Page 11 of Tame Our Wild

I turn away from Colson, steadily breathing to calm my heart rate.

In and out.

In and out.

I slide a hand over my slicked-back low ponytail before placing my helmet on my head.

As I scale the fence and lower to mount on Spin Top’s back, the crushing weight of Colson’s stare is heavier than the panic bubbling in my gut. I find my grip on the bull rope, at the same time zoning in on the way Spin Top’s muscles ripple below my thighs. I rock my hips and hold my breath, getting comfortable as the pissed-off creature below me jerks in anger.

The air is thick with energy, the current pulsing through my limbs as I raise my left hand. My eyes fly open, and I give a firm nod, signaling I’m ready.

The gate flies open, Spin Top darting out so fast I slightly lose my balance as he kicks and bucks to the right. With one hand on the rope and one in the air, I attempt to adjust my body weight and position. I barely keep pace with his movements before he changes directions again.

When you’re bull riding, time slows and crawls by at a pace that feels anything but normal. Spin Top’s thick, powerful frame flexes below my body, his grunts spurring the images of the ride that left me broken on the arena floor. The panic boils over, and I can no longer contain the fear coursing through my body like lava that’s determined to melt me from the inside out.

The second his hind legs pierce the air and toss my body forward, I lose focus, my free hand reaching for the bull rope out of pure fear. Everything blurs, transporting me back into that arena in Jacksonville, Florida, where my career should’ve ended. I slam my eyes shut, willing the memories away from the forefront of my mind, but it’s too late. The bull’s front hooves smash into the dirt, the animal launching my body into the hard ground as dirt flies up, clinging to the sheen of sweat on my face.

My vision tunnels, my body curling into a ball, utterly unaware of where the beast is. My brain can only focus on the crippling panic, seizing every muscle and controlling my thoughts. Tears stream down my cheeks, and I inhale a tattered breath.

My brain has shut off the noise.

The chaos of people around me.

When I finally manage to glance up, the red numbers on the clock appear through my blurry vision.

Three seconds.

I scan the fence line, easily locating the rider gripping the rail in front of him. I swear I see a flicker of worry pass over Colson’s features, but then his face hardens, and any trace of concern for my well-being vanishes like it was never there to begin with.

At this point, I don’t think it will only be my fear that consumes my focus and knocks me off my game this season. The infuriating man with his eyes trained on me is just as lethal.

FOUR | HARLOW

The porch swing sways as a fresh morning breeze washes across my skin, warmer than it should be for late November. The white fences surrounding our property extend to where the seasonal creek bed meets the towering red rock cliffs and mountains of Ember Ridge. Cattle wander the fields, the occasional whinny and contented nicker from our horses adding to the serene atmosphere.

Most women my age would be itching to escape their family, but I’ve never had that inclination, at least until now. It’s special to still live in my childhood home, resting at the base of the ridge our town is named after.

It’s beautiful.

Peaceful.

Yet, I’d love nothing more than to get out and get a taste of freedom—have a place that feels like mine.

I’m twenty-three. I know I’m not that old, but living independently gives you a new sense of individuality. Plus, it’s not like I can bring a hookup here if I want. Not that I have had any of those.

I can imagine my parents are probably getting tired of me by now. I mean, they did fully take care of me for four months after Lil’ Loco pounced on my tibia.

Okay, pounced maybe isn’t the right word, considering a 1,600-pound bull shattered my leg and took me out of my first professional season as a bull rider.

And I was in the top twenty that year, consistently scoring at every event.

I could move out—live off the savings I collected from the events I placed in the top five or won. With this profession, getting paid isn’t always a given. After my accident, I lost all my sponsors. A few smaller ones have reached out after seeing that I’ve made it back into the league, but they are nothing compared to the Ariat sponsorship I had a few years ago.

But hey, I’m in no position to be picky.

Being a professional bull rider doesn’t pay well unless you win events, have huge sponsorships, or have a top placement every weekend. Jax Bowman, a rider my age from Texas, took home the win in Tucson a few days ago and forty thousand dollars, as well as points, moving him into the number one position since it was the first event of the season.

Colson Payne finished third, but I’m trying not to think about him, since I think he was one of the reasons I had trouble focusing.