Wrangling the Cowboy (Circle B Ranch 3)

Maize looks at the different rigs, and she’s amazed by how luxurious they are.

“Cooper is staying on-site even though he lives here?” Maize asks as we continue forward.

“Yeah. Considering you ride a few times during the rodeo, it’s typically easier to be here than to commute.”

When we make it to the giant fifth wheel, I get ready to knock.

Maize glances over at me. “Do you miss it?”

I look at her and contemplate my answer. “At times, but it’s dangerous as fuck and a rough sport. It’s well-known that each time you go out there, it’s not a matter of if you’ll get hurt, but when. After I went pro at eighteen, I pressed my luck a lot and knew I had to call it quits before I ultimately regretted it.”

“Do you? Regret it, I mean?”

I don’t have to think about it. “No. Retiring when I was at my prime was a good decision. I’ll always be known as a two-time world champion who stopped riding after my final win. I still get calls for interviews and reunion rides, all which I’ve declined. I’ve broken too many ribs and tore too many muscles and ligaments over the years to have the desire to do it again. And concussions? I’ve lost count. Trust me when I say I don’t regret stopping.”

Maize’s expression softens, and she shoos me forward. I tap on the door, and seconds later, Cooper opens it wearing just his jeans.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize a lady was present. I’ll be right out.” The door clicks shut.

I turn to Maize. “So, do you know the rules?”

“Of what?”

“Bull riding.”

She shakes her head. “I know some, but you’ll have to give me the CliffsNotes version, so I know what’s going on.”

A few moments later, Cooper comes out fully dressed in a nice button-down shirt and jeans. Of course, he has on his black Stetson and flashes his million-dollar smile.

“Ready?” he asks us.

I chuckle. “Ready as you are, cowboy.”

Cooper leads the way, and we follow him.

“You gettin’ nervous?” I ask Cooper, and he slows down his pace, stepping in line with us.

“Truthfully?”

I answer with a nod.

“I’m kinda losing my shit inside because what if I get hurt?”

I point at my temple. “You gotta get your mind right before you go out there. We talked about this before. Each time you get on a bull, it could be your last. It’s why you have to respect the sport. When you’re out there, what do you need to focus on?”

Cooper swallows hard. “Safety, my form, and the animal.”

I pat him on the shoulder. “That’s right because you already know the risk.”

The lights from the arena splash across the ground, and I hear the noise of the crowd. Just seeing all the people causes a spike of adrenaline to rush through me. It’s probably only a tenth of what Cooper is feeling. When Maize notices my shift, she grabs my hand and squeezes, but I stiffen.

“Great. Now I’m getting nervous,” she tells me with a chuckle.

“We’re gonna stay on the ground floor and watch. I’ll be with Cooper when he climbs on the bull until they let him loose. Now, about those rules,” I say, my voice dropping an octave.

I think I see her shiver. “I’m waitin’.”

Cooper goes to check in, and Maize and I stand in the dirt by the bleachers. When I look down, I notice she’s wearing cowboy boots, and it makes me smile.

“There’s a rope around the bull’s neck with a bell on it. The bell is supposed to help the rope drop when the cowboy falls off. We use this stuff called resin to make the rope stickier, so it’s easier to grip.”

“Learn something new every day.” She gives me a genuine smile. “So why eight seconds? I always hear that being talked about.”

I nod. “Ahh. Yes. Well, eight seconds is the amount of time it takes for a bull to wear out and for the adrenaline to decrease. So, it’s a quick spurt of them being powerful motherfuckers, and then they kinda calm down after it. Trust me when I say seconds feel like minutes.” Though I don’t tell her that time seems to stand still in the same way when I'm with her.

Her mouth falls open slightly, and I can tell she’s impressed. “That’s insanity.”

An announcer comes on the loudspeaker, and Cooper returns. “I’m rider number eight. I’m gonna go sit on the bench and meditate or some shit,” he says with a grunt.

“You’re gonna do just fine. We’ve practiced this over and over.”

He gives me a nervous grin and leaves Maize and me to our conversation.

“So judging. The rider is judged up to twenty-five points, and so is the animal.” I point over to where the judges are sitting. “Perfect score is a hundred, but it’s as rare as getting struck by lightning or winning the lottery.”