A second later, the world whooshed back into focus, and I glared at him. “You almost killed me,” I spat.
Irritation flashed in his eyes like he was surprised at my anger. “You shouldn’t have been in the middle of the road with earbuds in. Don’t you know how dangerous that is?”
“You shouldn’t have been riding Winston so recklessly on these dirt roads. Don’t you know how dangerous that is?”
“Let me help you.” He held out a hand, but I ignored him.
“I can manage just fine on my own.”
I swiped away the blood dripping from a cut on my forehead then pushed off the dirt, gritting my teeth against the pain in my palms and the throb in my ankle.
When I managed to get up, I yelped. “I think it’s broken.”
“Sit down. Lemme check.”
With a thud, I landed on my ass.
He took off his plaid shirt, balled it up, and said, “Hold this to your head.”
Wordlessly, I took his musk-scented offering and pressed it against my forehead. I looked at his face and for the briefest of seconds, I forgot about the pain in my ankle, head, and hands.
My belly tingled, but now wasn’t the time to get all girly over his cowboy hat, tight white undershirt, or the worn jeans that enveloped his thighs. And I certainly wouldn’t fixate on the stubble covering his jaw or his hazel eyes with flashes of emerald.
With a gentleness I didn’t expect, the stranger cupped my ankle in his palms and felt around.
“Does this hurt?” He prodded around my Achilles tendon, and, not wanting to show what a wimp I was, I bit my lip and nodded, even though I wanted to swear like a ranch hand and curse him into next week.
“I don’t think it’s broken,” he said, “but we have to be sure. Do you think you can get on my horse? We’ll have to go to the clinic in town to get you x-rayed.”
“No,” I snapped. “It’s probably a strain. Can you take me back to my cabin? It’s just up the road. A tight bandage will do fine.”
“You need stitches for your forehead. One way or another, you’re getting checked out even if that means I have to throw you over my shoulder.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t even know your name or why you’re here.”
Dylan
“Dylan Willows. Tricia’s nephew. There’s a new stallion coming tomorrow that needs breaking.”
“Tricia didn’t tell me she had family staying.”
“Does she tell you everything?”
The sexy blonde sniffed and gave me a side-eye. “No.”
“So why would she tell you I was coming to stay?”
Looking pissed at my reply, she shrugged. Since her falling was my fault, I would do all I could to make it right. We were both lucky she hadn’t been seriously injured.
I’d been worked up over a phone call from my friend Mason and hadn’t been paying attention. I should have been watching the road and not gotten so lost in my thoughts.
I was off the Unleash the Beast tour until Mason, who also happened to be my pain in the ass doctor, gave me the all-clear. He said he wouldn’t do that, at least not yet. In fact, he said since I’d had two concussions in the past eight months from getting bucked off, I should stop bull ridin’ for the rest of the year. Wasn’t going to happen. I’d already missed two rodeos and planned to rejoin the tour as soon as I finished training Tricia’s horse.
I could kiss the world championships in November goodbye if I didn’t ride soon.
At thirty-six, I was getting on in years, and the younger cowboys were biting at my spurs. Plus, I was starting to creak and ache in places I didn’t know existed, but the chance to win the gold buckle and honor my dad meant I’d push my body past its limits.
He’d always dreamed of being a world champion. Came close in the '70s and early '80s, but it wasn’t meant to be. I wanted to win for him. Needed to hold that buckle above my head, look to the sky, and say, “This is for you, Dad.”
Mason tried his best to scare me. Said if I kept bashing my head the way I’d been doing, I was at risk of long-term damage and a neurodegenerative disease. I knew it was a possibility. The last few years of my dad’s life showed me how much damage falling too many times could cause. But I had to ride, and I had to win.
I was on the mend from the injuries I’d sustained a few weeks ago. A dislocated shoulder, bruised ribs, plus another concussion—a mild one this time. My injuries were bad, but not career-ending.
My mom would have locked me in the barn and thrown away the key if she knew what Mason had said. In her mind, the rodeo had stolen her husband and had replaced him with a man who’d forgotten the life they’d built together.
She’d begged me to wear a protective helmet, but since it wasn’t mandatory, I never did, and I don’t think I ever would. I couldn’t ride with something like that on my head. It would throw me off balance. My cowboy hat was more than enough.
I should be counting my blessings and not counting down the minutes until I could ride again.
Before I’d gotten hurt, I’d stayed on all eight seconds and had scored an eighty-seven out of one hundred. I was in the lead, but I wasn’t fast enough to get out of Mother Clucker’s way after I’d dismounted. The brute of a bull kicked the shit out of me. The bullfighters and barrelman tasked with distracting him so I could get clear couldn’t get
