Page 31 of Exposing Colorado

Eight seconds. That’s all they get to stay on the bull. It’s kind of beautiful and... really fucking hot to watch if I’m being honest. Shit, maybe I should open up my resume.

I lower the camera for a second, brushing hair from my face as I glance at the lineup behind the chutes when Taylor whines in my ear for the umpteenth time.

“Please, Sally Mal? Please.”

“No, fuck off.”

There are a lot of things I’m willing to do for this tour—for these men. Coordinate last-minute venue changes when rodeos pick up our show? Sure. Sleep in a truck bed under bug-infested weather conditions? Absolutely. Patch up road rash with duct tape? Done it so many times for these boys I’ve lost count.

But I need to draw the line somewhere.

“Come on, Salem,” Taylor pleads, leading a chestnut colored horse toward me. “We're in Kentucky! It’s basically sacrilege if you don’t ride a horse.”

I take a step back and side-eye the animal like it might bite me. “I’m not getting on that thing.”

Tay gasps dramatically, blue-green eyes comically wide. “That thing? His name is Rusty Ranger. He’s a sweetheart.”

“He’s three times my size and has a judgmental face.”

“You let me throw you on the back of a dirt bike going eighty, but this is where your survival instincts kick in?”

“Yes,” I snap. “A dirt bike doesn’t think for itself.”

After our show earlier, I'd let the boys convince me to stay and watch the rodeo. Honestly, it’s been fun. What can I say? Watching muscled cowboys get manhandled makes my blood hot. But this was not something I agreed to.

“Just one lap,” Taylor begs, raising a finger as his lips twitch. “For the aesthetic. I’ll walk beside you the entire time.”

“Taylor, I am not falling off that thing and dying in front of all these hot cowboys.”

An unfamiliar voice interrupts our argument. “Oh, I wouldn't worry about that.” We turn to see one of the bull riders from the show grinning in our direction. “Rus here is gentle as a lamb. He won't hurt ya.”

His southern accent rolls over me smoothly, blond hair curling around his ears from beneath the Stetson on his head. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his skin-tight Wranglers, drawing my gaze to a big-ass buckle above his crotch—the quintessential cowboy in the flesh.

“Mind if I try?” he asks, gesturing for the reins.

Taylor's brows jump before he hands them over. “Uh, sure. But beware, man, this one's stubborn.”

I scowl at Tay because I know he’s not talking about the horse.

Mystery cowboy lets out a low hum that rumbles deep in his chest. “Not my first time breaking in something wild.”

Now that catches my attention, and he winks before offering me his hand. “Name's Harper.”

“Harper, huh?” Slipping my palm into his, I stifle a pathetic sound when he raises my hand to his lips. “I'm Salem.”

“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” Harper brushes a kiss over my knuckles like we’re in some western romance novel, and I bite the inside of my cheek, equal parts flattered and very aware of how warm my face just got.

Taylor mutters something along the lines of “maneater” under his breath as he wanders off, probably to go make fun of me. I shoot daggers at the back of his head, but Harper just chuckles and offers me the reins again.

“Now, how ‘bout that riding lesson?”

Someone else cuts him off before he can even finish. “She’s already got someone for that.”

I can't even hold in the agonized groan that leaves my throat.

Fuck. Like this moment can't get any worse.

I rotate on the spot and glare at Logan standing next to me with his arms crossed. The floodlights glint off his ruddy hair, golden eyes fixed on the cowboy holding my hand.