Page 3 of A Forever Kind of Rancher

He missed home or so he told himself. Because it was better than missing a woman he’d never actually held in his arms.

He had bought himself a ranch, one that currently had no animals on it, with a damned comfortable bed in one of the rooms—a bed he hadn’t brought a woman back to yet—in preparation for his life changing. He was on the verge of retirement, because... Hell. His brothers were all out of the rodeo, so he didn’t understand why he was still in. He was the last one standing. The last one who hadn’t left, who wasn’t with the person that they...

Well. He had no idea what the hell Buck was doing. So maybe that wasn’t fair.

Buck wasn’t in the rodeo—he knew that much. But he knew nothing else since Buck had cut all ties with their family.

You have to face it, Buck. It happened. There’s no use sitting down and crying about it, there’s no use falling apart. You have to be realistic.

Not his favorite memory. The last time he’d seen his older brother. Eighteen months his senior and the heir apparent to the Carson Rodeo empire.

Not now, though. Now the heir was Boone.

Someone had to keep the legacy going. It was in his blood.

Because, after all, the Carsons were rodeo royalty.

He nearly laughed.

Rodeo royalty in a shitty motel. Oh well. That was the life. The royalty part came from the fact that they all had trust funds, something Boone had sat on until he got his ranch outright in Lone Rock, Oregon, where he would be near his parents and his brothers... Where he would finally settle... He supposed, because there was a point where the demands of the rodeo would get to be a little bit much, and he wasn’t going to be bull riding past his fortieth birthday. He could, he supposed. He could keep going until he gave himself more of a trick back than he already had.

He could downgrade himself to calf roping, keep on keeping on, because he didn’t know what the hell else to do, but he did feel like maybe there was a fine art to just quitting while he was ahead.

Except when his brothers had quit there had been a reason. There had been a woman.

He got out of bed and looked at the bottle of Jack Daniel’s on his nightstand. Then he picked it up and took a swig. Better than coffee to get you going in the morning.

He grimaced, his breath hissing through his teeth, then he threw on his jeans and his shirt, his boots, and walked out of the hotel.

It was the third night of the championship, and he would be competing for the top spot tonight. Finally, for the first time in a long time, not competing against one of his brothers.

Not that he minded competing against them. It was all fine.

He wondered if Wendy would be there, or if she would have to be home with the girls.

And he had the feeling he had put more thought into Wendy’s whereabouts than her husband probably had.

He spent the day doing not much. Had breakfast at a greasy spoon diner near the rodeo venue and didn’t socialize, stayed in his own head, like you had to do.

He got to the arena right on time and cursed a blue streak when he drew the particular bull that he drew, because that bull was an asshole, and it was going to make his ride tonight a whole thing.

And then he saw Daniel from across the way, his friend tipping his hat to him, the ring on his left finger bright.

That was when Boone decided he wasn’t going to let Daniel have two things that he wanted. He couldn’t do much of anything about Wendy, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t get this buckle. It was only when it was his turn to get in the shoot that everything felt clear. That everything felt right. The dream finally wasn’t reverberating inside of him when he got on the back of the bull—the bull who was jumping, straining against the gate.

Eight seconds. That was all it took. He couldn’t afford to blink. Couldn’t even afford to breathe wrong. Couldn’t afford to have his heart beat too fast. Adrenaline could take him after, but not before. Before was the time for clarity.

Before was when everything became still. It was when he was at peace. At least, the most that he ever was.

It was damned near transcendental meditation.

He didn’t question it.

And when the gate opened, the animal burst forth in a pure display of rage and muscle and he clung to the back of him, finding a rhythm. Finding that perfect ride. Because it was there. In every decision he made, and the way he followed all the movements of the animal. In the way he made himself one with him.

And maybe no other cowboy would relate to that way of thinking about it. For sure his brother Flint would laugh his ass off. But Boone didn’t care.

There was a reason he was the last one in the rodeo, and it wasn’t just because he hadn’t gone and fallen in love. It was because no matter what he loved, part of him would always love the rodeo in a way he didn’t think his brothers ever had.

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