Page 37 of Lassoed Love

David, seemingly oblivious to my reaction, starts up our conversation again, asking about my thoughts on the rodeo. “I can’t believe you’ve never been to a rodeo before,” he says, sounding genuinely surprised.

I respond with a subtle reminder, “Well, I haven’t been back here in years, remember? The city doesn’t have stuff like this, so I’d never been given the opportunity.”

“Oh yeah, yeah, that’s right. Oh, well, we have these here all the time. They go off.”

I apprehensively take another sip of my drink, bracing myself for the bitter taste. David offers a warm smile as he delves into the details of my city life, making small talk to ease any tension.

“So.. where abouts did you live in the city? And work-wise, still rocking the vet life, I see.”

I play with a strand of my hair. “Oh, I lived in a place called The Rocks. The apartment I shared with some mates had such incredible views of the harbour. I was actually sad to leave it.” I let out a nervous laugh. “As for work, yup, still doing the vet thing. Couldn’t leave the animal life behind."

He nods, recalling what he already knows. “Ah, right. City life can be quite something. Sounds like it must’ve been expensive. No wonder you had to live with roommates.” He laughs. “Back to the calm of the countryside, huh?” He nudges my shoulder.

I feel a twinge of annoyance. Is he implying I can’t afford to live on my own? I shoot him a sidelong glance. “Well, you know, city living and all. Roommates make it more fun, right? Plus, who needs to livealone when you can split the rent and share the drama?” I force a grin, hoping he catches the sarcasm. “But yeah, back to the roots,” I say as I take another big sip of my drink. Maybe some liquid courage might make this a little less awkward. This is going… great.Give him a chance, Isla.

We continue to stroll around the lively venue, drinks in hand, soaking up the excitement of the rodeo grounds. The grandstands offer a fantastic view of the large arena, and the air is filled with the scent of hay and the distant allure of food trucks.

David gestures to the right, pointing out the seating area in the grandstands. “Let’s find a spot—the next round is about to kick off.” The grandstands stretch before us, alive with people chatting, laughing, and cheering. We snag two empty seats in the first row—they’re a bit worn, but it adds to the rustic charm.

As we settle into our seats, the buzz of the crowd envelops us. David leans in, his voice barely audible over the chatter and the commentator’s announcements. “So, Bronc riding is pretty wild,” he explains, a hint of enthusiasm in his eyes. “The rider has to stay on the horse for eight seconds, and they're judged on their style and control.”

I nod, taking it all in. The loudspeaker crackles to life as the next round of Bronc Riding is about to begin. The commentators’ voices pierce through the noise, and David continues with his rundown. However, my attention drifts as I find myself more focused on his words than the commentator’s explanations.

“Watch their form when they’re thrown into the air," he says,pointing toward the arena. “The skill is in how they recover and maintain control.”

David’s explanation sinks in, and I gather that unlike bull riding, where the animal tends to turn in a circular motion, Bronc riding involves a more tumultuous up-and-down movement. Riders are tossed back and forth, their only anchor being the reins held with a single hand. The intricacies of this dance between rider and horse become clearer, emphasising the skill and control required to navigate the perilous ride.

I glance into the distance at the line of men patiently awaiting their turn. Even from this distance, I can't make out their faces, but the array of colours in their shirts and the bold logos on their black vests catch my eye. Their jeans, accompanied by stylish chaps, give off a rugged yet fashionable vibe. And, of course, the cowboy hats add that touch of country charm.

The commentator announces the next rider, named Jackson Hill, who hops onto the horse in the chute, and a loud buzzer goes off. As the first bronc bursts out of the gate, my gaze intensifies, fixated on the rider and horse. The horse’s powerful movements ripple through its body, creating a mesmerising spectacle.

The rider skillfully manages to stay atop the bronc despite its relentless bucking. There’s a moment where it seems like he might lose his grip, and my breath catches. But in a feat of remarkable balance, he regains control. The air becomes thick with tension, each second ticking away on the larger-than-life timer attached to the commentator’s booth.

As the timer rapidly approaches the coveted 8-second mark, the bronc launches one final, forceful move. In an instant, the guy is flung off, rolling to the ground. The crowd erupts with a mix of disappointed sighs and impressed cheers. The commentator’s excited voices compete with the background hum, announcing his score of 85.3.Oof, so close.With a quick recovery, the rider stands up, brushing off the dust, and hurries off towards the gates. The rodeo atmosphere pulsates with energy, and I find myself eagerly awaiting the next round of daring performances.

David leans in to shout into my ear, attempting to be heard over the uproarious crowd. “Shit, I thought he was gonna make that one. Pretty cool, huh…” His words, however, are swallowed by the raucous cheers and the commentator’s voice booming over the loudspeakers, announcing the next rider.

“And our next contender, ladies and gents, is our very own local farmer, Xavier Mitchell!” The crowd erupts in cheers, creating a deafening symphony that reverberates through the arena. My eyes widen, and I freeze on the spot. The realisation hits, and my heart skips an entire beat.

What the fuck?My mind races as I watch the grandstands come alive with enthusiasm. I find myself unconsciously searching for him among the people, trying to catch a glimpse of that familiar figure.

Bloody hell, it was literally not long ago that I had thoughts of him lingering in my mind, and now, it’s as if the universe has answered my unspoken questions. What is he doing here? David’s exclamation snaps me out of my trance. “Oh, wow! I had no idea he’dbe competing. What the heck?” What the heck, indeed.

My eyes find Xavier standing in the same spot as the guy before, flanked by two guys—no doubt offering words of encouragement. They pat him on the back, whispering something in his ears. Just as the previous contender did, Xavier hops over the gate and into the chute, settling onto the horse. This one, however, seems a bit more agitated than the previous horse. My heart skips a beat, and I unconsciously hold my breath.What on earth is Xavier doing in a bronc riding competition?I can’t help but wonder, feeling a strange mix of surprise and intrigue.

With a nod of his head, signalling that he must be ready, the buzzer goes off again and I’m nearly out of my seat, watching everything unfold in slow motion. My eyes are glued to the intense dance between the horse and Xavier. He does it with seamless effort, like he’s been doing this all his life. The air is filled with tension as the timer moves rapidly.

My eyes dance back and forth between the timer and Xavier, captivated by the vigour of his riding—my breath caught in my throat as he’s bucked up and down vigorously. I find myself silently chanting,‘Stay on, stay on… Don’t you dare fall off.’I shake my head, ridding myself of the thoughts—my brain just momentarily short circuiting.Surely.

There is just something captivating about seeing Xavier in this raw, unfiltered moment. The unexpected rush of emotions catches me off guard, and I find myself invested in whether he can make the eight seconds.

In a split second, Xavier’s hand almost loses its grip, and my heart lurches forward. I find myself standing, hand covering my mouth in shock, unable to tear my eyes away. The timer is rapidly closing in on the 8 seconds, and to my complete surprise, Xavier manages to stay on the bucking bronc for the full duration. I release the breath I had been involuntarily holding, exhaling with a big whoosh. “Fucking hell,” I mutter under my breath, my eyes still glued to Xavier.

The horse continues to buck, and I wonder how on earth he’s going to get off. Just as this thought crosses my mind, two pickup riders fly into the arena, moving up close to Xavier on the still-bucking horse. With seamless precision, one of them manages to wrangle him off, with an arm around his waist and onto his horse, moving him safely away from the untamed bronc. The other guy signals the horse with a whistle, guiding it back to the chutes. Still processing the adrenaline-pumping spectacle that just unfolded before my eyes. I’m left in awe.

As Xavier is safely wrangled back behind the fence, the commentator loudly announces his score—an impressive 93.8. “Wow, now that’s a record to beat, gents. Give him another round of applause!” The crowd erupts into cheers.Shit!That’s the highest score so far, and I can’t help but join in with the excitement. I watch as Xavier turns around to the crowd, taking his hat off and throwing his arm in the air, exclaiming his excitement and disbelief. Those two guys from earlier run up and jump him.

In this suspended moment, the crowd’s chaotic buzz fades into a distant hum, and all that exists is the spotlight on Xavier. My eyesunintentionally seek refuge in his, and a shiver of trepidation crawls down my spine. I’m caught off guard, my heart skipping a beat as I realise that Xavier has inexplicably locked eyes withmein this huge sea of faces.

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