Page 29 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

“I only want you to feel something for once,” Connie replied. “I want you to smile. From what I’ve seen, she’s made you crack one or two.”

She was right—but still, nothing would come from it. She was my employee, I was her boss, end of story.

Chapter Ten

Zoe

Iwas alone for once, but I still could not rest the way Warrick wanted me to. Lying in a bed, in his house, I couldn’t help but feel surrounded by him.

So, what do I do? I pulled out my phone and googled Warrick Donovan’s Bull Ride.

At least fifteen new pages and about fifty videos came up with Google. Instead of reading it—I didn’t think I’d get the depth of what I needed to know about Warrick by reading it—I pulled up a video titled, RISING STAR BULL RIDER ALMOST FATAL ACCIDENT.

The first thing I saw was what looked like a metal stall, kind of like one that held the horses in the stables, but this was big. My gut lurched into my throat when I saw handlers dodging the horns and hooves of a brown bull banging around in the chute.

I paused when the stats came on the screen: Name: Diablo, Breed: American Spinning Bull, Brand: 127, Sex: Bull, Color: Brown, Weight: 1600 pounds (730 kg).

“Christ on the Cross,” I whispered.

Scared out of my wits, I googled Diablo and saw that he was one of the highest-scoring spinner bulls on the circuit. No one could stay on him for more than a second or two, not local champions or national riders.

Back to the video, I saw a young, beardless Warrick sitting on the fence—and once again, I paused. His bone structure could have made a statue crumble in shame. The strong slant of his cheekbones and the chiseled jut of his jaw made my stomach flip on its head.

I mentally compared Warrick then and Warrick now.

Did I prefer the smooth-shaved version or the rugged, mountain man, bearded Warrick? I didn’t know—both called to different parts of me.

Grimacing, I pressed play and watched as he latched his helmet on and slid himself onto the bull's back. I couldn’t see or hear Warrick, but his body language told me everything—he was off his game.

As soon as Warrick got in, the bull rocked around like crazy in the narrow chute, unable to move much. But as soon as the horn went off and the gate flew, he was a tornado. Warrick was knuckling the rope, but his body was not moving right.

One second.

With one buck, Warrick nearly slammed his chest on a ridged back. In a split second, the bull reared on his back legs, rising in the air in a gigantic buck.

Two seconds.

The bull spun, and with a leap, down the legs came like nails driving into the ground.

Three seconds.

Diablo kicked his back legs out, rocking his front legs once, twice, three times before he rose on his hind legs only long enough to replant his front ones to bring his back end up again.

Four seconds.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing; those hind legs rose higher and higher until he was almost vertical, and I was sure Warrick would fly over that massive head. His hand was slipping on the rope while his other arm waved to balance him out and stop him from touching the bull.

Five seconds.

The clock above the ring was running, and every time the bull came down, I could see Warrick was slipping, balance screwed to shit. I wished I didn’t know what was going to happen…I wished I could close my eyes and wish it all away—but it was inevitable.

The bull gave a vicious sideways twist and spun into this buck; it moved so fast he was a brown blur, except for the deadly gray spikes of his horns—and Warrick went flying. He narrowly missed a hoof to the head as he landed on his shoulder, but his left leg bowed under him. I didn’t need to look to know that the bone had snapped.

The buzzer went off at seven seconds, but the crowd was in shock. The panorama showed slack jaws and shocked faces, hands pressed to mouths, and some people started to cry. Medics were on the scene and soon had Warrick on a stretcher, strapped down, and moving off to an ambulance.

I dropped the phone and sucked in a breath.

I hadn’t even been in that arena, but it still hit me like a sucker punch to the gut.

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