Page 73 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
My brain exits stage left. My thighs press together on reflex. And still, my mouth, traitor that itis, fires back, “You two really need to learn the meaning ofboundaries.”
Walker laughs softly. “We’re cowboys, darlin’. We never did take kindly to fences.”
“Can we please watch the rodeo?” I plead.
“Whatever you desire, sugar,” Cash agrees easily, but his hand finds my knee, thumb brushing the bare skin just above where my dress ends.
The next event is bull riding, and any thoughts about scent matches fly out of my head as I watch cowboys try to stay mounted on animals that look like they’re made of pure muscle and rage. And I thought Brutus was terrifying.
“This is insane,” I say as one rider gets thrown after only two seconds, barely rolling away before the bull’s hooves hit where he’d landed. “Why would anyone do this?”
“Adrenaline,” Walker says. “Glory. Money, if you’re good enough.”
“Ridge was the second-best bull rider in the country and close to taking the first spot,” Cash adds quietly. “Could ride anything they put him on.”
The mention of Ridge makes my chest tight. “I remember Belle telling me he was once a big rodeo star but had an accident?”
Walker nods. “Yeah. Bull riding. Three years ago.”
We watch in silence as another rider explodes out of the chute, clinging to a beast three times his size. Now that I know Ridge used to ride those monsters, Isee the whole thing differently. It’s not just a sport anymore. It’s a gamble with your life.
I picture Ridge in that ring. That quiet, brooding man I’ve seen with a whiskey glass and a thousand-yard stare, once flying out of a gate with nothing but grit and rope to keep him from being crushed. My throat tightens.
“He must have loved it,” I say softly. “To be that good. To risk that much.”
“It was his life,” Cash confirms, eyes on the ring. “Everything to him. Making it to the pro circuit, ranked nationally… he was right there.”
“Then one bad ride changed everything,” Walker adds. “Six point nine seconds that went sideways.”
My stomach twists. That’s all it took to tear down a dream, to change the course of someone’s entire life. I can’t stop imagining Ridge getting thrown, hitting the dirt, not getting up right away. The panic. The pain. The silence that must’ve followed.
It makes sense now why he keeps to himself, why the rodeo is off-limits. Every second of this must feel like a memory that won’t stop replaying.
“I should talk to him,” I murmur. “When we get back.”
“Maybe,” Walker says, thoughtful. “Ridge is… complicated about it. Sometimes talking helps. Sometimes it just makes the ache louder.”
We fall quiet again, watching the rest of the show. Calf roping. Team roping. More barrel racing. But mymind keeps circling back to Ridge, to what he lost, to how easily something you love can break you.
By the time the rodeo ends, floodlights drape the arena in stark shadows. The crowd starts to thin, people buzzing about their favorite rides.
“That was incredible,” I blurt as we get up and start making our way toward the truck, the noise fading behind us. “Terrifying. But amazing.”
“Glad you enjoyed it,” Cash states, his palm settling on the small of my back like it belongs there. “Wasn’t sure it’d be your kind of thing.”
“I’m discovering I like a lot of things I didn’t expect to,” I admit, glancing between them.
They exchange one of those loaded looks again, and Walker grins. “That’s good to know.”
Back at the truck, we’re inside in no time, and Cash is driving us home already. I’m pleasantly buzzed from the beer and the excitement, pressed between them in the truck’s cab like I belong there. About halfway home, Cash pulls off at a scenic overlook sign we pass.
“Ice cream stop,” he announces. “Can’t have a proper date without dessert.”
The ice cream shop looks like it hasn’t been updated since the 1950s, all chrome and neon and checkered floors. The selection is impressive, though, with dozens of flavors in old-fashioned glass cases. And it’s a drive-through.
“Rocky road,” Cash orders.
“Vanilla with fudge,” Walker adds.
