Page 156 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
He grins like he knows exactly where my mind went. “Come on, space cadet.”
The other man chuckles. “That your Omega? The one with the blog?”
“That’s her,” Walker confirms, pride evident in his voice.
“My wife is obsessed with your posts,” the man tells me. “Says you make ranch life sound romantic instead of just hard work and cow shit.”
“Well, it helps when you’ve got three cowboys making it interesting,” I say.
“I’ll bet it does.”
Walker steers me away, hand possessive on my lower back, a huge grin on his face.
The arena is massive from down here, empty seats rising up like ancient amphitheater walls. The dirt under our boots is soft, and the smell of earth and sawdust floods my lungs. I turn in a slow circle, imagining what it’ll be like filled with people, all screaming, all watching Ridge.
“It’s intimidating,” I admit. “Being down here. How did Ridge do this for years? All those eyes on him.”
“He damn loved it,” Walker states, moving closer. “The adrenaline, the challenge. Some people are just built for the spotlight.”
“Not me. I’d throw up.”
“You’re doing pretty well with all your blog followers reading your every word.”
“That’s different. They can’t actually see me.”
He brings me in him, and I melt into his warmth. “I see you,” he murmurs against my ear. “Every morningwhen you steal all the blankets. Every time you think we’re not watching and you dance in the kitchen. Every face you make when you’re writing and something’s not working.”
“Stalker.”
“Devoted.” His hands slide down to my hips. “Completely fucking devoted to every inch of you.”
A couple of workers pass by, and one whistles low. “Get a room, you two!”
“Get your own Omega!” Walker states, but he doesn’t let go of me.
“Yours is prettier anyway,” one of them calls out, continuing on.
“Damn right she is,” Walker replies, loud enough for them to hear. “And she’s all mine.”
“All yours?” I raise an eyebrow. “Pretty sure I’ve got two other cowboys who might disagree.”
“Right now, in this moment, you’re mine.” His voice drops to that register that makes my knees weak. “And I’m going to show you around our world.”
He walks me through the arena, pointing out the chutes where riders mount up. The narrow metal passages look like cages, barely wide enough for a man to squeeze in beside a two-thousand-pound bull.
“Ridge will enter here,” he explains, showing me the system. “Bull gets loaded, he climbs on from above, gets his rope wrapped just right. Then, when he nods, that gate swings open and the eight seconds start.”
I run my hand along the cold metal, imaginingRidge here, preparing for those crucial seconds that will determine everything. “What if something goes wrong?”
“That’s why we have safety riders, medical crew, everything planned down to the second.” He turns me to face him. “Every preparation is being arranged.”
I nod, gnawing on my lower lip.
“I can promise we’ll do everything possible to keep him safe.” His hands cup my face. “And afterward, when he’s victorious and high on adrenaline, we’re going to celebrate.”
“Oh yeah?”
He backs me against the fence, and my breath catches. “Want to know what I’ve been thinking about all day?”
