Page 157 of Burn the Wild

This time, Fallon moves. Striding closer, she jabs her finger in Cole’s chest. “You’re gonna get your ass stomped, Weston.”

Davis groans and closes his eyes.

“I don’t argue with little girls,” Cole snaps at her.

“Oh fuck,” Charlie mutters.

Steam is practically coming out of Fallon’s ears.

But it’s Wyatt who’s in Cole’s face so fast I never saw him move. “You call this woman a cowgirl. You fucking hear me?”

Fallon’s surprised eyes slice to Wyatt, but she says nothing.

Beside me, scenting the potential for a fight, Ford and Charlie are on their feet. The only thing keeping Davis in place is Duke in his arms.

Ruby, chewing her lip, sinks beside me on the stool.

“Oh lord,” Dakota murmurs, looking like she wants to chuck the remaining hand pies at her brothers-in-law.

Pappy holds out a hand, chuckling. “A little healthy competition never hurt no one.” His other hand, holding a cigar, gestures at a camera. “In fact, it’s good for business.”

But Fallon’s once again sizing up Cole, that fiery glare returning.

“Don’t let him rile you,” Wyatt orders softly. He holds her arm, and I don’t fail to notice the way Fallon leans into him. “It’s what he wants. Save the angry for the bull.”

Instead of a cutting, sarcastic remark, she gives a sharp, obedient nod.

Stetson low on his brow, Cole turns to leave. “I don’t care how bad you are, darlin’, the fact that you think you can win this is fucking laughable,” he tosses over his shoulder as he stomps away.

“Asshole,” Ford mutters, wrapping an arm around me.

For one long second, Fallon stands there fuming.

Pappy gives her a look, and she immediately shrugs out of Wyatt’s grip. Then she storms in the direction of the arena and does not look back.

We take seats on the bleachers. I listen intently as the brothers try to explain rodeo to me.

“If she reaches the threshold to score, she’ll make history in Montana,” Davis says.

My eyes bounce between them. “I thought she already rode professionally?”

“She does. But she wants the NFR,” Charlie says. “She wants to win that jackpot.”

Ford takes pity on me. “Eight seconds. That’s all you gotta remember.”

“Eight seconds,” I echo, looking toward the ring. I’m not sure I’ll ever understand those souls brave enough to get in a ring with a bull, ready to get their shit rocked.

“Fallon’s the definition of insanity,” Ford explains. “She keeps doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.”

“Expecting not to die,” Charlie mutters from his spot on the bench in front of us.

“Why does she do it?” I ask Ford.

Ford looks unhappy. “Death wish. Glory.”

A hush falls over the crowd as Fallon claims her place atop her bull.

“Where’s her helmet?” Davis blasts.

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