I tell myself it’ll be the last time. Get in, win, and get the hell out of here.
I’m in an especially bad mood today. I didn’t get a chance to talk to Julia before she left. She was on a call on her cell phone when they left the barn and she got in the SUV. She wouldn’t even look at me as they pulled away. Last night, WSPN aired her interviews with me and Heston. She seemed a little too cozy with him for my liking and to be honest, I’m not sure if I’m just reading into it or if she might actually like the guy. But, right now, I need to put that out of my head. Today is about winning. Next week and every week after that can be about her.
I walk into the massive, empty stadium and stand still for a few seconds to let my eyes adjust to the dimly lit building. There’s a quiet beauty to this moment. This is my church, with the dirt floor and the metal stalls, and the smell of bull shit and beer. This is where heroes are made.
I make my way to the gate and stand, leaning my arms on it as I think about what I’m about to do here and what it all means. In a few hours, this building will be filled to the rafters with men, women, and children who want to see the impossible. They want to see man triumph over beast. And I’m going to give them what they want or die trying.
The door opens behind me, spilling in light from the street, bringing voices with them. I turn to see Julia walking in, chatting to the woman next to her. She looks beautiful, her hair down around her shoulders in big, blonde waves. She’s wearing tight jeans, cowboy boots, and a plaid button-up shirt that hugs her curves. It’s all I can do not to walk up to her, grab her by the hips and kiss her long and hard. She glances in my direction and her mouth drops. For a second, she stops talking and the woman next to her looks at me, too. Recovering quickly, Julia, says, “Oh, hi, Ryder. Good luck this week.”
Her tone is business-like and if I didn’t know better, I’d think she completely forgot what happened between us. I give her a small wave and open my mouth to speak, but they walk on by. The door opens again and soon I find myself surrounded by several of my competitors, their managers and agents. The silence is stolen from me, just like my heart. It’s just as well. My heart won’t be of use to me right now. Now, it’s all about backbone and focus.
An hour later, I’m sitting in the change room with the other riders. Beers are being passed around for liquid courage, but I refuse. I sit on the bench with my eyes closed, waiting for my name to be called. It’s a rough day out there, based on the shape that some of the other riders are in when their turns are over. It’s like these bulls hate Vegas as much as I do. Three guys have already been taken straight to the hospital, a fact which TJ Heston can’t stop going on about. Getting irritated with the all the noise and carrying on, I get up, grab my cowboy hat off the bench, and go for a walk down the long hallway.
The worst thing I could do is to go into the arena and watch the other riders. It gets in your head to see another guy get thrown or stomped. Instead, I make a right and head toward the doors to the street, but I stop when I hear her voice.
“How about if I just pet a bull? That’s probably enough for the viewers.”
The man she’s talking to says, “Look, Julia, you know what the people want to see. They want to see you sitting on a bull. They want to feel nervous that something could happen—which it won’t because we’ve picked a really docile animal. Plus, TJ will be there in case anything happens.”
My heart pounds with rage and I ball up my fists as I stalk over to them. “You’re not putting her on a bull.”
“Excuse me?” the man says, looking up at me. He’s in a suit and even though he’s trying to puff himself up to look bigger, we both know I could snap him in half like a twig.
