Page 135 of Worth the Fall
It was the horse I couldn’t trust.
Eight more seconds of worrying, then he would be safe until December.
I leaned down and kissed him as slowly as I could. His bare chest was pressed against my shirt as he wrapped his arms around me and brought me as close as he could. He squeezed my hips.
“I love you,” I said, putting my hand on his chest.
He put his hand over mine. “I love you.” He glanced up at the clock on the wall. “I gottaget ready,” he said with a hint of eagerness. “I’ll see you after?”
“Yes,” I promised. “After you get off, I’ll be right behind the chute.”
~~~
“SOUTH DAKOTA, ARE YOU READY FOR ONE LAST BAREBACK BRONC!?”
Here it was.
I leaned against the fence, standing beside the dozens of photographers, staring up at the ten thousand screaming fans, dressed in their nicest hats and cleanest boots.
I didn’t know how Colton did this with all those peoplestaring at him.
I got nervous doing presentations in front of a dozen colleagues.
The nervous energy in the stadium was palpable.
The rock song blaring over the speakers was so loud that it was making the ground shake.
“Our last cowboy is one you’re gonnawannawatch! We’ve got a rookie with raw talent and a heart of gold here tonight. COLTON NAAASH! He’sfightin’ tooth and nail on a horse they callThe Womanizer.Let’s give this Oklahoma cowboy the attention he deserves! Let’s get it!”
I looked behind me to see Colton already on the horse.
He was staring straight ahead, his eyes glossy, in his own world. He clenched his jaw, looked up, and gave a sharp nod.
I was close enough to hear him shout, “Gate!”
The chute swung open.
I pressed my body against the fence, physically pulled to the ride.
The horse launched into the air, a mass of trembling muscle and fury that was defying gravity.
Colton was a blur of blue denim and dust, his body snapping back like a whip with every leap of the horse.
I watched his free hand, the one that had been holding me only a few minutes ago, raking through the air, perfectly balanced against the violent, jagged rhythm of the bronc.
My hands were gripping the fence so tightly that my knuckles were white.
Every time the horse’s hooves slammed back down intothe dirt, the sound echoed like a gunshot.
Colton’s chin was tucked, his spurs moving in a rhythmic, desperate dance from the horse’s shoulders to the rigging.
One. Two. Three.
I was able to let out a small breath as I realized he wasn’t just hanging on for dear life; he was dominating.
Despite his bruised ribs and immense pressurehe was under, he looked like he had been born for this exact ride.
The horse spun harshly, a move that would’ve sent any other rider into the dirt, but Colton stayed in control, his eyes locked on his hand.
