“Oh yeah, sure, revenue for the ranch,” I reply sarcastically, smiling at a family as they make their way into the arena to watch my brother’s clinic, where he shows off what he knows about training.
“What? It’s not like I’m hogging the ladies here, my friend. Feel free,” he says, waving an arm toward the crowd.
I scowl at him, wondering how the hell three hours felt like three days. I only have thirty minutes left before I can wander around the fair, and I honestly just want to go home.
“No, thanks,” I say. “And stop pretending you’re just enjoying this for the ranch’s exposure, because I know you get paid time and a half by the Trevors for doing this.”
Mav laughs and shakes his head. “Hey, I got bills, man.”
“We all have bills.” I snap, thinking about the hospital bills that land in my inbox nearly every week now. It is slowly but steadily making my anxiety grow. I hate having bills.
A cheer erupts from the arena, and I glower toward the direction of my brother, getting praised for probably putting a damn halter on a horse.
A little niggle of jealousy eats at me, and I frown, not wanting to feel that about anything, much less my big brother. But I can’t help but miss the way I could get a crowd on their feet in excitement as I challenged a bull.
An idea sparks to life, and I smirk over at Mav. “Cover my shift.”
This is probably stupid.
And Quinn, Graham’s wife and the mastermind behind the festival these days, may just end up wanting my head on a platter, but my pulse is picking up, and my adrenaline is already coursing through me as two of our wranglers get a bull ready for me.
I ran home and changed into an outfit that gave room for me to move easier. I could have done it in jeans and boots, but it was safer for me to have the ability to jump and get traction with tennis shoes.
I stretch as I wait in the outdoor arena, the people milling about already lining up around the outside. I smile, waving at anyone who shows up, showing them that yes, a show is about to begin.
I glance at the big stage that sits about fifty feet from the outdoor arena and see Felicity tucked off the side of the stage, where no one can see her. Mitch is standing guard of her, but from where she is sitting, she has a full view of the arena, and her eyes are already on me.
I smile, giving a wave. She reluctantly returns the gesture.
The last couple of weeks I’ve done a lot of sorting through my thoughts, a lot of trying to make sense of the feelings that have returned tenfold.
Hearing that she came back did something to me. It made me realize that there was more to the whole situation than just her fucking off and never giving a shit in return. Hearing that she was still in communication with Dani, that they’d seen each other over the years while I was traveling the country, it hurt.
Especially knowing what I did.
I thought I had reached out, tried to piece together what I knew with what I was feeling at the time. But it didn’t seem to make a difference.
And yet, here I was, hoping that she would pay me a little bit of attention yet again. I want to talk to her, to reconnect. I want to take her out and hash out everything that’s happened between us and to us over the last twelve years. I want to know about her, about her music, and her life in California. I want her to care about my hopes and dreams.
The simplest way to put it is that I want her back.
I smile at her again as a rock song starts blaring over the arena speakers, and I smirk when the wranglers at the other end start cheering, amping up the crowd to get the bull excited to try and impale me.
I was a suicidal fuck sometimes, but I was damn good at my job.
I stretch out a leg and then settle my hands on my knees, leaning forward and giving the guys a nod. They let the bull out, and he bucks for a second before realizing that there’s no one on him, but someone staring him down.
Eye contact will get you run down by a bull, and he charges right away when he sees me. I wait until the very last second, and when he’s just about to ram me to the ground, I spin out of his way, using simple dodging techniques that warm me up.
And piss the bull off.
He makes a loop, and I hear the cheers of the crowd, the loud music keeping my adrenaline pumping. Or maybe that was the bull trying to kill me.
He takes another turn, and I see that I have thoroughly pissed him off. I start running away, egging him on until I can feel that he’s about ten feet from me, and I stop dead. Lifting my arms to my sides as I hear the gasps of horror, I bend, jumping up and landing on the bull’s back before I flip over the back of him, landing on my feet.
The crowd goes nuts for that one, but I’m already running, letting the bull chase me in tiny circles until I’m laughing at him and egging him on some more. “Come on, little guy. Let’s give them a show.”
I spin around him going the other way, and he stops, spinning to face me before he puts his head down and charges. I amp myself up, knees bent and at the ready when he reaches me, and I jump over him, using my hands on his body to get myself over the side of him.
