Page 120 of Cowboy Bull's Promise

I stare at him like he just confessed to eating crayons.

“You’re a menace.”

He just grins and leans back, that slow Dragon-lounge posture like he’s perched on a pile of treasure somewhere.

“What? I think spices deserve respect. They have ambition, you know. Histories. Dreams of being the key ingredient to some superb insta-famous recipe.”

I snort and shake my head.

Here I am. A Bull Shifter. Sitting in a bar. Talking about freaking spice hierarchy with a six-foot-five Dragon in a leather jacket.

How is this even my life?

I glance toward the end of the bar, eyes finding Arliss immediately.

She’s still talking to Bob, head tilted slightly, one hand on her hip. She’s all curves and sass, and my heart clenches tight at the sight of her.

Mine.

I turn back to Zeke. He’s now balancing his beer on two fingers like he’s practicing some kind of circus trick.

“You entering the rodeo this weekend?” I ask, partly to distract myself, partly to see if he’s got enough ego left to humiliate himself in front of an audience.

“Nah.” He exhales. “Boss has me training him to rope cattle.”

My eyes widen.

“Max? Max as in Jersey Devil, former city slicker, millionaire Max? Alpha Max? He thinks he can rope cattle from atop a horse?” I blink. “That Max?”

Zeke nods like it’s nothing.

“He said it’s for Crew bonding and so we’ll know how hard he’s trying to make the ranch work. But I think Penny told him he needed a hobby and to get out of her face since he’s been hovering around her and the twins like twenty-four-seven.”

“Uh, so, how’s that going?”

Zeke grins, all teeth and secrets.

“He’s got the dismount down. But every time he throws the loop, he curses in about six languages and the calf turns around and gives him the evil eye. I swear one of them tried to bite him yesterday.”

I burst out laughing.

“Okay, now I need to see this.”

We get into it then, a solid fifteen-minute breakdown on loop styles and catch techniques.

I’ve been cowboying since I was old enough to hold a lasso, so I talk to him about the basic throw mechanics. Like building your loop, swing arc, wrist control, keeping the tip low and the rope flat.

We talk hondo knots, tiedowns, and even slick horn versus dally roping.

He listens, surprisingly focused, asking good questions between snarky remarks about how he once fire-breathed a hay bale on accident.

I get it, because working with Max can be frustrating. He’s got this huge aura about him, but what he doesn’t know about ranches and farms could fill a library.

Still, our Alpha is good. And the Motley Crewd Ranch is definitely worth a few rope burns.

We’re mid-convo about flank straps when my skin tightens.

A ripple across my senses.

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