“And up next, we have Royce Trust and Waylon Ludlow. Folks, let’s see if experience really does count for something!”
Royce leans toward me. “No pressure.”
The gate creaks.
The steer lumbers out like it’s got all the time in the world.
For half a second, my brain freezes.
Then it all comes rushing back to me.
I gather my rope, the familiar weight settling into my palm. My horse moves when I ask him to. Royce shoots to the outside, and I move in. His loop sails clean and fast, snapping around the steer’s horns.
“Got him!” Royce calls.
I swing.
The loop feels good in my hand. Balanced. Easy.
It lands clean around the steer’s hind legs.
I pull back.
The steer stumbles, then drops, dust puffing up around him.
For a split second, everything goes quiet.
Then the arena erupts. A roar hits us, and I can hear Ruby screaming above them all.
I don’t even realize I’m grinning until Royce whoops and slaps his hat against his thigh.
“Hell yes!”
We dismount as the timer stops. Not a record, but fast enough to be respectable—and more importantly, clean.
Shelby walks Ruby down the bleachers and balances her on the top rung of the fence. Both of them smile at me like I just did something impossible.
Damn if the sight doesn’t make my heart thud against my rib cage. And as Shelby’s eyes catch mine, her smile as wide as the Wyoming sky, the space between us sizzles.
And I feel like a damn peacock.
Something warm spreads through my chest.
Royce and I jog back to the fence, handing off our horses.
Axle leans over the railing. “Guess the old dog still remembers a trick or two.”
“Barely,” I say.
We make our way back to the bleachers. Ruby launches herself over the top of the fence the moment I reach her, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“Daddy, you won!”
“Not yet, sweetheart. There’re still more teams.”
“You were the bestest though.”
And that is prize enough for me.
