Page 75 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

For the first time, I understood the lifestyle. The stillness of everyday ranch life was a stark contrast to the raw energy of bull riding. It wasn’t just about auctions or the sport itself. It was about the buildup, the rhythm, the anticipation before the chaos. The rush of an eight-second ride against the steady hum of life on the ranch.

It was more than feeding bulls hay. It was a way of living, a mindset, a balance between grit and patience. I may have been a city girl, but piece by piece, I was starting to understand small-town life.

25

Fable

“Well, I’ll be damned, girls,” Kline said, pulling off his hat as he nodded toward the bulls being led into the pasture—the ones that had been sold.

The past two weeks had been a whirlwind. Every day, I woke up to the sound of cattle, the scent of fresh hay, and a whirlwind of working nonstop. The small-town life that had once seemed so foreign was starting to feel . . . comfortable.

Harleigh and I had thrown ourselves headfirst into it, working day and night to bring Twisted Spur Ranch into the modern world. We started small—posting simple, everyday moments of the bulls on social media. Clips of them playing, rolling in the dirt, showing their personalities. It didn’t take long before we realized people loved that kind of content.

So, we leaned into it.

We hired a professional photographer to come out, dressing some of the bull calves in little spring-themed outfits, tiny flower crowns on their heads, little pastel bandannas tied around their thick necks. It had started as a joke, but the photos blew up. Thousands of shares and comments flooded in—people gushing over how “handsome” the babies were, asking when they could visit, wanting updates like they were influencers instead of future bucking bulls.

And then came the auction.

Harleigh and I had nothing to do with the logistics of it, but one thing was undeniable—more eyes were on this sale than any auction Twisted Spur had ever held. Our marketing had worked.

I could feel it in the air as we stood by the fence, watching the bulls be led into the pasture.

“It’s working,” Harleigh whispered, barely containing her excitement.

I smiled, my chest swelling with pride as I watched Kline nod in approval, pulling his hat back onto his head.

Yeah. It was.

“You girls better go celebrate tonight,” Kline said with a nod before heading off toward the barn.

Harleigh nudged me. She was dressed in a pair of checkered pants and a tight, cropped shirt with a light sweater over it. The air was finally warming up, even if only a little. Much better than any Chicago winter, that was for sure.

“Want to come to my house tonight? Dad’s putting on the championship round of the event that Dalt and Beau are at,” Harleigh said, glancing over at me.

I hesitated. I hadn’t seen Beau since I started working a couple of weeks ago. I’d catch glimpses of his truck parked near the barn or out by the pastures—but I never actually saw him. It wasn’t like I was intentionally avoiding him . . . not really. But keeping a little distance, maintaining that fragile friendship line we’d drawn, felt easier.

Ever since that night—the rain, the way I felt too much—it was simpler to pretend like he wasn’t there. Plus, it seemed like he didn’t want to search me out either.

“No, I think I’ll pass tonight.”

Harleigh sighed dramatically as we reached my front door. “Fine, but you cannot bail tomorrow night.”

I groaned, already regretting my past self for agreeing. We were supposed to go to The Dive to celebrate surviving our first couple of weeks at Twisted Spur, and reluctantly, I had promised her I’d go.

“Fine. Yes. Tomorrow,” I muttered, pushing the door open.

Harleigh smirked. “Good. Because if you even think about backing out, I will drag you there myself.”

“Ha. Ha.”

“Wait, Fabs?”

I paused, my hand resting on the open door. “What’s up?”

Harleigh hesitated, glancing down at her boots, scuffing them lightly against the dirt before lifting her bright blue eyes to mine. “I wanted to say . . . I’m extra proud of you. I noticed that you haven’t needed to . . .”

She didn’t finish the sentence, but I knew exactly what she meant.