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My eye catches the broad, toned shoulders of the next rider climbing up onto the copper-colored hide of a massive bull. These animals weigh upward of two thousand pounds, and they’re trained and bred to be aggressive and deadly. The ones they ship off for the PBR are tame compared to the ones they rent out to The Riders.
I glitch for a second when Holden removes his black cowboy hat and gives it to a ranch hand before peeling off his muddy T-shirt and tossing it over the nearest fence railing. He takes the hat back, placing it back on his head. He glances up at the platform, almost black eyes making brief eye contact with me, before his steely gaze flicks over to Cash’s. He settles down on the bare back of the bull.
“Wanna bet on it? I’ll stay on this fucker for eight seconds, first try.”
Cash chuckles, shaking his head. Holden looks back down as he wraps the rope that’s tied around the bull around his hand. His shoulder muscles ripple with each movement. My mouth waters involuntarily. The taut planes of his abs are smeared with mud, so it must not be his first ride.
Abs, shoulders, back muscles …
Holden’s body is shockingly chiseled for how big he is. All six foot three inches of him is packaged to perfection, complete with fit Wrangler jeans, mud caked on his upper thighs, and sweat dripping down the center of his chest.
His height and size have always been intimidating, but in the three and a half years since I last saw him, he’s noticeably bigger, stronger, and scarier.
Well, he’s an ex-prisoner now. You should be scared of him.
Holden dips his cowboy hat, signaling that he’s ready to ride. They open the gate, releasing the animal. I hold my breath as I watch him being spun around by the bull. He holds one hand in the air, the other tied to its back, muscles tensed and rippling with each twist of the animal’s body that Holden seems to follow naturally, like he was bred for it the same way the bull was. His ancestry is all cowboy, so I guess he kinda was.
The thrill of watching a bull rider is something I’ve felt down in my bones since I was a little girl. Growing up in a small Texas town, surrounded by ranches overflowing with cowboys, I’ve seen my fair share of rides, both in official competitions and the unofficial ones.
Dolly gasps as the buzzer goes off right when Holden loses his balance, half falling, half jumping off into the mud. He lands on his knees, but the bull suddenly spins around, feet kicking up right in his face. His body jerks backward from the force of the blow.
My heart drops into my stomach, which cramps tightly as Dolly screams beside me.
6
HOLDEN
“Rosie did a year of nursing school, so she does all the wound care on the ranch that doesn’t require an ambulance. You’re lucky I didn’t call one. You’re lucky he didn’t snap your neck with that kick.” Cash storms out of the bathroom, leaving me alone with a bleeding jawline.
My head is pounding. I shut my eyes to try and ease the dizzy feeling.
I hear quiet footsteps, but I don’t open my eyes. The light smell of vanilla reaches my nostrils, and my first instinct is to inhale.
Rosie.
I open my eyes to see her meticulously opening a first aid kit and setting things out on the bathroom countertop. Her aqua eyes meet mine briefly before she looks back down to thread a needle. She reaches for a bottle of saline, pouring it onto some gauze.
“This might sting,” she says quietly. She moves her hand up to gently dab the gauze on the slice over my jawline.
I exhale slowly, trying to focus on the pain instead of the way my head is swimming.
I’ve never been this close to her. For the first time, I’m noticing the pale freckles on her nose. Her full lips are shaped with flawless dips and swells, the perfect shade of rosy pink.
“Any dizziness?” she asks.
I grunt, not wanting her to show any concern for me. “Just stitch it up.”
She presses the gauze harder, making the cut sting. I hiss out a foul word, shutting my eyes again.
“If you’re dizzy, it could mean you have a concussion. If you pass out, we’ll have to take you in to make sure there’s no internal bleeding.”
She stares into my eyes like she’s looking for some sign of a concussion.
“I’m fine. Stitch it up,” I grunt.
She has no idea how I had wounds ten times worse than this in prison after getting jumped regularly.
She sprays something on my jaw. “This will numb it.”
