Page 2 of Knox

From here, it was all instinct. Feeling the animal, getting over its front end when he reared. Keeping your backside down when he kicked up his hind legs. Using your spurs to hold on.

Tate gripped the machine with his boots, his body rocking forward, back, twisting as the bull spun. In one quick second the machine went from a rocking twist to a full-out thrashing, jerking Tate hard, forward, back, simulating a spin, then another rear—

Tate flew over the horns.

He landed with a breath-clearing whump into the straw, lying dazed for a moment before he scrambled to his feet.

Knox hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath, white-gripping the railing until Tate raised his hat above his head, waving to the crowd.

Six point four seconds. Not terrible, but he wouldn’t win any awards. Tate’s gaze landed on Knox and he grinned, as if he’d ridden Gordo into a championship spot at the NBR-X finals. And the blonde in the ring only added to the fuss. She grabbed Tate’s shirt and gave him another full-on mouth kiss.

Disgusting.

Tate wrapped his arms around her and dipped her.

Knox was out of here. His crazy brother hadn’t changed a bit since he’d left home on his Kawasaki and not looked back.

Maybe Knox hadn’t a prayer of figuring out how to bring the family back together again. They were happily living their own lives.

Leaving Knox to carry on a legacy he didn’t want.

He was pushing his way through the crowd when a hand caught him on the arm. He turned.

“Where’ya going?” Tate bore a smudge on his chin from his close encounter with the earth. “Your turn to ride. You know you want to. And the pot’s up over 1G!”

Tate must’ve stuffed a C-note into the collective pot to ride—winner of the eight seconds takes all.

“I don’t think so,” Knox said, watching a skinny kid barely over twenty-one climb onto the back of the machine.

Tate slapped a hand on his shoulder. “If anyone can stay on that toy, it’s you, Knox. None of these other yahoos won the national junior bull riding championship.”

“That was a long time ago,” Knox said, glancing at the kid in the ring, now spinning off the machine. Two whopping seconds. He earned a few boos. “Besides, I have work to do.”

“You’re always working—loosen up, bro. Live a little.”

He considered Tate. The man had inherited their mother’s blue eyes and her easy smile, but the renegade attitude was all Marshall genes. It seemed everyone but Knox had answered the call of the wild—big brother Reuben into smokejumping, Tate into personal security, Wyatt, the hockey star, Ford into the Navy, and Ruby Jane turning travel agent and seeing the world. Even Coco—or rather, Katya—had returned to her father’s country, Russia, to work as a diplomatic aid.

And it wasn’t that Knox didn’t hear the call…but someone had to keep the ranch running. Pay the bills.

Take care of Mom.

And sure, he’d been primally focused on getting their bucking bull line into the national limelight, but he’d taken their 9,000-acre ranch from the edge of bankruptcy to flush and more. But apparently, while he was digging the family out of the red, they’d abandoned him for greener pastures.

“Just one beer, bro. A little catch-up time. I need the dirt on this guy who Mom is dating.”

Knox stared at him, his gut emptying. “What—?”

Tate’s mouth opened a little. “Um…oh. She didn’t tell you yet.”

Perfect. Now Tate—tattooed, renegade, runaway Tate—knew more about their mother’s life than the son she lived with.

“Who is he?”

Tate was pulling him toward the bar. Gestured to the busy guy behind the counter and held up a peace sign. He turned to Knox. “Hardwin Colt.”

Aw, no… Knox grimaced. “He bought the Double Arrow from the Lindseys a few years ago. Really? Mom said she’sdatinghim?”

Tate lifted a shoulder and turned to the bar to retrieve their drinks.

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