"You didn't almost get killed. You finished a run on a saddle a man cut. That’s pretty badass if you ask me."
I close my eyes against his shoulder. "Pops needs to know."
"I’m sure he’ll be calling Spur soon. That was televised, and you know your father—he’s watchin’."
"He could be busy. You don’t know that."
Spur's phone rings, and he answers, walking ten feet away from us.
After thirty seconds he holds the phone out to me. "Your father wants to hear you."
I take it. "Pops."
"Baby girl."
"I'm okay."
"You practically rode that bareback."
"I sure did."
"That's my girl."
I close my eyes and lean against Holt's shoulder over the rail.
"Holt's there, yeah?"
"He's standing right next to me."
"Put him on after you."
"All right."
"Dakota."
"Yeah?"
"Come home, baby."
"I'm coming home, Pops."
"I love you, baby girl."
"I love you too."
I hand the phone to Holt.
He walks the other direction with it, away from me, away from Spur.
I don't hear what they say.
I stand at the rail with my hand on Jaeger and look at my left wrist.
The cuff has ridden up during the run. The gauze is showing.
I look at the white wrap on my pulse and think about my name underneath it written in the man's handwriting that means the world to me.
I let myself feel what the run took out of me for the first time since I came out of the gate.
