“You know I am, Matty,” I state dryly.
“I didn’t mean that you ain’t ride ready, Hannah.” His voice is soft, and I want to kick myself for being such an asshole. Matty has been my riding coach for as long as I can remember. He and my dad met when my dad worked as a pickup man at the Oakley rodeo every summer. The pair became quick friends, attached at the hip. After my grandpa passed, I watched as Matty became a father figure to my dad, as well, giving him a shoulder to lean on while he became a dad to me. There isn’t a birthday or Christmas dinner that I don't remember seeing Matty and his wife sitting at our family table. He’s always been a parental figure to me, even when my parents were alive. Then, after the accident, he didn’t shy away. He didn’t fade into the background in the name ofgiving me spaceto recover. He called every week, and when I didn’t answer, he’d send a text, always letting me know that he was there, that he loved me. His voicemails kept me afloat more times than he knows. Over the past couple years, he’s been the only person left who has stayed a constant in my ups and downs. And I love him for it, although I do a shit job showing him that.
I may still wear pink when I race and smile wide at the crowd when I collect my check, but underneath it all, I couldn’t care less what anyone thinks. Not anymore. “What I mean is, are you sure your heart is ready? You don’t have to ride the circuit anymore, you could?—”
“Could what?” I snap, whipping my head back in his direction, staring into his kind eyes with a heat that would make anyone want to wither and walk away. “I sold the house, Matty. Sold it all. What do you want me to do?” I throw an arm out to emphasize my point. “Live in the same small town that nomatter where I go, I see Mama and Dad?” He side steps his old Paint horse closer to me and rests a hand on my knee.
“No, Hannah. You weren’t born to stand still. I just worry about you is all.”
“Hannah Harlow and Queen, riding out of Oakley Utah,” the announcer calls my name, and I’ve almost missed our spot in the lineup.
“Shit,” I mutter, pushing Queen into a quick trot to the entrance. “Let’s go, girl,” I whisper, rubbing her neck as she digs into the dirt. God, I’ve missed the smell of this. Missed the buzz that radiates through the air. My mind shuts off, my hands grip the reins, and I hunch over Queen, ready to be let loose. And hell, if we do. I hold tight with my thighs and let Queen do her thing. The world slows, and we round and clear the first barrel. “Yes, girl!” I yell. I kick her sides as we take off towards the second barrel in pure bliss. I let my wild smile free, closing in on the third I hold my breath. I don’t even spare it a glance as we pass, knowing that it’s still standing, and then we take off towards the line that stops our clock. As soon as we clear it and enter the tunnel back to the practice arena, I let out a loud, “Yeehaw!” That ride felt like heaven. It felt like home.
The blood rushing through my ears slows just enough for me to hear the score come in, and the crowd goes insane. I just topped the list, and it’ll be a hard one to beat. Matty rides over and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Your folks would be so proud of you.” He takes off towards the gates by the parking lot and I wipe the tears away before they can even fall.We are not breaking that promise today.I clean up Queen while I wait for the awards at the end of the night. “Hell of a ride, Hannah. It’s good to have you back.” I glance up at Mallory George as she and her speckled horse exit the gates. She’s been killing it in the years I’ve been gone.
“Thanks, Mal. You too.” She gives me a kind smile before clicking her tongue to get her mare moving towards their trailer.
I rest my forehead on the soft spot between Queen's eyes and let the world around me move on. No matter how hard I try to be the girl I was before my parents passed, I can’t do it. It doesn’t feel right to be happy. It doesn't feel right to smile and laugh like I used to. Queen is the only one I’ve let close to me. Over the years, I’ve tried to push myself to open up, I’ve even tried to go out, but after a couple dates, I pull back, ghost ‘em, and move on. It’s not worth the pain to get attached to anyone. My friends still check in on me, but I’ve withdrawn from going out with them. The last time we went out, I got way too drunk and ended up waking up in the bed of my truck with new ink on my ass. As if just thinking about it, I feel each letter of the cheesyYeehawtattoo printed on my left ass cheek burn. Mama would murder me. That’s the last time I let myself let loose, it’s better to be in control.
The walk to pick up my check in the arena is a long one, but I don’t mind it. I’ve earned this, so I smooth my pink button up down, tug my hat off my head, and give the crowd a wave. They may see me as the perfect Rodeo cowgirl, but on the inside, I’m just drifting with the wind. A wild mess of heartbreak and pain. My dark brown hair pulls loose from its braid as the summer breeze kicks up.
“Hannah Harlow, welcome back.” I nod at the announcer and give him a big fake smile. “Tell us what it feels like to be back in the arena after two years?” I open my mouth to answer just as a man dressed in head to toe in black bounds up the steps to the stage, stopping right across from me.Good God, where do they make men like that?My eyes drag from his black Lucchese boots, up his black fringed chaps, to his massive buckle sitting tightly against a black pearl snap shirt. My mouth goes dry thinking about what sits underneath it. A black Resistol hat sitslow on his head, but it’s his eyes that truly have me mesmerized. I’ve never seen gray-blue eyes quite like his, and they stand out against his dark appearance. When they snap up to mine for a heartbeat before he looks back at the floor, it’s like I’m staring into a mass of storm clouds. My body buzzes with electricity. “Hannah, are you alright there?” The announcer gently touches my elbow, and I jump at the contact.
“Oh, right. Um, sorry, what was the question?” I give a small laugh, putting my smile back in place. As the announcer repeats his question, I risk another peek at the man across from me, something familiar knocking at my memory. His jaw is square, covered in a heavy layer of brown, neatly trimmed stubble. His chin has a dip right in the middle, the smallest imperfection on a man that looks like he walked off the pages of a Wrangler magazine. My eyes trace the lines of his lips and up over his nose that’s slightly crooked in the middle, likely from a bad break at some point. Wide shoulders and broad chest taper down into a trim waist. He’s a specimen, one I can’t look away from. Large hands are cupped in front of him, both covered in ink. I make out a giant rose covering the entire expanse of the back of his right hand, the left with a spur tattooed around his index finger and thumb. I can’t make out what else he’s got inked on the rest of his skin, but I notice it doesn’t stop at his hands. It winds around his wrists and up under his shirt sleeves. He keeps his eyes on the floor in front of him. I don’t get the sense that he’s shy, more like the world isn’t worth his time. When the microphone is shoved in my face, I remember to answer.
“I’ve missed this energy, it feels like coming home.” Then I look out over the crowd, “Thank y’all.” I shake the announcer's hand and step away, making my way across the stage towards the steps, but I have to pass by the man in black on my way off.
As I approach him, his hat tips up, just like one of those old black and white movies where time slows down, revealingthe eyes underneath it. Like an electric shock, I’m taken back to that night. Weightless, numb, and pain. So much pain. Until I looked up into gray-blue eyes,thosestormy eyes. A silhouette of a cowboy in all black standing outside the ambulance doors. My boots are suddenly too heavy to walk in and I stumble, but before my knees hit the stage, those hands I’ve been staring at reach out and hold me steady. The skin on my forehead burns at the memory of a chaste kiss placed there when I was carefully set in the ambulance. Such a gentle gesture has eaten at me for so many restless nights. Did I make it up? Or did the pull that seemed to snap our souls together that night really happen?
“You ok there, darlin’?” That voice, it’s been on repeat in my dreams for two years. His fingertips dig into the skin just above my jeans. I meet his stare, the words I want to say to him catching in my throat. When he lets me go, my whole body aches to lean into his touch. To feel those hands on me again, to have them hold me,touch me.It’s as if I haven’t felt anything before this moment, and it consumes my thoughts. Before I know it, I pull myself out of his grip and all but trip down the steps. When I reach the bottom, I turn to watch as the announcer shakes the man’s hand,mycowboy’s hand.
“Dean Wilder, congratulations on your ride! You’re a tough man to beat on the back of those broncs, gave the crowd quite the show tonight.”Dean Wilder.There is no way. I shake my head and rub a hand over my chest. He is notorious for being a grade A asshole, not a kind bone in his body. His words, not mine. I’ve never met him in person, have I? I’ve heard through the rumor mill that he is as mean as they come. He doesn’t have any team that rides with him from rodeo to rodeo. No friends he hangs with after the crowd leaves. And he runs through buckle bunnies like he does the broncs. Hard and with no emotion. “What can we expect from you this season on the road?” I lookup to the men on the stage, while Dean tips his hat down before answering.
“A whole lot more of this.” He lifts his check in the air and turns to walk off the stage.What a dick!I turn on my heel and walk as fast as I can towards my trailer before he has a chance to get down the stairs.
There is no way that man is the cowboy from that night. Absolutely no way, but something about him felt so fucking familiar. The ache in my chest intensifies, and I rub it harder with my knuckles. Even the way hesmelledtonight reminds me of being carried out of the arena after my fall. I could place that smell anywhere. It smells like,fuck, it smells like home. Fresh cut grass and rides through the fields. Another reason to hate the man. He reminds me of too much. Brings up memories I’ve worked hard to lock away. I stomp over the gravel parking lot to my trailer and toss open the tack room door. I put in my ear pods and blast Sleep Token as I clean off Queen’s gear. I may be all pretty pink when I ride, but deep down, I’m broken. I learned quickly to drown out my pain with loud music when I checked off the post ride tasks that my parents would always help with. But tonight, even drowning in the music, I can’t stop replaying the feeling of those hands. The hands that caught me tonight. And the hands that saved me two years ago.
dean
I slidemy black chaps over my jeans as I get ready outside my truck. The lights from the rodeo grounds across the lot are so bright you’d think we were riding in the middle of the day. Being at this rodeo tonight actually brings a smile to my face, and I don’t fucking smile. I don’t know what it is about this place, but it feels good. Feels like something is about to happen. I’m not sure what, but I’m ready.
“Whoa!” Kasey James stops in his tracks and spins towards me. “Is that a smile I see on Wilder’s face?” A few other riders I’ve seen over the years pass by us, but they barely give me a glance. I’ll admit, I haven’t been the most approachable over the years, and after all this time, it’s too comfortable to start trying. Not that I’d want to. Being an ass to everyone makes it easier to be alone. But Kasey is one of those guys who won’t quit. He’s a good rider, but I’ll never admit that to his face. If I was a better man, I’d actually let him be a friend.
“Fuck off, James.” I turn towards my Chevy and grab out my hat, running my hand through my unruly, brown hair before pulling it low over my eyes. Sighing when I realize he hasn’t keptwalking and is still standing a few feet away, I turn towards him. His stare burns through my vest and it makes my skin crawl.Why does he have to be so fucking nice?He reminds me of my brother, and that pisses me off even more. “I mean it, Kasey, get walkin’.” As I turn back towards the cab of my truck, I catch a glimpse of him running a hand across his buzzed head. He pauses as he turns, as if he wants to say something else, but nods and starts off across the lot to the arena. Ghost thrashes around in the trailer, and I move to the gate to open it. “Easy bud, I’m comin’.” All black with just a white diamond between his eyes made choosing his name easy. He wasn’t always a nasty motherfucker, but I think over the years he’s adopted my temper towards everyone else. I walk in and run my hand over his back up towards his mane. He nuzzles into my touch and I lean into him. Kasey fucked with my head, got me feeling things I’ve buried deep down. I grab Ghost’s black halter off the hook and lead him out of the trailer. Even though I don’t ride Ghost in the rodeo, he still goes everywhere with me. I always find a trail or two wherever we stop to get a ride in with him. He’s been my only companion for five years. Most people assume my parents passed away or that I’m an only child because I travel alone and don’t have family in the stands cheering me on.
It wasn’t always this way. The passenger seat of my truck used to have a revolving door of family coming on the road with me. My dad rode bulls back in the day, until he got thrown off and didn’t roll out of the way fast enough. Even though he walks with a permanent limp on one side, it hasn’t slowed him down. Despite my mom’s best efforts, he rides every day—at least he used to. I wouldn’t know how it is back home now. I grew up going to the rodeo in the next town over and spent a few summers on the road with my dad before his accident. That, and growing up watching old westerns with him instilled a love for the Wild West. The way the cowboys seemed so rough anduntouchable was inspiring to me. As I got older, the challenge and chance at winning titles and money became an addiction. My dad was always supportive of my ambitions and drive to be the best bronc rider. My best memories are in the front seat of this truck, laughing and talkin’ shit. My baby brother tagged along sometimes when he didn’t have school. I loved watching him hold onto the gate and watch the riders in the arena. It gave me something to be proud of, that he loved what I did. And my mom, man I miss my mom some days. She’s the reason I love riding on trails. She was fearless, packing my brother and I up to go riding even without my dad. I’ve never seen a woman hitch a trailer quite as fast as she could.
But I fucked that all up. Memories from that night invade the peaceful moment and I rest my head against Ghost as I let it all surface. We’d been driving back from one of my rides at a local rodeo when my little brother Owen brought up wanting to ride bulls for the first time. Without hesitation, I shut him down. He’d just graduated high school, and he needed to think about college. I told him it was too dangerous for him, put him in his place, and turned my back on him. I’ve been thrown off enough times that I couldn’t live with myself if I had to watch that happen to him.
“Don’t be like that, Dean!”Owen practically shouts in my face before slamming the front door behind us so hard the pictures rattle against the living room wall.
“Don’t be concerned that you’ll get killed?” I shout back, closing the space between us so we’re basically nose to nose.“I’ve seen plenty of riders get thrown off, their careers over like that!” I snap my fingers in his face. “Just look at Dad.”
“Don’t drag me into the middle of this,” Dad grumbles, standing from the couch and crossing the room to stand between us. Owen and I have had our fair share of arguments over the years. Brothers love hard, but we fight hard, too. “Dean, I never once told you not to ride. Not once. What happened to me could happen to anyone.”
“You’re ok with this?” I turn on my dad. “Watching Owen get chucked in the dirt like a ragdoll doesn’t bother you?”
“Dean,” my mom whispers next to me, grabbing my arm and tugging me towards her. “Of course we worry. We worry about you, too.” I pinch my nose with my fingers. They don't get it. Owen is everything I’m not. Kind, smart, funny. He needs to go to school, needs to get an honest job. Not one where he travels most of the year riding bulls. I’ve only been riding professionally for about three years now, and already I can feel my body revolting every morning I roll out of bed.
