Page 1 of The Cowboy’s Secret Lover

One

The first night of the bull riding competition of the Bear Creek Rodeo

Kurt Crawford stoodin the dark corridor that led to the floor of the Bear Creek arena. The scents of sawdust and leather and sweat hung in the air. It was the first day of bull riding for the Bear Creek Rodeo—the event was taking place in the middle of the afternoon. He hadn’t professionally ridden a bull in years—and he tried not to think of his reasons for returning to the sport.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the PA system. “We have a special rider tonight. Help me in welcoming a son of Bear Creek and two-time National bull-riding champ, Kurt Crawford.”

The crowd was applauding before he exited the corridor. When he appeared, the cheers turned into a deafening roar.

Kurt’s chest expanded, filling with pride. He waved his hat once before tamping down any emotion. He needed to focus on what was really important—staying on the bull for the next eight seconds.

The bull, Doctor Danger, was already in the chute. Kurt approached. The animal kicked, and the metal clattered. Climbing up and over the rungs, he settled onto the bull’s back. Winding his hand around the rope that was tied to the animal’s forelegs, Kurt began to focus on his breath.

The cheers of the crowd faded to silence, until the only thing Kurt heard was the snorting of the bull and his own heartbeat. The faces of those in the audience became a blur. Repositioning his grip, Kurt’s world shrank, occupying the space in the trough. The next eight seconds, the entirety of his ride, stretched out for an eternity.

With an exhale, he lifted his hand and signaled to the judges that he was ready. The door to the chute swung open.

The bull raced forward while lunging to the left. Kurt squeezed his thighs and leaned in the opposite direction. He held on with his right hand and let his left arm serve as a counter balance.

One second.

Doctor Danger kicked with his rear legs. Once. Twice. Thrice. Kurt felt each jolt as if he’d been hit by a truck three times over.

Two seconds.

Running for the wall, Doctor Danger slammed into the metal enclosure. Kurt’s knee was pinned between fence and bull. The pain registered as a flash of red.

Three seconds.

Running at full speed, the bull veered to the right and then back to the left. Kurt squeezed his thighs into the bull’s girth and felt a pop in his knee. His leg lost strength and he began to slip.

Four seconds.

Redirecting all his strength to his arm and hand, he held the rope tight. As long as the bull kept going left, Kurt would be able to stay on. Damn it. He’d started to think. Championships were won on the backs of a bull, not in the head of a rider. He needed to react—not reflect.

Five seconds.

Doctor Danger ran straight. Kurt flopped up and down with each stride. The bull twisted to the left. Squeezing his right leg into the saddle, Kurt kept upright.

Six seconds.

The beast kicked. Kurt leaned back. His free arm kept him balanced. Kurt shifted his weight forward. The bull ran in a circle leading to the left.

Seven seconds.

Doctor Danger changed direction and ran to the right. Kurt’s left leg came free. He began to slide, down, down, down. His grip loosened. The rope slithered from his hand. For a single second, Kurt was weightless. He landed hard, the breath leaving his lungs in a single, painful gust. A cloud of sawdust flew up around him, burning his eyes and filling his lungs.

He saw a set of horns.

Then Kurt’s world faded to black.

Eight seconds.

* * *

An elderly womanlay on a narrow bed. Her cheeks were blotchy and red, a sheen of sweat covered her brow. Nurse Practitioner, Faith McGregor, sat at the woman’s side.

“How do you feel?” Faith asked.