Page 168 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
“The only thing stolen here is the oxygen you’re wasting,” Cash snaps, his voice low and razor-sharp, loud enough to cut through the crowd. His jaw is clenched, eyes blazing. “We warned you once about coming anywhere near Sophia and us.”
Walker steps in closer, his grip like steel. “And now you’re gonna find out what happens when you don’t listen.”
“You’re gonna be sorry you ever set foot on this dirt,” Cash growls. “Real sorry.”
The crowd starts booing, voices rising with a mix of outrage and glee. “Get him outta here!” someone shouts. Popcorn sails through the air and bursts across Ronan’s head like snow.
A chill dances down my spine, not from fear but from how fast my cowboys moved, how fiercely they stepped between me and danger like it was instinct. Like protecting me wasn’t a question, just a fact. My heart is pounding, not because of Ronan’s threats, but because of the way they carry him out despite his shouting and thrashing.
The arenaeruptsin cheers.
This isn’t just loyalty. It’s something deeper. Fiercer. Territorial.
And terrifyingly beautiful.
“This is better than reality TV,” Meredith says, casually filming on her phone. “Your followers are going to love this.”
“It’s also stressful. Don’t forget that,” I say, trying to calm my breathing. June is reaching over to take my hand. “We’re all in this together.”
“I love Montana,” Meredith declares with a grin. “In Chicago, someone would already be calling their lawyer. Here you have freaking cowboys taking out the trash.”
They’re gone for what feels like forever. Another rider enters, Jake something from Wyoming, and this time I watch the bull as much as the rider. It’s a spotted beast, white and brown like a deadly dairycow, spinning in the chute before the gate even opens. When it does, the bull corkscrews out, and Jake lasts maybe less than three seconds before eating dirt. Then three more riders, and I’m starting to worry about my men.
Finally, Cash and Walker return, sliding back into their seats, both of them still buzzing with the kind of quiet rage that simmers even after the fire is out.
I lean in. “All okay?”
“Lucky for us,” Cash says, brushing dust from his jeans, “the cops were already out front. They arrested him for public intoxication and being a potential threat to others.”
Walker nods, gaze still tracking the edge of the arena. “We made sure they knew about what happened at the house too. The bathroom incident—with you.”
My stomach twists.
“They said we might need to give a statement later,” Cash adds, voice softening as his eyes meet mine. “But he’s not going to bother us.”
Relief flares over me, leaving my limbs just a little shaky.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the moment we’ve all been waiting for,” Tom’s voice booms through the arena, pulling every head toward the gate.
The crowd goes silent. Completely, eerily silent. Thousands of people holding their breath at once.
“Returning to the arena after three years, riding tosave his family’s ranch and prove that legends never truly die—Ridge Colter!”
The silence shatters into thunder. People are on their feet, signs waving, and someone starts a chant that spreads like wildfire: “Ridge! Ridge! Ridge!”
I can see him at the chute, climbing onto the bull with the grace that clearly made him famous. But I also see what others might miss, the slight hesitation as he swings his right leg over, the way his jaw tightens.
“The bull tonight is Apocalypse Now,” Tom continues, and my blood turns to ice water. “Twenty-one hundred pounds of pure aggression. This red devil is ferocious. Only two riders have ever made eight seconds on this beast.”
The bull is huge, a deep rust red with a white face and horns that curve wickedly forward. Even in the chute, he’s throwing his head, slamming against the metal rails with impacts I can hear from here.
“Apocalypse Now?” I squeak. “That’s what he drew?”
“Random draw,” Cash murmurs, but I sense the tension in his body where it presses against mine. Walker’s hand tightens on my thigh.
Ridge settles onto the bull, and I watch him wrap his hand in the rope. Around and through, around and through, then pounding his fist to set the grip. He looks up once, finding us in the crowd. Even from this distance, our eyes lock.
“I love you,” I mouth, exaggerated so he can read it.
