Page 167 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
“And third,” Tom raises his hand for quiet, though it takes a moment for the crowd to settle. “To put us over the top, I’m personally pledging forty-five thousand dollars.”
The crowd starts cheering and whistling, but he holds up his hand again.
“But only if Ridge Colter makes his full eight seconds.”
The sound is deafening. I’m crying, not pretty tears but full-on sobbing, as Cash and Walker pull me against them from either side.
“No pressure, though,” Meredith says dryly. “Just the entire ranch depending on eight seconds of bull riding. Totally casual.”
Through my tears, I spot Ridge by the chutes. He’s stretching against the fence, already in his chaps and protective vest, the black helmet I kissed for luck this morning locked in place. Even from here, I spot the tension in his shoulders, the pressure.
I blow him a kiss, exaggerated and dramatic, not caring who sees. He looks up at exactly the right moment, catches it, and presses his fist to his chest, right over his heart. The gesture makes my throat tight.
“The sexual tension could be cut with a knife,”Meredith observes. “How do you function on a daily basis?”
“Usually with less clothing,” Cash says, which makes Meredith cackle and me turn crimson.
The first exhibition riders enter to warm up the crowd. These are professionals who donated their time and money to our cause. Tom introduces Sean Washington from Austin.
“That’s Black Lightning he’s riding,” Walker explains, leaning forward to see better. “Mean son of a bitch. Ninety percent buck-off rate.”
The gate opens, and a big brindle bull with horns that look like they could punch through steel explodes out. Sean makes it look easy on exit, flowing with the bull’s movements like they’re dancing, but he barely holds on for two seconds, and he’s sliding off the bull, trying to free himself before he gets trampled. My heart is in my throat.
“Fuck,” Meredith states, reality twisting her expression into one of fear. “Why would anyone climb onto one of those beasts?”
“That’s whatshe said,” Cash mocks and winks my way, which has me chuckling despite the tension.
Walker leans forward slightly, his gaze still locked on the arena. “It’s about more than adrenaline. For some of these guys, it’s legacy. It’s proving something to their families, to themselves. Eight seconds on a bull can feel like control, purpose… even healing.”
Meredith blinks at him. “Damn. Okay, cowboy philosopher.”
The second rider, Bobby Garrison, Tom’s nephew, is next. His bull, a coal-black monster named Midnight Terror, is in a mood. The moment the gate opens, Midnight Terror goes vertical, all four hooves leaving the ground. Bobby lasts exactly three seconds before being launched into orbit.
He lands hard, wrong, his leg bending in a way that makes me gasp. The bull wheels around, spotting him on the ground, and charges. Bobby rolls desperately as hooves the size of dinner plates slam into the dirt inches from his head. The safety riders sweep in, but Midnight Terror dodges them with surprising agility for something that size.
“Get up, get up, get up,” I chant, gripping both my men’s hands.
Finally, someone gets a rope on the bull, directing him away while medics rush to Bobby. He manages to stand, limping badly but waving to show he’s okay. The crowd applauds, but my heart is trying to escape through my throat.
“Ridge can’t get hurt,” I whisper. “We just got everything figured out. We’re finally together, finally home, finally?—”
“He’ll be fine,” June says firmly, but I can see the worry in her eyes too.
That’s when I glance around and spot Ronan, stumbling down the aisle like he’s navigating a ship ina storm. His face is red and sweaty, shirt half untucked, and he’s gesturing wildly at nothing.
My stomach hardens, fear pinching down my spine.
“Incoming,” Walker mutters, already standing. The tension in his body is immediate, predatory.
Cash rises too, and I notice several other ranch hands throughout the crowd turning toward the disturbance. We’re not alone here; we have an army.
Ronan is close enough now that I catch his slurred shouting. “Thieves! Fucking thieves! That’s my inheritance! My grandmother’s ranch!”
Cash and Walker move fast. One second, Ronan is storming toward us, red-faced and shouting, and the next, both of them have him.
Cash grabs one arm, Walker the other, lifting him clean off his feet like it’s nothing.
“This is my ranch!” Ronan screams, spit flying, eyes wild. “You stole it! You fuckers!”
