Page 85 of Buckin' Around

My cue to slip out for a quick shower.

Rummaging through my single box of clothes, I find my sleep tank and shorts. I waste no time getting washed off. I towel dry between the clawfoot tub and the pedestal vanity that is so small, I’m glad this bathroom will only ever be expected to service Spence and Ivy.

I do one last round of the cabin, tidying up and shoving some boxes into the corner of the kitchen. Satisfied that we are safe, I return to the bedroom and slip under the covers on the other side of the bed from Ivy.

Spencer’s scent is everywhere, despite the sheets and pillowcases being clean. I turn out the lamp and roll to face Ives. I wonder if she realizes how incredibly lucky she is.

How different her life could have turned out if she’d never been left on the man’s front doorstep.

My last breath lodges in my airway.

I haul in a lungful, only to be hit with the masculine scent that has my body humming to life and my chest tightening with his absence.

Fecking hell, Riley.

Chapter 21

Spencer

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen! Tonight we have our last rider, and he is the one you have all been waiting for. The newest addition to the Alberta Braves, riding Jester, is none other than Spencer Lockwood!”

The arena goes nuts.

Legs sliding down Jester’s sides, my grip tightens on the chute rails above me. Brades and Knox both had great rides. I’m the last on the team and need to keep up the scores.

Anything below eighty-five or a no score would be bad. To say the least. Hell, if I can’t prove my worth in these next few weeks, if they drop me from the team...

Everything rides on my spot on this team.

I have no weekday wage now. No penthouse that comes rent free.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Points of light creep into the sides of my vision.

I shake my head, slapping the helmet.

Snapthe fuckout of it, Spencer.

The back of a bull is no place to freak out. I need this ride.

Period.

I settle my ass onto Jester’s spine and adjust my grip a little tighter.

Nodding to the chute gate cowboy, I send up a prayer to whoever’ll listen. Make the eight. And make it count.

The gate flies open.

Jester shoots into the arena, twisting like hell.

The veins in my forearm pop to the surface with the tension. I ride Jester down, spurring him like this is the last ride I’ll ever take. My last spin on the back of rage and despair.

Jester switches directions, and my seat leaves his back.

I pull down hard on my grip hand and try to call back my center of gravity as the arena spins around me.