Page 29 of The Wildest Ride

He’d be lucky if he earned over 40 points at this rate. Silence began to creep its slow way through the crowd as the time ticked away.

And then a high-pitched whistle, as screeching and terrible as nails on a chalkboard, tore through the air like a missile targeted at his horse’s ears. The horse twitched, taking a few staggering steps to the side.

But if the horse was only mildly impacted, AJ saw the light, the sound ripping down his spine and setting off a storm of neurons firing.

Time was short, but he had a bull bell in his front vest pocket. He would have to let go of the riggin’ entirely in order to get it because he wasn’t allowed to touch anything on his person with his left hand, but considering what a dud his bronc had turned out to be, it wasn’t like he was betting it all.

He went for it, his motions quick and practiced as if he’d trained for just this occurrence.

He hadn’t.

Then, bringing the bell so close to the horse’s ear that it was nearly inside the thing, he rang it hard.

His bronc came roaring to life. The bell flew out of AJ’s hand. He swung his right hand back for his riggin’ but couldn’t catch it before his upper body snapped backward toward the horse’s haunches. By sheer force of will, coupled with iron muscle memory and years of practice, his left arm remained curved upward, touching nothing, while he gripped the horse with his legs, praying they didn’t give out.

Head and back whipping toward the horse’s rear, his focus zeroed in on what came next: catching the riggin’ the next time he flew forward or flying off and getting stomped.

Easy.

All of it took less than a second—thankfully, as he didn’t have many of those left. When his body lurched forward, he grabbed the loop, fingers sticking like a slap, and that was that.

His right hand once again in place, cemented into his custom riggin’, he held on tight while his horse made up for its slow start by bucking and twisting like a maniac now.

His right shoulder screamed, angrier than it always was at having had no time to brace for the force of his body’s momentum against the horse’s power before the storm of bucking began.

But AJ’s grip held.

The crowd went wild.

For the rest of the ride, the horse fought for its life, and AJ held on for his.

The judges let the seconds tick past eight, extending the spectacle to allow a full eight seconds of thrashing before sounding the buzzer.

The drama was up there with the debut of rodeo’s first female rodeo pro in terms of the perfect reality TV kickoff for the PBRA Closed Circuit.

Pickup men appeared at his side, flanking him in order to take control of the still-wild bronc. AJ slid free of the saddle, his own roar of triumph drowned out beneath the stadium’s avalanche of sound.

Opening his arms to the onslaught, he circled the arena once, letting out wild whoops and whistles in response before he threw his hat to the crowd and made his way back to the gate, blood thundering in his veins.

This was it, the greatest feeling in the world—a reason to live.

He couldn’t remember a ride like that since his first time riding in a pro rodeo at eighteen.

The thrill of it singing in his blood stoked the hunger for more. There wasn’t a feeling like it in the world—the reason men were willing to die for it—as addictive as heroin.

He was still hollering as he swung the gate open, nearly knocking off the petite woman who stood on it, her boots hooked on the bottom bar, before he caught it.

She wore all black, long curls cascading down from under her hat, too conservatively dressed to be a buckle bunny, but too alternative to be a rodeo queen.

She had a nose ring, warm brown skin, and smoky-gray irises that swirled like a hurricane, dangerous and mesmerizing, twin eyes of the storm, lit up with stars, which were ringed by thick pitch-black lashes. Her lips were full and stubborn looking, begging to be tamed, or at the very least ridden hard. They parted as he stared, and the triumphant rush in his blood abruptly reversed course, thundering powerfully in other directions.

Somewhere in the distance, his score was being announced over the PA system, but as their eyes remained locked, her mouth took on the shape of a silentOh, and that breathless syllable suddenly became the most important thing AJ had ever witnessed.

Almost imperceptibly, she leaned forward. It was as if the cord that connected their gazes compelled her. As if the draw was about more than bright lights and the thrill of the ride. As if she was trying to hold back but losing out.

And though The Old Man’s frown flashed through his mind, the small motion was an encouragement he couldn’t ignore.

He drew the gate to him, closing the distance until only the metal gate separated them. With his free hand, he tilted her chin up before sliding around to cradle the back of her skull.

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