Page 119 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

I smile as I type back.

Arizona: Both are entirely possible.

Her reply appears a heartbeat later.

Daisy: You look really happy, Ari.

My thumb hovers over the screen while I read the message again, then I slip my phone into my pocket and look across the meadow.

Bees drift through the wildflowers, Abilene laughs to herself as she stacks another row of honey jars, and the little town I meant to pass through keeps tugging at my heart strings.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Red

I shove through the crowd just as Travis throws his leg over the bronc. “Get down.”

He glances over his shoulder, his hat tipped back, and the grin on his face tells me everything before the whiskey on his breath reaches me. “You scared I’ll beat you, Bronson?”

“You’ve been drinking.”

“I’ve ridden worse.”

“You’ve barely walked straight all afternoon.”

He snorts, settles deeper into the saddle, and reaches for the bronc rein while one of the pickup men hesitates beside the chute. “Open it.”

The cowboy keeps his hand on the latch, looking between us.

“Don’t.” I climb onto the fence, my fingers wrapping around the top rail. “He’s drunk.”

Travis spits into the dirt. “You planning on riding instead?”

“I’m planning on getting you off that horse.”

He laughs, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “You’d like that.”

“I don’t give a damn what I’d like. Climb down.”

His smile disappears. “You don’t tell me what to do.” He jerks his chin toward the gate. “I said open it.”

The latch snaps free.

“Travis!”

The gate swings wide before I can reach him.

The bronc bursts into the arena already twisting, its front hooves striking the dirt before its hindquarters launch skyward with enough force to throw Travis forward over the neck.

He fights his way back into the saddle, but I can already see the timing’s gone. Every jump pulls him farther behind the horse instead of with it.

“Come on…”

The bronc drops onto its front feet, twists, and launches skyward again, throwing Travis farther out of position until his right leg slips free of the stirrup but his left boot stays trapped. His hand catches in the rein at the same time, leaving him pinned to twelve hundred pounds of terrified muscle.

“Travis!”

I throw myself over the fence, but I’m already too late. The horse bucks again, slamming him shoulder first into the dirt before dragging him through another violent twist. He tries to pull free, clawing at the leather wrapped around his hand, but the rein only bites tighter as the bronc comes down again.