“Like hell. And I’m claiming that right.” His voice deepens as I swivel around to face him. “I’ll see you soon, Lanie. I promise. Then we’ll talk about Alaska.”
“You have to go? Already?” I whisper, my vision blurring beneath the lights.
Cord stills. Everything else sinks away, and it’s just me and him standing here. No noise, no crowd, no rodeo scents. His hand slides beneath my hair, cupping my nape, to pull me into him as he crushes our mouths together.
I cling to him, memorizing the warmth of his hard chest I press against, holding tight though I’m not sure which of us keeps us standing right now. Beneath my hand, his heart rate picks up. Cord breaks the kiss, leaving my chest heaving, and leans down, brushing his lips over my ear as he whispers words meant only for me.
“I love you.”
Jesse Duke’s ride passes in a blur, but the young cowboy can’t hold my focus for the few seconds his moment of fame lasts. Cord’s posture remains relaxed, his walk easy as he leaves me gripping the cold metal railing. My knuckles are coated in a fine layer of dust, my lips tinged with the tang of his promises that I don’t know if either of us can keep. Everything is a reminder of what makes Cordell Rand so formidable.
I know I’m still an outsider to his world. But I fit with Cord, and that tears my mind in two directions. I no longer care how indecent we look when he kisses me stupid beneath the bright lights where everyone can see us, or if anyone thinks I’m a bunny. Hell, I don’t care if Iamone. I’ll be his bunny. As long as Cord makes it safely through his ride.
I track his path until the crowd swallows him. My vision blurs, and my attention returns to the ring in time to see Jesse fall off his bull. The young cowboy scrambles in the loose dirt, his boots gaining purchase. Sawdust billows around him, the rodeo clowns doing their best to distract Dust Devil while Jesse clambers to his feet, sprinting to climb the tall fences on the other side of the arena, near the chute.
Tripp throws out a hand and yanks the young cowboy over the railing as the rodeo clowns herd Dust Devil into an enclosure. Survivor’s“Eye of the Tiger”plays over the loudspeakers, drowning out Levi’s commentary, as the crowd cheers. Jesse waves, a broad grin on his face even though he didn’t make the eight-second bell to score.
“He keeps that up, and he’ll end up with the sort of cult following your boy has.” West wraps an arm around my shoulder, his natural bulk shielding me from everyone.
From everything.
“Kid’s got skills.” Billy moves in closer on my other side, hishand clutching mine tightly. A support crew of three, propping each other up against inevitable odds none of us are prepared against.
“Yeah?” West snorts over my head. “Gonna toss you on a fuckin’ woolly when they bring ’em out later for the little ones.”
Billy laughs as I look between them, confused.
“What’s a woolly?” I whisper.
“A sheep,” Billy confides, dipping his curly head low so I can hear him. “West’s been tryin’ to get me on the back of a bull for weeks now. I’m not stupid enough for that. Sorry, ma’am. I like dirt beneath my feet, not air. But I’ll ride a sheep with the little kids if it makes everyone happy.” He grins broadly.
I release a giggle, a sound I didn’t think I’d be able to make tonight. “I’d like to see that.”
In front of us, another cowboy I don’t know eats dirt to ACDC’s “Back in Black.”
“See? Easily done.” West squeezes my shoulder. “Cord’ll be back in a few minutes,” he says, only a fine tremor at the end of his words defying his determination to hide his concern.
I get it. We’re all lying to ourselves tonight.
“Woolly,” whispers Billy in my ear.
Another junior falls off his bull in front of us. This time, I have the privilege of tasting the dust that floats around us.
“I think they’re meant to stay on it,” I say dryly.
West nods. “To be a champion, that’s something else. Something special. It’s what Rand’s been scouting for over ten years now. Some, like Jesse—they’ve got guts. Crowd-pleasers. Need training. Others…” He glances over my head in Billy’s direction. “Just need to get on a damn bull and try.”
“Never going to happen, mini boss man,” Billy mutters.
“But,” West continues as though Billy never spoke at all, “a rider doesn’t just have to stay on their bull for eight seconds. To claim a champion’s buckle, they need a style that can’t be taught. Grace. Cord has it. It’s rare, but we see it occasionally.” His eyes flick back toBilly.
West’s words flow over my head, immersing me into Cord’s world. I’m under no illusions that the boys are here for the same reason I am—the man who just walked away with four white letters emblazoned across his back.
Too soon, Cord appears on the railing on the opposite side of the ring where Jesse perched only minutes before. Silver-fringed chaps hang over his jeans. Tripp speaks into his ear, patting his back. I never take my eyes off Cord while the boys crowd either side of me.
Cord grins and nods, giving Tripp a push. The bull I can’t see bangs against the confines of the closed chute in a rare moment of silence. The crowd behind usoohsappreciatively.
“Concentrate, you ugly asshole,” West growls.
