Page 46 of The Wildest Ride

“We didn’t get into the nitty-gritty of my technique, no. And we didn’t really talk about my ranch or Oklahoma, or what I did in my time off. Nothing like that.”

“It’s pretty clear by now that all you do is cowboy. Sunup to sundown, 24/7.” Though cowboys didn’t typically have “time off” from rodeo. They gave it everything it wanted from them until it didn’t want them anymore, or they walked away on top. There wasn’t usually an in-between.

Lil didn’t argue, saying with a smile, “As I was saying—boring.”

“How long?”

“Five years.”

AJ whistled. “You poor thing.”

Humor danced across Lil’s stormy eyes like lightning. “Not all of us live and breathe rodeo,” she said.

AJ frowned. “I refuse to believe it.”

Lil laughed. “It’s true. But before I walked away, I rode in college and for the INFR.”

AJ could picture it. The Indian rodeo circuit bred tough cowboys, but the PBRA resisted crossover. He’d never understand why so many people were committed to the idea that there wasn’t enough pie to go around.

“So what brought you back?” he asked.

Lil said, “Oh, just the usual—saving the family ranch.”

AJ’s eyes widened. “Oooo. That’s the juicy stuff. I hope you gave them some of that in your interview.”

Lil frowned. “What do you mean?”

“For your feature. Saving the country home you love? It’s a good rodeo angle.”

She shook her head. “It didn’t come up specifically.”

“No?” he asked.

“No.”

“What’d you talk about?” he asked, a sense of unease developing in his stomach—the feeling he always got before a bad ride.

Lil rolled her eyes. “Girl power and my relationship status.”

It sounded like a waste of an interview, then, given the rich material she had to work with, but that was neither here nor there as her comment opened the door for more important avenues of inquiry. “Which is?”

The look she gave him was dry enough to use as a towel. “I’m single.”

“And?”

She frowned, confusion all over her face. “That’s all. I’m just single,” she said.

“Does anyone else live on the ranch with you?” he pressed. She’d thought he was only flirting. Fortunately, he was an adept multitasker. Telling her story to him was practice for telling it to the camera.

“My grandmother.”

“That it?”

“And my cousin and our ranch hand,” she added.

“Are you Amish?”

“What?” she asked.

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