A spotlight snaps on, blinding me, and I instinctively shield my eyes as I stumble forward. Great. Nothing like being thrust into the literal spotlight in front of thousands of people to watch you perform. Growing up in a house full of loud brothers and a dad who could silence a room with a single look, I never had to be the center of attention, and right now, I’d rather crawl under a rock and hide, but I roll my shoulders back anyways and stick my chest out, walking with my chin up and determination in my steps.
When Beth Ann and I reach the center, the third contestant is already waiting for us.
“Jake,” he says, holding out a hand. I shake it confidently, then step aside as he greets Beth Ann.
Okay, I might’ve spoken too soon about having the upper hand. Jake looks like he came straight from working at a ranch. He’s probably been lassoing since he could walk and could wrangle a bull blindfolded. Imightbe in trouble.
The MC strides over to us, grinning wide enough to reveal a piece of tobacco lodged between his teeth.
“What’s your name and where’re you from, sweetheart?” he asks me, thrusting the mic in my direction first.
“Regan,” I manage, clearing my throat. “From the great state of North Carolina.”
The crowd erupts into cheers, stomping and clapping like I’ve already won. My eyes dart nervously around the arena, looking for something or someone until finally they land on him.
Hayes Walker.
He’s walking toward us, arms crossed over his massive chest, his grin sharp and knowing. His gaze under the brim of his hat locks onto mine, and there’s no mistaking the look on his face. He doesn’t think I have what it takes for whatever’s about to happen. He doubts me. Well challenge accepted, cowboy.
The MC moves down the line, introducing Beth Ann and Jake to the same wild applause, but my attention doesn’t waver from the guy who just joined us. All I can see—all I canfeel—is Hayes and his strong stare.
“Alright, folks!” the MC booms, his voice crackling through the speakers. “Our three contestants tonight will compete in a rodeo classic: lassoing! We’ve got three stations set up with ropes anddummy calves ready to roll. First one to successfully lasso and pull their calf across the line in the dirt wins the grand prize and a photo with our very own Hayes Walker!”
The crowd goes wild again, but I barely hear it. Because I don’t give a damn about whatever the prize is. Beth Ann and Jake can have it.
I wantHayes.
We’re led toward the stations, the MC explaining the rules as Hayes trails behind. I don’t look back, but I feel his eyes on me with every step I take. Heavy, assessing, like he’s trying to figure me out. I add a little extra sway into my hips with each drop of my boots against the dirt floor. Might as well give him a show.
“Alright, y’all,” the MC says, stopping us at the stations. “Do you want a demo first or just jump right in?”
Jake shrugs. “Let’s just jump in.”
I nod, refusing to let him outdo me, and Beth Ann, though visibly nervous, gives a little nod too.
“Alright!” The MC raises his hand. “On my whistle. One, two, th—”
The whistle slices through the air, and I’m already dropping to my knees, grabbing the heavy rope in my small hands.
Here’s the thing: We’ve established that I was raised on an egg farm. But I’ve been around cattle farms, I’ve watched cowboys’ rope, I grew up riding horses, and I’ve thrown a lasso or two in my day. Sure, it was mostly for fun and because my brother Troy was hell bent on teaching me, but it was enough to know what I’m doing and plus, I’ve seen movies.
No, I’ve never wrangled one of Cash’s chickens with a rope, that sounds cruel, but I’m strong. I’ve spent my life hauling crates, feed and whiskey barrels. Plus, I lift weights regularly, and I canhold my own. And I have the upper hand because what I have that my competitors don’t is motivation. I’m not just competingagainstJake or Beth Ann.
I’m competingforHayes.
The crowd’s cheers blend into the rush of adrenaline roaring in my ears. My hands move on instinct, the rough texture of the rope familiar, almost comforting reminding me of the twine that’s wrapped around the bales of hay in the summertime. I loop the lasso with practiced efficiency, my focus zeroed in on the dummy calf ahead of me. Jake’s already ahead with his rope, and Beth Ann hesitates for just a second too long. Good. That’s my window.
I toss the lasso into the air, the loop perfectly rounded as it arcs toward the calf. Hayes is watching, I can feel his gaze like a heatwave, heavy and unrelenting, burning into my back. It makes me work faster, my hands steady even as my heart thunders in my chest.
I see the rope land where I need it to, the loop slipping over the calf’s neck clean and tight on my first try.
Hell yeah, cowgirl,I whisper to myself.
A grin stretches across my face, and with a strong yank, I dig the heel of my boots into the dirt and pull with everything I’ve got. The rope pulls taut, but the calf doesn’t budge.
What the hell?
I give another firm tug just as I notice Jake’s first lasso sails a few inches wide of the calf. Shit. I need to get this moving, now.
