Letty caught him by the arm. “Wyatt! Look at me.”
He forced his eyes on her. Her face was pale, but steady.
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s just a scratch.”
She made a sound of pure disbelief. “You’re not allowed to die.”
He tried to smirk, but it came out as a grimace.
“Not negotiable.” Her voice shook with anger.
Wyatt’s breath hitched. His legs wanted to fold. He leaned into the nearest wall for a second while Letty tore open her fanny pack emergency kit like she’d been waiting for this moment her whole life.
She probably has. He grimaced.
She pressed gauze against his side as Wyatt sucked in a breath, teeth clenching.
“Easy,” she snapped. “Hold still.”
He almost laughed. Even now she sounded like command. Her hands were warm and firm. Wyatt’s vision pulsed at the edges. “You said you didn’t scare easy.”
“I don’t, but damn it, you’re pissing me off, and that’s worse than scaring me.”
Her words made him cringe.
A yell called out from outside. “Roper… status…”Cal’s voice.
His hand shook as Letty screamed. “Cal, he’s hit. We’re inside a room with a window near the ceiling. Doors are locked. Will is here somewhere with Driscoll who’s injured.”
A pause, then Cal’s voice went cold. “Hold the line. We’re coming.”
Letty’s eyes flicked to Wyatt. “Hold the line,” she repeated, softer.
Wyatt swallowed hard. Blood soaked through the gauze again.
Letty cursed under her breath, then leaned close, pressing her lips to his cheek. “Stay conscious.”
Wyatt moaned as her mouth brushed his again, and his body reacted instinctively. Hunger and pain tangled into something sharp.
“You stay with me,” she whispered, forehead against his.
The heavy smell of dirt on the concrete triggered a memory Wyatt had buried for years. The scent was moister, but it swirled in his nose as that July day at the Wyoming rodeo grounds.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ROCK SPRINGS, WYOMING
WYATT - 18 YEARS OLD
The whistle blew, and the gate creaked open, releasing two thousand pounds of muscle and fury into the arena. Whiskey Reaper exploded beneath him. A vertical launch, left spin, and a hard kick, but Wyatt stayed centered. He kept his spurs down, hips forward, as he raised his free hand high.
Seven seconds, the bull twisted, trying to sling him inside the horn, but Wyatt rode the spin instead of fighting it. Eight. The buzzer screamed. He kicked free and caught the pickup rider’s hand as the arena detonated around him. The scoreboard blinked 89.5, glowing bright against the dust-filled air.
A pickup man muttered. “That’ll hold.”
Wyatt couldn’t stop smiling.I’m the National High School Finals Rodeo Champion.
