The Bull Rider's Cowgirl. April Arrington
as she maneuvered Diamond into a turn and faced him. Her eyes flashed.
He squared his shoulders then nodded up at her. “That was a damn good run, Red.”
Jen stilled and the hard glint in her eyes softened. She smiled. The action small and beautiful. But hesitant.
“Thanks.” She patted Diamond’s thick shoulder. “I’ve got a talented partner.”
“It wasn’t all him,” Colt said. “You had a part in that, too. The hardest part.” His hand lifted, reaching toward her. He brought it back to his side and shifted his stance. “Second place is fantastic considering the tough competition you had. You really were great.”
Jen looked away, brushing light touches over Diamond’s mane. Her smile fell. “Wasn’t quite enough, though,” she whispered.
Colt’s throat closed. She was so hard on herself. More critical of her performances than anyone else was. Almost to the point of erasing all the joy from a competition. Her face had stopped lighting up at the start of a run like it used to. And at the moment he wanted to see that glow in her smile again. Needed to see it.
“It’ll be more than enough next time,” he said, freezing at the husky note in his voice.
Something soft heated his palm. He blinked and looked down, stiffening at the sight of his hand curled around her thigh, easing its way up toward her hip. Just as it had with so many other women.
Her rich, brown eyes narrowed their focus on his hand, then shot to his face. “Feeling sorry for me, Colt? Trying to help me feel better by throwing me a little attention?” Her face flushed and her voice shook. “I don’t need soothing. But Autumn might. She said you’re welcome to pay her a visit later.” She eased Diamond back a few steps, sliding away from his touch. “Seems you’re good at a lot more than just sweet-talking women.”
Ah, hell. That was called for. But it stung. It squeezed his chest so tight, his lungs threatened to collapse.
Still, Jen’s anger was an improvement over the defeated expression she’d had moments ago and a lot easier to deal with than her adoration. Especially since he knew that in the long run, he’d only disappoint.
“Yeah.” He choked back his pride, knuckled his hat farther up his forehead and conjured a sly grin. “I am. You just haven’t seen me at my best yet, baby.” He widened his smile, easing back into the safe, familiar role. “Stick around and watch me ride.”
Colt spun on his heel and ambled away. Jen’s hard stare burned a bigger hole in his back with each step. He took the long way around to the bull pens, avoiding every buckle bunny and child within sight.
Women. He understood them only in the bedroom. And kids? He didn’t understand them at all. Bulls, however, he got. And the massive, black-and-white-speckled monster glaring at him through the gate was about to get to know him, too.
“Careful. That son o’ a bitch can spring.”
Colt handed the end of his rope to Judd and studied the restless bull being prepared in the chute below them. “I hope so.”
A bull that jumped, kicked and spun right out of the chute guaranteed a shot at a high score. The kind of score Judd had failed at grabbing several rides ago when he’d drawn a flat bull that took a Sunday stroll out of the chute instead of blasting out of it. Hopefully, Sonic, the burly beast Colt had drawn, would be feistier.
As if on cue, the angry animal slammed his thick horns into the metal rails, then sprang up, hooking his hooves over the top of the eight-feet-high gate. The cheers filling the Silver Spurs Arena strengthened as the cowboys surrounding the chute yanked on the ropes draped over the bull’s back, pulling him off the gate.
Colt smiled. Hell, yeah. This one was a damn deal feistier.
He glanced around the arena, taking steady breaths and visualizing a successful scenario on the dirt. But his eyes snagged on a cream-colored hat and red hair in the stands.
In the front row, Jen no longer sat, but had shot to her feet, eyes on the bull banging around in the chute below him, and face creased with apprehension. Tammy and another woman he recognized as a barrel racer—Karla, was it?—stood at her side, looking equally dismayed.
Colt turned away, started wrapping tape around the glove on his left hand and did his best to ignore the warm satisfaction rippling through him. Pissed though she was, Jen had not only stuck around for over an hour to watch his ride, she was worried about him.
“Told you this joker could spring,” Judd shouted over the hard rock music. “You ready to get slung?”
“Yep.” Colt bit the tape off, handed the roll to one of the spotters at his side and jerked his chin. “So long as it’s after eight seconds.”
A buzzing in Colt’s back pocket rattled through the denim of his jeans. He yanked his cell phone out, glancing at the lit screen. Mead Enterprises.
Colt shook his head. Friday night. Approaching 10:00 p.m. No doubt his father, John W. Mead, would still be holed up in his high-rise Atlanta office closing another deal. It was always about business with John W. Mead. Never personal. And never about actually building a relationship with his son. That had become especially true after Colt’s mother died.
Nope. His old man probably wanted the same thing he’d been hassling him about for the last year.
Time to get your ass home, Colt. You’ve played long enough and there’s work to be done.
Colt rejected the call with a rough swipe of his thumb and shoved his cell toward Judd. “Mind hanging on to that till I’m through?”
“Sure.” Judd shoved it in his pocket, then firmed his grip on the rope.
Colt scrutinized Sonic’s movements and regained his focus. He shoved in his mouth guard, grabbed the opposite rail and climbed into the chute, placing a boot in the center of the bull’s back. He waited a couple seconds as Sonic shifted and stomped, then slid his legs down around the bull’s muscular sides and sat.
The rich scent of musky hide filled his nostrils and the tang of dirt drifting on the air touched his tongue with each breath he took. He grabbed hold of the rope Judd stretched up, and yanked his gloved hand over it briskly, tapping it with his fist when he finished to cue Judd to hand it over. Hooking his gloved fingers through the handle laying over the bull’s back, he set the rope, then wrapped the long end of it around his palm. He closed his fist, opened it, then curled it again.
Satisfied with his grip, Colt secured his position, then nodded.
The gate clanged open and Sonic catapulted into the arena, his back end twisting and lifting vertically several feet into the air on a vicious kick. Colt stretched his right arm high above his head as they rose up. He leaned back and the muscles in his left forearm seized with his strained grip on the rope.
Sonic’s hard haunches slammed against Colt’s shoulder blades. The bull’s long tail whipped over Colt’s head and smacked across his face, the coarse hairs stinging his eyes and knocking his hat off his head.
Gravity snatched them back down and Sonic’s front hooves hit the dirt, yanking Colt forward. Colt jerked his head to the side, his cheek missing the sharp point of a horn by inches.
Sonic lurched again, lifting them both so high so fast that Colt’s gut swirled on an intense wave of panicked excitement. A shout exploded from deep within his chest and blasted through the smile stretching across his mouth guard.
Hot damn! This beast could fly.
Clenching his thighs to counteract each of Sonic’s moves, Colt held on with his left fist, but let go of the world around him. The spectators’ cheers dimmed to barely discernable echoes and the violent thrashings of the bull rattled away every care or concern he’d ever had.