Page 91 of Reckless Hearts

I’m moving before I can think, feet pounding across the dirt, lungs burning.

No one else has noticed. Not yet.

The only reason bull riding feels even remotely safe is because we know what we’re getting into. Every risk is calculated. Controlled. Maverick is about to step into that chute with a rope that’s about to give and has no idea what’s coming for him.

My throat burns as I scream, yelling at them to stop, to close the gate, to check the rope, but the roar of the crowd swallows it whole.

One of the bullfighters steps in front of me, probably thinking I’ve lost it. I dodge him. I won’t let anything stop me. Not now.

This fear isn’t like what I feel when I ride. This is different. This is cold. Crippling. It sinks into my bones.

I plant my feet and grab Maverick by the vest, hauling him backward just as the chute door groans open. We crash hard, my back slamming against the dirt with him on top of me. My lungs seize, gasping for air.

I don’t even realize I’m still clinging to him, arms locked around his middle, pulling him tighter just to make sure he’s real. He’s safe.

The arena explodes into chaos.

No one knows what just happened.

Maverick doesn’t try to get up. Somehow, he knows I’m not ready to let him go. A wrangler’s yelling above us, but I can’t make out a word. My ears are ringing. My mind’s gone blank. I just need another second.

Need to feel his heartbeat under my palm.

Then I’ll deal with the consequences.

The boss steps into view, the man who runs this whole show. Thirty years in the game, and everyone listens when he talks. He surveys the scene with quiet authority.

Before Maverick can move, the boss reaches down and grabs the rope still dangling from his hand.

The frayed edge swings in the air.

A quiet, horrible beat of silence.

The wrangler who’d just been yelling at me stumbles back a step, ghost-white. It had been his team’s job to check that gear. He starts apologizing, stammering to Maverick, face stricken.

I want to yell at him. Want to scream that he should be apologizing to me. That idiot nearly cost me everything. I can feel the fury building, swelling inside me, threatening to boil over.

Better the rage than everything else.

Because the alternative is kissing Maverick right here in front of everyone.

The boss helps Maverick to his feet, then reaches a hand down to me.

I take it, trying not to wince as he squeezes. I’m a big man, but this guy might as well be a bear the way his hand dwarfs mine. He lets it go and slaps me on the back. “Damn fine job you did there. Risky, but damn fine job.”

I didn’t even think about the risk.

Running into a loaded chute, grabbing a rider mid-mount, risking being thrown off balanced into the dirt, crushed or tossed or trampled. None of it registered. All I’d been able to think about was getting Maverick the hell out of there.

A shaky laugh bubbles up in my chest, the adrenaline still roaring through my bloodstream. I can’t believe I actually pulled it off.

Maverick’s not smiling. He’s not grateful. Not relieved. He’s glaring at me.

His eyes are wild, jaw tight, and some emotion I can’t name is flickering just beneath the surface.

He grabs my arm and drags me out of the arena, through a hall, slamming the door of a vacant room behind us.

His breaths are ragged, eyes wide. You’d never know by the way he was looking at me that I just saved his ass.

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