Page 22 of The Wildest Ride

That had been clear from the moment their gazes had locked. It was a moment AJ couldn’t get out of his mind.

First off, no man had the right to eyes the color of the sky during a summer thunderstorm, especially not when they were framed by thick black curling eyelashes and sat beneath full, straight eyebrows.

Women would kill for eyes like that.

Behind the pretty-boy eyes, though, there was a spark that AJ had seen only twice before in his life—in the eyes of Henry Bowman, and in his own mirror.

It was the kind of spark that spoke of champions. AJ didn’t need to see him ride to know the kid had the makings of a champion, even if he was skinny and green.

The question now was whether or not the kid could master his temper.

CityBoyz had seen plenty of great potentials come and go over the years, but no amount of talent could make up for control—or lack of it. It’d taken a while, but Henry had taught him that.

Diablo’s voice trickled through his thoughts like water through the growing cracks in a dam. “No way. He’s just getting into the game.”

The Old Man’s words broke the dam down: “You ask me, he’s as far away from the game as it gets...”

As usual, The Old Man was right.

Coming back to the present, AJ looked at the leaderboard and asked, “Am I up?”

Diablo burst out laughing, and Henry gave him a searching look before answering, “Not yet. Just thought you might be interested in watching the kid from earlier.”

He didn’t add,since that’s where your mind is anyway, even though AJ knew he knew. The Old Man was psychic.

AJ pushed off the wall he was leaning against.

It was a move that took effort. At six-five and two hundred fifty pounds, he was a large man—and that was before adding the vest, leather chaps, brace, and spurs.

The chaps were molded perfectly to his legs, broken in from frequent use. His jeans were belted and buckled, and his riggin’ hung lightly in his left hand. He’d tossed a plain, fitted navy blue button-up on over his T-shirt and wore his Stetson low on his brow.

All of it was as familiar as a wife of forty years—as ardently adored.

And his mother worried he was afraid of commitment.

Wasn’t he here, the same place he’d been a million times before, eager as if it were brand-new? What was that, if not commitment?

Probably something different.

After all, each rodeo offered a little something different—something brand-new.

He felt a thrill of excitement at the prospect of watching the kid ride. It was the first time he could remember feeling that way in a long time. But the kid had the scent of the next generation all over him. A generation AJ intended to shape.

If the kid was good enough, he would have him under his wing in no time—of that he had no doubt.

He just needed to know if the kid was good enough.

“Awfully quiet over there, AJ. Getting scared?” Diablo asked it dryly, his lack of effort in delivery the real insult.

“He’s thinking about the kid,” Henry observed.

Diablo mock considered, “Oh yeah? Well, I would say there was definite interest on the little guy’s side, just didn’t think AJ swung that way...”

AJ ignored him. “There’s something about him.”

Henry snorted. “He reminds you of you.”

“Maybe.” AJ grinned. “Probably.”

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