West’s mouth moves without saying anything, his jaw clenching. Hard-as-flint eyes fix on me, then Cord. “Be sure when you get on that bull. An uncertain bull rider is an injured bull rider.” He pushes away from where he stands, loping between the house and the barn, his back to the man I know he loves.
Cord stares after him and then swears softly, stubbing his boot in the ground to create his own little flurry.
“What do you two have against dirt?” I mumble, unpacking the truck, stuffing as much into my arms as I can carry along with a few things I probably can’t.
“He set up everything. I didn’t mean to put that on his shoulders.” Cord collects everything out of my hands systematically until my arms are empty.
I bite my lip as he strides into the house and turn back to the truck to fill my hands again.
Valiant Peak is packed with people. I had no real concept of how huge the event would be, though the billboards and flyers plastered all over the small town should have warned me otherwise. West’s objection to my standard black-tee-and-jacket combo should have been my second indicator. He went so far as to trawl through my wardrobe.
Which is how I ended up wearing an aqua blue top encrusted with rhinestones around the neckline and waist, which Winnieinsisted I pack, paired with a black slimline jacket, skinny jeans, and blue leather boots with my red hair tossed casually over the lot. I felt ridiculously eye-catching, walking out of the homestead to an encore of whistles from the men remaining in the yard. West gave a thumbs-up of approval, and we managed to leave Coyote Falls.
Cord had drove out hours earlier, while West babysat me. The trip into Valiant Peak was largely a silent one. When West said he’d set up the rodeo, I had no idea that meant he erected an entire entertainment center in the empty field at one end of the small town. Staring at the throngs of people dressed up in their best shirts, skirts, and boots, West’s interest in my fashion choices makes a little more sense.
A stage and bar fill one end of the arena, and a VIP area has been cordoned off. Men and women dressed in business suits mill there, drinks in hand. I recall Cord talking about scouting talent, and a sharp conversation about having to source another act.
In the center of the field, an oval filled with sand and sawdust is surrounded by the metal gates I recognize from Coyote Falls. Behind that lies a temporary parking lot full of cars and trucks, with a separate yard for the stock. I’ve never seen so many bulls in one place before.
I take in the thousands of people packing stands that definitely weren’t there the last time I passed through the town. Gourmet food vans populate the other side of the bar. A low roar of constant chatter mixes with the scents of animals and sweat, but a blessedly cold wind cleanses the air from time to time.
Cowboys hang off the back of the arena where a woman on a chestnut horse bolts from the gates, turning tight around three barrels set up on the other side. A giant screen is set above the stage to show her ride close-up, her fierce concentration and focus on display as she navigates the flawless turns.
The rider disappears at full tilt back where she came from, and the stands erupt into raucous applause.
“West is a one-man show,” I say with no small degree of awe, turning on my heel in a small circle.
“Good to know someone appreciates me.” West engulfs me in enormous arms. I’m getting used to his impromptu bear hugs, but the girls hanging around him, whom he shakes off more often than not, glare at me. “That’s Trix. She’s as formidable off any horse as she is on one.”
I watch the woman stride around the other side of the ring. A tall cowboy in a classic white shirt and black hat stops her, but she shrugs him off, stalking to the bar.
“Slade never gives up. Good luck to him. She hates his ass.” West shakes his head, a bemused smile creasing his usually somber face. It lightens his whole exterior into something stunning. No wonder the girls chase after him if he does that around here.
Like with Cord up at the falls, I’m seeing a completely different side of this man tonight.
“Don’t you clean up nice?” I run my fingertips over the embroidery on West’s red shirt. The cotton stretches taut over his barrel chest, tucking neatly into a fresh pair of blue jeans.
“You’re gonna get me in trouble with the bunnies.” West grins openly. I get the impression he’d like nothing more than to give the girls an excuse to leave him be.
“Who cleans up nice?” Cord’s deep voice sends a shiver along my spine. I spin on the spot to hug him, and my mouth drops open. He raises an eyebrow. “What? Don’t I get a compliment, too?”
If I thought Cord was gorgeous before, that version of him has nothing on the man who stands before me now. A black, long-sleeved button-down shirt fits perfectly across his broad shoulders. Tailored to his trim waist, it tucks into blue jeans already dusty around the knees. Embroidered boots I spotted in his wardrobe complete the look.
A silver-and-gold belt buckle at his waist haschampionemblazoned in the center written in gold curlicue, studded with sapphires.
A hint of white peeks over his shoulder. I gesture for him to turn around. Bemused, Cord stares down at me, and the butterfliesfrom Winnie’s townhouse return with visitation rights. He pivots on his heels to display what’s written across his shoulders.
Four bright, white letters, all in capitals, adorn the back of Cord’s shirt. I step back to get the full effect. Simple and stunning, the tailored look perfectly suits the complex man who wears it so well.
RAND.
There isn’t an eye he doesn’t draw. The crowd obviously recognizes him—and loves that he’s here, ready to ride again. If they don’t already know, they will soon. I nibble my lip, unsure what to say.
“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you speechless,” Cord murmurs, stepping into my space. His hands close around my waist, pulling me against him as he kisses me soundly, like he doesn’t care about who might be watching.
Roughened fingers slide through my hair, pinning me against him as his tongue glides against mine. Sounds I don’t realize are mine tear from my throat, sounds that should stay in the bedroom. Or maybe at the top of Coyote Falls.
“But everyone’s—” I start, my cheeks heating as he pulls back far enough to let me breathe again.
