Page 1 of Rodeo Rivals
1
McKayla Ghigau
After sitting in the cab of her Ford F-250 for ten hours, McKayla was desperate to get out and walk around, ridding her body of stiffness. Her tight schedule didn’t allow for many stops. She’d finally filled her pro card and for the first time, was eligible to ride with the men in the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association. Considering so few women achieved this milestone, she channeled that exhilaration and anticipation to push through the long-ass drive to Texas for the next stop. Competing against men in the largest and most prominent rodeo organization in the world had been her dream since she was a little kid. Tomorrow, at twenty-three, she’d finally get her chance.
With a groan, she shoved the door open and slid out of the truck and into the gas station lot. Reaching up and lifting herself on her toes, she stretched her back and her calves. Anything to get the knots out. She did a few twists at the waist before blowing out a heavy breath. She had roughly twenty-four hours before she needed to be in the arena.
What to do with that time?
As much as McKayla enjoyed the variety of jerky she’d gotten from the Buc-ee’s, she needed something a bit more substantial to put in her stomach. It rumbled as though to remind her to eat. Covering her abdomen, she glanced around and took the handle of the gas nozzle.
First things first, fill her tank. Then she’d find a place to eat. There had to be good barbecue around here. It was Mesquite, Texas, after all. She’d earned a nice steak after that last win. Since she essentially tore out of town after the rodeo in order to get to the next stop in time, she hadn’t celebrated. A smile spread across her face, and she nodded to herself.
Tonight, she’d live it up—eat well and maybe have a few drinks. Tomorrow, she would buckle down and wear her game face. Competing in the PRCA was serious business. McKayla wasn’t about to blow this opportunity. Her ability to share the arena with the best in the business wasn’t just a win for her; it was for all the little girls in the stands. She’d show them it wasn’t just for men. They could aspire to be more than a rodeo queen. Women were just as good, if not better, saddle bronc riders as the boys.
Closing her eyes, she let that sentiment roll through her—fuel her. She shook out her arms and bounced from foot to foot like a boxer preparing for a match. Her name joined the ranks of Kaila Mussell, the first woman to become a professional saddle bronc rider, her personal idol. McKayla clapped her hands and let out a hoot of excitement with that thought.
A soccer mom fueling her Volvo peered at her. Unable to wipe the smile from her face, McKayla tipped her turquoise Stampede cowboy hat. The woman shook her head and went back to her business.
McKayla was accustomed to these sorts of looks from others. Women in rough stock events were rare. The boys’ club of saddle bronc riding hadn’t exactly been all that welcoming. It was a good thing she was tough and didn’t pay too much mind to what others thought about her ambitions.
With a tank full of gas and a heart full of optimism, she was ready to face the rodeo cowboy world. Well, after she got something to eat—a thick, juicy slab of beef with a loaded baked potato. Her mouth watered at the thought. Now, all she had to do was find one.
With her stomach full and far too many hours left in the day, McKayla had to figure out what to do with herself. When the rodeo came into town, Mesquite, Texas, came alive. From concerts to cookouts to jam-packed bars, the place was wall-to-wall people. She wasn’t in the mood for that. The night before a rodeo should be low-key. It was too early to head to bed, so she got an Uber and headed to a local hole in the wall, the Double Wide, for a drink or two to unwind.
2
Wyatt Chase
Three months off the rodeo circuit might as well have beenthree years. Wyatt was far behind where he wanted to be in the standings, but he had to take solace in the fact that he’d returned. Some people weren’t as fortunate as he was. There was no coming back after some injuries. He was grateful not to have sustained one of those. His fate was far more optimistic. He could still establish a legacy in rodeo.
While nothing compared to being in the arena on the back of a bucking bronco, he’d done everything he could to keep his conditioning up while healing. His timing might not be perfect, but he’d get it there. He had faith in himself. Someone had to win the National Finals Rodeo, and it might as well be Wyatt.Hopefully, he hadn’t slid too far back. The rankings weren’t set in stone. He could still work his way into the top fifteen. December was a long way off.
Letting out a deep sigh, he uncurled and re-curled his fingers around the steering wheel of his Dodge Ram 1500. He closed his eyes, and the memory of the rope slipping from his fingers crept into his mind.
He never had a solid grip. Rushing things had really bitten him in the ass. The young mare bested him in six and a half seconds. He hadn’t even lasted the full eight, which was embarrassing as hell. His life flashed before his eyes as he flew off the saddle, twisted in the air, and landed wrong. It’d taken far longer than he would’ve liked to recover from the concussion, broken ribs, and punctured lung.
Shaking his head, he wiped it from his thoughts. The injuries were behind him. He’d gotten clearance. He was back in the saddle. Well, not literally. Tomorrow he would be. Tonight, he should lie low, relax, and prepare himself for his return to the arena.
After hopping out of the cab of his pickup, Wyatt rolled his shoulders and stretched his back as he eyed the hotel. Yes, he had a Lance 975 Truck Camper with an upgraded mattress that was quite comfortable, but the night before his triumphant return to the arena, he needed an actual bed. Once he got the jitters out at the next stop, he could go back to sleeping in his own setup, but tonight he needed space.
Reaching up, he ran a hand through his short dark-brown hair before covering it with his black Resistol hat. With a nod, sure he was presentable, he strolled toward the hotel.
“Chase,” a familiar male voice drawled his surname from behind him.
Turning, Wyatt recognized Seth Allen, the man currently sitting at the top of the PRCA’s standings—and by defaultWyatt’s mortal enemy. Well, except for the fact that he was a decent guy who deserved every damn win he got. It made it hard to hate him.
Sticking out his hand, he took hold of Seth’s, giving it a good shake.
“Good to see you back out here,” Seth said as he stuck his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans.
Wyatt nodded. “Looking forward to getting in the saddle again. It’s been too long.”
“So what are you doing tonight?” Seth asked.
Wyatt glanced around the parking lot as though searching for an idea. “Probably grab a burger. Maybe hit the gym.”
“I just came from Planet Fitness up the road.” Seth gestured behind him. “I’m supposed to meet up with Dylan and Toby for dinner. You want to join us?”
