Page 24 of Eight Second Hearts

His smile is as bright as ever, and it makes something inside me twist. Ramiro Mondragon is a beautiful man and the way he commands a room just does things to me. As he smiles, I’m not the only one who takes notice. Everyone within distance looks over, taking in the bright smile that’s damn near infectious.

“I can’t say no to funnel cake,” he admits, and follows me out of the arena and to the carnival area.

I used to love carnivals as a child. Now, they’re too loud, too noisy, too crowded, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still enjoy the food. Here, you can get anything fried you want. Fried Oreos. Fried cheesecake. Fried pickles. If it can be fried, they do it. But my mind is on that funnel cake.

After standing in line for a few minutes, I grab the order and usher Ramiro over to an open picnic table. I make sure to grab plenty of napkins. You can’t eat a funnel cake without getting powdered sugar everywhere.

“So, Ramiro, that kind of thing happen often?” I ask as we both dig in.

“What? Getting stuck on a pissed off horse?” He shrugs with his left shoulder. “It’s common. Also, you can just call me Ram. No need to be formal.”

“Noted,” I say, smiling. “It always hurt you so badly when it happens?” I ask, staring pointedly at his right shoulder where he still babies it.

“I’m thirty-nine,” he laughs. “Sleeping with my neck in the wrong position hurts me. This? It’s nothing.”

“Thirty-nine is pretty old to still be bronc riding,” I point out.

“You callin’ me old?” he growls.

I shrug. “Only one of us can be called an old man here and it’s not me.”

His laughter is like being wrapped in a warm blanket. “Yeah, well, it’s about the spirit of the man, not his age.”

I cross my arms on the table. “You ever think about retiring?”

He pauses with a bite midway to his mouth. At my question, he sighs and sets the piece of funnel cake back down. “When you’re like me, you only quit when they recognize your greatness, or else they never will.” He tilts his head. “And I’m not in the Rodeo Hall of Fame just yet.”

“You should be,” I point out. “I did my research and every person I talk to says you should be in there. You’ve clearly made a name for yourself. Hell, just your age alone?—”

“It doesn’t matter, Indie,” he says, cutting me off.

“Of course it matters! You’ve hit records, Ram. It’s?—”

“That only matters for people like Tripp. For me, I have to work three times as hard to reach the same level of fame. It wouldn’t be any different if you were out there on that dirt. This industry, it doesn’t take too kindly to people who don’t fit the pattern, not until people like us force them to pay attention.”

I sit up straighter. “So, I’m not imagining the prejudice then.”

“Of course, you’re not.” He shrugs. “But it’s a part of this life. I knew that going in, and one day, when I’m finally inducted, I can slow down. For now, I’ll just keep riding.”

I frown and glance at his shoulder again. “You’re sure your body can take it?”

He laughs and reaches across the table, swiping a bit of powdered sugar from my cheek. I watch as he pops his thumb in his mouth, my eyes widening at the blatantly sensual action. “Don’t worry about me,periodista. I’ll be fine.” He raises his brow. “But what’s up with your limp?”

I wave away his question. “I’m fine,” I reply, dismissing his concern. “Just a bad mattress back at the motel, is all.

Chapter 17

Indie

On the fifth day, I wake up with so much pain, I know I won’t be able to get out of the motel at the same time I always do. I like to be at the arena early so I can catch everyone coming in, maybe scout out the best place to pester the Crimson Three from. Today, I can barely roll out of the bed without grimacing in pain. My hip screams in agony and it feels like something may be pinched. Worse, the pain is shooting down past my knees and my toes are going numb. I won’t be making it to the arena any time soon, not if I can’t get that worked out.

I take the hottest shower I can stand, hoping the heat eases some of the tension. I pop two pain pills and pull up a stretching video I’d saved on my laptop. It’s a long one, an hour’s worth of stretches and movements to help ease back pain. It almost always helps, so hopefully it can help now, especially since it’s so difficult to even stand up straight. If I can’t get this worked out, there’s no way I’ll be able to get to the fairgrounds. I certainly won’t be able to stand out there all day.

The workout eases the pain, but it doesn’t make it go away. Clearly, whatever I’d agitated is going to remain a problem andthis brick of a bed doesn’t help. Even the pillows here are hard. I’m just about to decide to do another round of stretches when a knock on the door grabs my attention.

I eye the door warily. No one knocks on doors here, and honestly, it’s probably not a great idea to open the door for someone anyways when this place is as sketchy as it is. I don’t even think there’s a housekeeper here to worry about. The front desk made it abundantly clear that there would be no room service.

“Indie?” a voice I recognize calls through the door. “Open up. It’s Ram.”

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