Page 30 of Roping My Rival

Dane glances my way, and I nod. He nods to Jesse, and with a shout, Jesse gives the steer a shove from the chute. As predicted, Dane’s start is still fast, but he only catches a single horn. He drops the rope with a curse as I pull up on Petey to stop. The steer knows the exit. He’s likely been here a few times, and after flicking Dane’s rope off, I open the gate so it trots back to the holding pen.

“Guess I’m rustier than I thought,” Dane grumbles as he winds his rope back in.

“That’s why we’re practicing now. Let’s do it again.”

And we do. Three more times, and Dane still hasn’t thrown a legal head catch. I’ve yet to even try anything.

“Let’s switch,” Dane barks.

“You sure?”

“Burke, I don’t miss four in a row. Something is off. Maybe it’s the pressure of knowing I need to do well for you to make a throw.”

“I highly doubt it’s pressure. You never cracked before. Not once.”

“Yeah, well, things change.”

Without another word, he switches sides and gives me the right-side chute I prefer and puts me in the header position. His gaze catches mine while we settle in the chutes, and he’s still as unreadable as ever. He nods, and I exhale slowly before signalling to Jesse.

The steer bursts from the chute with the two of us in pursuit, and my throw lands perfectly around its neck. Petey digs in to stop, and I turn him so the steer’s feet face Dane as best as I can. He’s already releasing his rope before the steer is in position, and he catches both feet perfectly.

I cheer from my saddle as Dane sags.

“Good work, boys. That was textbook. I need a pee break, and I’ll be right back.” Jesse hops out of the ring and trots towards the washrooms as Dane and I dismount to release the steer.

He remains quiet until the steer is out of sight.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Dane says it so softly, I think I’ve heard wrong.

“Is that a compliment, Walker?”

A cloudiness floats across his ocean blues, the normal taunting gaze absent, and it honestly throws me off.

“No, it’s a statement of fact. Don’t let it go to your head. You should be the header.”

“It was one run. We can keep trying to—”

“No. You’re the header.”

“Shouldn’t this be a team decision?”

“For fuck’s sake, Burke. What about this aren’t you picking up?” Dane shouts. “I know you think I’m a faster start, but it’s been a few years, and you clearly have the step on me in that department. Don’t rub it in. If you can’t see that, then maybe I’m giving you too much credit. Get your head in the game.” His jaw clenches, and he steps closer to me. “You’re the boss’s son. Your dad is a fucking legend. Surely some of that talent and brain passed down to you.”

A dry laugh passes over my lips.

“Sure. By osmosis, maybe. I’m fucking adopted, you asshole. We all are, and you know this. If you’re implying I should inherit his skills and brains by genetics, you’re a bit off there.” I push a hand to his chest and instantly regret touching him. “What I can do and know in this ring I worked fucking hard for. Probably harder than you.”

He doesn’t remove my hand, and my fingers curl into his shirt like the traitorous body part they are. His gaze drops to my lips, and I swallow hard.

I hate hoping he’ll kiss me again. I also hate that being this close and touching him makes my pulse race. Dane doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he steps away from me and swings up into his saddle. “Don’t act like you know me. I guarantee your life is easier than mine.”

He turns away on Trigger and heads to the chutes. Jesse stands there waiting and pins me with his gaze. I shake my head and hope to god he saw little of that exchange.

“You two gonna finish up on these steers or calling it a day?” Jesse asks when we’re both at the chutes.

“I’d like to keep practicing if Dane wants to.”

“Yeah.”