Page 22 of The Rancher’s Bride

For one horrible second, I think he’s listened.

Then he lunges past me.

He throws himself onto the rope between my ankle and the horse, wrapping both arms around it and driving his weight sideways. The line snaps tight across his body. He’s ripped from his feet and slammed onto the ground, but the angle changes enough to pull Rio off course.

The gelding swerves.

Damian is dragged several feet before he gets one boot beneath him. He rises halfway, hauling backward with everything he has while the rope bites across his forearm. Rio fights the pressure, tossing his head and scrambling in the dirt, but Damian keeps pulling.

“Easy!” he bellows. “Easy, boy!”

The horse slows for half a second. It’s enough. Damian yanks the rope from beneath his arm, surges toward me, and drops to his knees beside my legs. His hands work at the knot around my ankle while Rio circles wildly behind him.

“Hurry,” I gasp.

“I’m trying.”

The rope tightens again.

Damian shoves my trapped leg flat and curls over me just as the line snaps forward. It tears across his back instead of catching me. His body jerks, and a harsh sound leaves him, but his fingers remain locked around the loop.

Then it loosens.

He rips the rope from my ankle and throws it aside. Before I can move, he scoops me from the dirt and carries me toward the fence as Rio bolts across the pen behind us.

Damian reaches the gate, shoulders through it, and lowers me outside the pen. Only then does he turn back and slam it shut.

Rio races along the fence, kicking up clouds of dust, while Damian stands between me and the gate, chest heaving. Blood runs from his forearm. His shirt is torn across one shoulder, and an angry red mark disappears beneath the fabric along his back.

“You’re hurt.” My voice shakes so badly I barely recognize it.

“I’m fine.”

“You were dragged.”

“So were you.” He drops into a crouch in front of me, his hands moving over my arms, shoulders, and face. “Where does it hurt?”

“Damian.”

“Tell me.”

“My ankle. A little. I think I’m okay.”

His jaw tightens. His eyes search for an injury I might have missed. The concern in his eyes undoes me more than the accident itself.

“You could’ve been killed,” he says.

“So could you.”

“I had it handled.”

“You absolutely did not.”

“You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“That doesn’t mean you had it handled!”

My voice breaks. All the terror I’ve been holding back rushes through me at once, leaving me shaking beneath his hands. I cling to him despite the dirt, the blood, and the way his breath catches when my arms close around his back. His heart pounds beneath my cheek.