Page 137 of Stay Wild Darlin’

“I mean, priorities, right?” he said playfully.

I slid out of the truck. “I can multitask.”

We went inside, back to Cora and our home. It was exactly where we belonged.

45

Poppy

“You think he’s going to win the big gold buckle for you?” I nuzzled her little nose. “We’re going to have to plan your birthday party soon, too, because you’re going to be such a big girl.”

“Can you believe that you’ve been with Cora since she was five months old?” Fable was sitting next to me and nudged my shoulder.

I stared at the little girl standing on my lap, her hands pressed to the railing as she stared out at the arena with wide eyes, and I laughed gently. “No,” I said honestly. “Never in my wildest dreams did I think this would be it, that all I’d want in life was to keep watching her grow.”

The crowd buzzed with energy, and I sat on the edge of my seat, sweat sticking to the back of my white tank as the late afternoon sun beat down over the arena. My jeans were already dusty from Cora climbing all over me, and I didn’t even care. She was nestled in my lap now, her tiny hand wrapped around one of my fingers, proudly wearing the shirt I’d customized for her: My daddy is always my number 1.

Beside me, Fable sat in bubblegum-pink pants and a white tee printed with an old photo of Beau during his early riding days—helmet half cocked, grin cocky, a bull roaring behind him. Why she wore it, I had no idea, but it made her smile every time someone gave her a second look, so she kept it on like a badge of honor.

Harleigh dropped back into the seat next to Fable with a bottle of water in one hand and her phone in the other, decked out in her usual all-black outfit despite the heat—black fringe-trimmed pants, oversized tee, and beat-up boots she wore like armor.

“I swear it’s ten degrees hotter in the bathroom,” she muttered, fanning herself with her hand.

“It’s ten degrees hotter because you’re wearing funeral attire in Texas heat,” Fable muttered.

“Style over survival,” Harleigh quipped back with a smirk.

We all laughed, but beneath it, there was a quiet anticipation of what was about to happen.

Beau and Mr. Banks were down in the chutes with Dalton. So far, he was holding strong in the rankings, but it all came down to this final ride. Eight seconds between him and the championship win.

Cora shifted in my lap, her eyes following the bulls being loaded. I kissed the top of her head and tightened my grip around her little waist.

The announcer’s voice cracked over the speakers, and all three of us stiffened slightly as his name was called next.

Dalton’s final ride.

This was it.

Fable grabbed my hand. Harleigh leaned forward on her elbows. Cora clapped, and I held my breath.

This was the ride that could change everything.

We were right in the front row.

So close I could see the way the dirt kicked up around the bulls’ hooves. The crowd buzzed behind us, but all I could hear was the thud of my own heart.

When the announcer’s voice echoed through the speakers—Dalton Culpepper, chute three—I pushed to the edge of my seat.

The big screen above the arena cut to him in the chute, and everything else fell away.

There he was.

His helmet was on, and though I couldn’t see his eyes, I knew he was locked in. Calm. Focused. Mr. Banks stood behind him, holding onto his vest and spotting for him. Beau was crouched beside him, helping pull the rope—the same Brazilian bull rope Dalton swore was the reason he was even in the running. The same rope that we went to get together.

All he needed was a qualified ride.

Eight seconds.