Page 1 of Roping My Rival

Seven Years Earlier

“And that’s a no score for young Warren Burke, but give this cowboy a round of applause, folks. That’s a tough break on what was sure to be a championship weekend.”

The announcer could have left that part out. As if I didn’t know, I just lost a shot for all the money at the biggest rodeo of my life. All the glory and an award to make my dad proud was right fucking there. Tie-down roping champion was mine to lose, and I did.

After my best rodeo year ever, one bad run was all it took.

The buckle vanished, and I lost.

Again.

To Dane fucking Walker.

The cocky prick who never misses a chance to drop a reminder that he beat me. Apparently, he’s never heard of the phrase ‘sore winner.’

“Sorry about your luck.” The asshole in question breaks through my thoughts with his insincere line. His lips quirk into his signature smirk, which I’m sure he thinks is charming because of his cute dimples and ocean-blue eyes.

Whatever.

“Fuck off, Walker. You got lucky.”

He didn’t. He’s a talented roper, but I’ll never say that to his face. His ego is big enough for both of us.

“Did I, though?” He steps closer. “From what I see, no luck was involved. Only skill.”

Gritting my teeth, I push past him out of the gathering area behind the chutes. Dane likes to hold his buckle up, making sure the lights hits it and I have to look too. It sparkles like his damn charming smile every time he wins. Both things I don’t need to see right now.

“Its pretty, isn’t it?” he asks as he walks behind me. “I almost don’t want to wear it.” When I don’t answer, he leans in closer. “Maybe I’ll wear it next year when I beat you again, Burke. One for the trophy shelf and one for show, you know?” He taps at his full lips, and the lights in the parking lot make the sweat along his top lip shine. If I lean in a little closer, I bet I’d smell more than just the rodeo dirt and horses’ scent we all carry. A guy like Dane probably wears one of those drugstore cologne sprays that smells like a douchebag in aerosol. “Although I already have, what? Three buckles at home? How many times have I beaten you, Burke? I forget.”

I’ve never wanted to fight someone as much as I want to punch Dane Walker right now. It was hard enough posing for my second-place cheque and pretending to congratulate him in the photos.

“Pretty sure you can’t count that high, and that’s why you’re asking.”

His grin falters slightly. Score one for me. Now who’s stupid?

“I’m still going to beat you, Burke. Doesn’t matter if a buckle is involved. I’ll always…beat…you.” He draws out each word while his lips still smirk and those fucking dimples pop as his most redeeming quality. Why did the universe make such an asshole so attractive?

My temper flares—maybe because I’m mad at him for his taunts or maybe I’m pissed he’s been so blessed in the looks department—and my arm shoots out, shoving him in the chest so hard he hits the metal fencing of the parking lot, hard. I don’t miss the grimace of pain he tries to hide, either.

Good.

“You wouldn’t stand a chance with me one-on-one.” I hiss. His eyes widen, and my too-slow brain finally catches up with how my words must sound. “Not like that, you asshole.”

Dane laughs, and his gaze shifts over my shoulder. “Daddy is coming to break up the fight, Burke.”

My hand drops from his chest immediately, and I turn to find my adopted dad, the rodeo legend, Hunter Burke, striding my way with a very stern look on his face.

“Later, Burke. Enjoy being second place. I hope Daddy Dearest isn’t too disappointed in you.”

Dane slips away, and I face my dad with a forced smile. My dad’s gaze stays on Dane as he walks away for a beat before giving me his full attention.

“What was that about, Warren?”

“Nothing. He was just being an asshole, as usual.”

My dad has this uncanny ability to see through all my bullshit. It has to be a parental thing, but he’s the only one who can read me with an accuracy that is honestly disturbing. It’s like he’s in my brain sometimes.

Dad raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t look like nothing. Looked like you were itching to fight.”