Page 91 of Claiming Their Omega

Maybelle flushes harder, her eyes sparkling with anger. I think Jesse’s casual tone is getting to her more than if he puffed up with anger. If there’s one thing Maybelle hates, it’s pity, and that’s exactly what Jesse’s giving her.

“It was lovely to see you, Maybelle,” Jesse says, his voice smooth and warm, the quintessential cowboy tone like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. I almost expect him to tip his hat to her and call her ma’am.

Maybelle knows a dismissal when she hears one, at least when it’s Jesse giving it to her. She gives a brittle smile, turns on her heel, and walks away.

My jaw drops once she’s gone. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course we did,” Jesse growls. “Nobody gets away with talking down to you.”

Easton holds me tighter, the cotton candy all gone, just comfort in its place.

We reach the front of the line, I order my fried Oreos, then we make our way to our seats. “It’s just that nobody’s noticed that before,” I admit. “She used to bully me all the time in high school and nobody ever realized.”

“Well, we do,” Jesse says firmly. “Nobody gets to treat you like that.”

“That kind of behavior isn’t all right,” Cade growls quietly.

I flush, taking my food and focusing on eating it. I know that they’re good men and will defend anyone, I’m sure they wouldn’t stand for Maybelle being mean to anybody. But I can’t help but wonder again if maybe this is more than I thought. It’s wonderful that they stood up for me, even if it’s fake. I just can’t help but question if it really is fake, at this point.

I don’t have any time to ponder it further, though, because it’s time for the rodeo to start.

The crowd is rowdy, which I appreciate. I love the energy. I just also wish that everyone would shut up so that I can focus on Hendrix when he comes out.

Rodeos are inherently dangerous. Lots of work has been done to make them safer for both the animals and the people but they are still dangerous and I can feel my heart racing in my chest as I see everyone come out.

Injuries still happen. I haven’t heard of any deaths, really, but that doesn’t mean they don’t happen. Everyone’s got some horror story or other of a cousin of a friend who broke his back riding a bull or a bronco.

I know Hendrix is a good rider. I know it. I just can’t stop the worry.

I calm down a little as I watch the other riders. They’re all good, they wouldn’t be here if they weren’t, and I just know in my heart that Hendrix is better than a lot of them. I’ve seen for weeks now how he handles the horses, and I’ve seen the skill he has riding the motorcycle. I know he can do this.

And then—the announcer shouts Hendrix’s name.

I leap to my feet with excitement. It’s calf roping, which is all about horsemanship, roping accuracy, and animal handling.

Hendrix comes out with his horse, one that I know from the ranch. She’s a good girl, but I haven’t gotten to see Hendrix practice with her—he kept his practicing secret from all of us. I have no idea how this is going to go.

Anxiety sweeps over me in a wave, climbing up my throat, and I suddenly feel so odd about it. Like someone’s just poured all the nerves into me, an alien creature climbing inside me. It doesn’t feel like mine.

I stare at Hendrix as he readies the horse, and I wonder… I wonder if the anxiety I’m feeling is his, and not mine.

It’s such an odd thought to have, and yet it feels right. There’s no harm in following that idea, and so—if I can feel his emotions—maybe he can feel mine.

I take a deep breath and I think about how Hendrix makes me feel. How his scent calms me and grounds me. How safe I feel with him. How he made me feel confident in riding the motorcycle, something that previously made me so scared.

I focus on that confidence, and on my belief in him. I really do believe Hendrix will do well, and I just need him to know that about himself.

Hendrix straightens up on his horse, and I see his shoulders relax.

Then, without any outward sign that I can see, he bursts from the chute.

I remember Hendrix telling me that you truly guide the horse through your thighs and shift in balance, more than anything else, when you’re at this level of skill. And he must be right, because I can’t see him really use the reins or anything else to guide his horse as he zeroes in on the sprinting calf, skillfully swinging his lasso.

The rope loops around the calf’s neck, and the horse stops abruptly, kicking up a cloud of dust. Hendrix leaps off his mount in a smooth movement, sprinting toward the calf with incredible speed.

I whoop and holler, a huge grin on my face. He’s doing so well! And to be honest, he looks hot as fuck while he’s doing it.

He flips the calf onto its side effortlessly and, with lightning-fast hands, ties three of its legs together with a short rope. The whole thing is a blur of speed and precision, and I hold my breath until he raises his hands overhead, signaling that he’s completed the task.

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