Page 38 of Knot my First Rodeo

A flash of blonde at the rail.

My jaw tightens.

I don’t look, I don’t need to.

I already know where she is.

I saw her before I rode out. Saw the way she leaned forward when Clint ran, fingers wrapped tight around the rail like she could hold herself there if she had to. Saw the way her eyes tracked him the whole time, locked in, like nothing else existed.

My grip tightens.

Not the time.

I shift my weight, and then I’m off.

The ground hits hard under my boots, the impact jarring up through my legs as my hands lock onto the steer’s horns. It fights immediately, muscles bunching, trying to pull away, but I’m already in it, already driving forward, using the momentum, forcing it down.

Dust kicks up around us, sticking to my skin as the steer thrashes under me.

I hold, push, twist, and everything lines up.

The steer hits the ground flat and the whistle blows.

It’s over.

I stay there for half a second longer than I need to, my breath coming steady but heavier than it should be, my grip still locked in place before I finally push up and let go.

The noise from the crowd crashes back in. I roll my shoulders once, brushing dirt off my hands as I turn, scanning the crowd before I even think about it.

There.

She’s exactly where I left her. Hands still wrapped around the metal, chest pressed into it.

Something in my chest pulls tight.

I don’t like that. I don’t like that I looked for her first, I don’t like that I knew where she’d be without checking. I don’t like the way my focus slipped out there because of it.

Bruce nudges my shoulder when I step back toward him, grounding me enough to grab the reins and swing up without thinking too much about it. The movement is automatic, familiar, something I can do without having to feel anything else.

By the time I ride out of the arena, I’ve got my breathing back under control.

Mostly.

Clint’s waiting off to the side, arms crossed, that same look on his face, like he knows exactly what happened and what I’m thinking.

“Not bad,” he says when I get close.

I huff out a breath, sliding down from the saddle. “Wasn’t clean.”

He shrugs. “Fast enough.”

I roll my neck once, working out the tension that’s settled there. “Could’ve been better.”

“Always could be.”

I glance behind Clint before I mean to, my eyes finding her again without effort.

Still there, still watching.