My breath caught.He didn’t call out or wave like the others.He just…looked.A slow curve tugged at his mouth, the smallest of winks, private and reckless all at once.
Before I could roll my eyes or pretend, I hadn’t seen it, the damn Jumbotron caught him mid-wink and then panned, searching until it landed on me.
Dr.King muttered, “Well, you’re famous now,” while the announcer boomed something about “our local hero, the Cowgirl Angel.”
The crowd whooped as my cheeks burned.
I forced my focus back to work, checking a horse’s leg wrap, pretending my heart wasn’t punching against my ribs.“That’s enough, Dusty,” I murmured to the gelding, smoothing his mane like the animal could steadyme.
For the next couple of hours, I stayed on the move.There were calves to check, horses to soothe, riders to calm.That was the thing about rodeos: the pace didn’t leave room for nerves.You either moved with the rhythm, or you got trampled by it.
Still, every time I crossed the main stretch behind the chutes, I couldfeelhim.That impossible awareness that prickled along my skin.Nate Carson, somewhere in the stands, eyes following me, I knew it.
Dr.King was in his element, barking out orders with the authority of someone who’d been doing this for thirty years.
“Collar looks tight, Tess.Loosen it.And watch that one, he’s favouring his back leg.”
“Yes, sir.”
My voice was steady, my hands sure, even if the rest of me wasn’t.
Between events, I’d catch flashes of navy and gray, the Kodiaks scattered along the fence, talking to kids, signing hats, taking pictures with dads who were just as starstruck as their children.McKenna was laughing, holding a cowboy hat someone had handed him, while Marcus and Erik leaned on the rail, talking with one of their teammates.
And Nate, freaking Nate, looked like he belonged here.Jeans and boots, his Kodiaks cap turned backward, posture loose but watchful.When the bull riders came out, he was at the edge of the stands, leaning forward like muscle memory.Like he could feel the pull of competition, even here.
At one point, when I ducked out of the chute to grab another med kit, I caught sight of him again.He was laughing, head back, mouth open, unguarded.And damn it if my heart didn’t skip a beat.
“Hey, Tessa,” Dr.King called, breaking my trance.“You planning to stare holes in the captain or help me wrap this leg?”
I choked on a laugh, cheeks heating.“Both?”
He gave me a look that said,be careful.
By the time the sun began to sink, painting everything in gold and rose, my shirt clung to my back with sweat.Dust coated my boots.My muscles ached in that deeply satisfying way only a long, good day can give you.And still, I felt electric.
Alive.
When the final bull rider was up, I found a clear view of the ring.The crowd was chanting, stomping, hollering, and I knew he’d be watching this, too.The rider burst out of the chute, the bull twisting like fury given shape, and the whole world held its breath.Eight seconds, and then chaos, a perfect dismount, cheers echoing through the air.I looked toward the stands, instinctively, and there he was.Arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes on me again and this time, he didn’t look away.
The whole place pulsed with noise, but I swear I couldn’t hear any of it.Not the music, not the announcer, not even Dr.King’s low whistle beside me.Just the sound of my own heartbeat, and the quiet certainty that this thing between Nate and me was no longer something I could outwork or ignore.
By the time I am all cleaned up, the night hums like a live wire.
You canfeelit in your chest, the mix of dust and laughter, country music rolling through the fairgrounds like it’s stitched into the air itself.The arena lights are still burning, the stands mostly empty now, and the afterparty has spilled everywhere, around food trucks, the beer tent, the rows of pickups lined up like old friends.
I’m mainly running on adrenaline and caffeine.My hair’s a mess, my jeans are stained, and my muscles are screaming from the long day.But it’s the good kind of tired, the one that comes fromdoing something you love.
My mind is racing with what this night could hold.Because now the show’s over, the stars are out, and the music’s switched from loud and rowdy to that slow, smoky kind that drags couples together.Everyone smells like dust, leather, and beer.
The guys from the team blend in surprisingly well, shaking hands, taking pictures, and signing hats.McKenna’s with a group of kids who are trying to teach him how to throw a rope, and Erik’s somehow holding court with half the rodeo queens.Marcus is laughing near the beer tent with Lukas and a few guys I don't recognize.
And Nate...
He’s at the edge of the makeshift dance floor, hat pushed back just enough that the light hits his jaw, and the shadow of a smile curves his mouth.His eyes find me before I can look away.
And that’s it.
Whatever rational thought I was holding on to slips through my fingers.
