Page 26 of Tame Our Wild

His bushy brows draw together, hinting that he is serious. “You must think I’m fuckin’ delusional if you think I’m going to believe that. Leave her alone, Payne. She needs to focus, and she doesn’t need you distracting her this season in any way. You hear me? I don’t want to have to intervene. This rivalry between you two is already a pain in my ass, and I’ll kick both of yours if I have to.”

I scrub a dirty palm over my jaw. “Heard.”

He gestures his head in the direction of the arena as another bull is let out of the chute. “Speaking of our PBR’s Sweetheart.”

John leaves me as I walk up to the fence that looks out over the dirt, peering through the bars to watch as the bull relentlessly flies around in a chaotic circle before switching directions. Harlow is too late to adjust before she’s tossed off and rolling across the dirt like a kicked pebble.

She stands up stiffly, dusting off her chaps in a frustrated manner. I can see her mouth moving behind her helmet, but I’m too far away to make out the words. Knowing that tongue, she’s probably cursing up a storm at herself for failing another ride.

I’m right when I look up at the timer to see that same number three that seems to haunt her.

Just like they always do, those blue eyes scan the chutes until they locate mine. I shouldn’t, but sometimes I eagerly wait for her gaze to find me. Bracing my arms on the fence, I lean over it, enjoying her little tantrum far too much. She looks like she’s stomping toward me, but she’s walking toward the gate the team has open to let her through to the back pens. Bending, she snatches her bull rope, lying in the dirt from when it fell off the bull, not once letting her attention slip from me.

You’d think I’d be able to hold myself back from joking with her for one goddamn second, but as she rips off her helmet, I can’t help myself.

“Offer still stands,” I yell out, knowing everyone else around is too distracted to hear me.

Harlow pauses, regarding me momentarily as if she wants to say something, before she thinks better of it and storms off.

She knows the offer I hung over her head. I should take it back, considering John’s warning, since he’s the CEO, but there’s just something about this five-foot-three hell-raiser that I can’t let go.

ELEVEN | HARLOW

“Are you crazy?” Mel reaches into one of my suitcases, snatches a pair of my jeans, and tosses them clear across my bedroom with the force of a pitcher for a major-league baseball team. They nearly knock over the framed photo of my mom, dad, Melanie, and me from a family camping trip we took a few summers ago. They hit the wall, plopping on the ground beside my closet door.

To prove her point—and because she’s in full-blown sass mode—she bends, picks up a stack of folded clothes, and gives me a disapproving stare before walking to the closet and tossing them inside. They hit my shirts and sweaters dangling on hangers before they drop onto the floor. The hangers squeak on the old metal rod, feathering my arms in gooseflesh at the obnoxious high-pitched noise that seems to echo through the otherwise silent room.

My hands find my hips, and I shake my head at her. She’s trying to protect me, but still. “You were there for both of my rides in Milwaukee, Mel. I didn’t score either time. I need a coach.”

She glares. Hard. “But Colson Fucking Payne?”

My eyes widen. My sister doesn’t curse often, let alone use the F word, so the profanity falling from her mouth sinks into my chest like a dull blade. She’s more upset than I thought she would be.

“But you lasted eight seconds in Jacksonville,” she whines. “I believe in you. You can do it without a coach.”

I’ve always loved Mel’s faith in me, but it’s not that simple. “And that’s the only time I’ve scored this season. I can’t keep up with this streak of getting tossed into the dirt when three seconds hit.”

I’m starting to think Florida was a fluke. Well, that, or whatever higher power is watching over me, knew that I was about to find out about Aaron’s heart attack and wanted to take it easier on me. Milwaukee was brutal. I got my ass handed to me, and everyone noticed. Especially Colson, because he would say or mouth, “Offer still stands,” with one of his cocky brows raised whenever my eyes found his.

I made up my mind to accept his offer on the plane after rewatching my rides on YouTube. I am a damn good rider, but I have no intention of stalling my skills because, clearly, they aren’t doing me any good right now.

I’m still hesitant about whether I’m making the right choice, spending nearly half a year with the man who makes my blood simmer from his mere presence. But I can always leave, right? Try it out and see if it would even work.

If we would work.

I don’t doubt Colson’s skills as a rider; there’s a reason why he has been competing for the last sixteen years. He is talented. Hardworking. Focused.

And that’s exactly what I need if I’m going to move up in the rankings. I have no time to sit around contemplating my choices or other alternatives; this has to be an impulsive decision, or else I will come up with a million reasons not to do it. As of right now, I’m already behind and need to catch up while it’s still early enough in the season.

I told Mom, Dad, and Mel over dinner last night. I thought my confession caused a time glitch. Nobody moved. Nobody said a word. They just peered at me with vacant expressions like I was starting to grow a pair of bull horns out of my head. It probably didn’t help that Mel and I had just gotten home around lunch yesterday, and we barely had time to catch up with our parents.

Now it’s Tuesday, and my red-eye flight to Tennessee is tonight. Like I said, no time to waste. Getting out tonight means I’ll have a few days of training with Colson before our next event to find out if this arrangement will even work.

Melanie’s pathetic puppy-dog eyes slowly shift back into a full-on scowl as I walk back into my closet, picking up the clothes she tossed like I wasn’t going to refold them and put them back in my suitcase.

“Will it make you feel better if I tell you that I’m more vulnerable now every time I hit the dirt than taking a risk and going to Tennessee to let Colson coach me?”

She flops onto my bed like a fish, letting out a loud sigh. “Not even a little bit.” Mel pushes up on her elbows. “It’s just that it’s—him. Why couldn’t it be anyone else?” She bolts upright, pressing her finger to her lips in thought. “What about that cute guy with the mustache who you’re becoming friends with?”