Page 24 of Wild & Worthy

Addie ducks into the camper and reappears a few minutes later with her entry paperwork tucked beneath one arm, her hair pulled back into a bun that's already threatening to fall apart.

"I'm going to find the registration office before they close."

"I'll come with you."

She gives me a look while crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't need an escort."

"Didn't say you did. I'm going to see who's around." I tip my chin toward the bull pens on the far end of the grounds. "Guys I know from the circuit. Catch up."

She studies me for a second, then says, "Fine. Don't get into trouble."

"Never do."

She does this snort-laugh thing, which is absolutely adorable. "That's seriously the biggest lie you’ve ever told." She turns toward the registration office, boots kicking up little puffs of dust with every step. Her hat is straight, shoulders back, and she looks like she absolutely belongs here.

I catch up in three strides, matching my pace to hers without thinking about it.

Being around the bull pens feels almost like a homecoming. I mean, I’m not sitting here getting misty-eyed over it or anything. It simply feels good. Comforting in a way I can’t exactly explain. You get addicted to the adrenaline of it all, and damn if I don’t miss every second of it.

I’ve only been on the road for a couple of days now, but not being able to do the one thing I was built for, the one thing I am actually good at, is driving me insane. There’s not much I can do about it now, though. What I need to do is focus on any side work that I might be able to find while out on the road, anything that can get me closer to covering Nana’s care.

I’m scanning the faces around me, looking for someone I know. It’s crazy how many new faces there are. Suddenly someone is slapping me on the shoulder, and I turn to face them.

"Walker?” He steps back. “Damn, I thought that was your ugly mug.”

Wyatt Stone hasn't changed much. Maybe a little more weathered around the eyes and a mustache that wasn't there a couple of years ago, but he's still wearing that grin that made every buckle bunny within fifty feet think she was the only woman he'd smiled at all day. We rode together for several seasons, and if there was a dance hall, county bar, or after-party within driving distance, Wyatt knew about it before anybody else.

He catches my hand in a firm shake before yanking me in long enough to clap me across the back. "Thought you were done with all this? Living soft now, playing cowboy on a ranch?"

"You know me, can’t stay away for long. It’s in my blood."

Wyatt comes from rodeo royalty. Third-generation bull rider, raised on one of the bigger ranches in Wyoming, and good enough that everyone expected him to make it before he ever left high school. I lost count of how many nights I crashed in his dad's barn after the bars closed. I probably spent just as much energy dodging his little sister as I did trying to nurse a hangover the next morning.

His eyes drop to my shoulder. “You get cleared? I didn’t see your name in the lineup.”

I roll it once, more out of habit than anything. Mostly. Truth is, it hasn't given me an issue in months. That constant throbbing I’d grown so accustomed to is basically non-existent, aside from the odd night of sleeping on it wrong. Which I assume is normal for someone who’s almost thirty.

"It's good," I tell him. "Circuit's insurance underwriters have a different opinion, but what the hell do they know?"

Wyatt snorts. "Paperwork cowboys. So what brings you out here?"

"My buddy back home is sponsoring a barrel racer this year. I'm showing her the ropes."

Wyatt raises an eyebrow but, to my surprise, lets it go. The last thing I need is Wyatt spinning up theories about me and Addie. Rodeo gossip spreads faster than a grass fire, and I'd rather not have half the circuit thinking we're sharing more than a truck.

We lean against the rail and watch the pens below. Most of the riders are studying draw sheets or talking through game plans, but my attention settles on the stock instead. Every bull has a personality if you spend enough time around them. Some wear themselves out before they ever leave the chute. Others stand so still you'd swear they were asleep, right up until the gate opens. Those are the ones that earn reputations.

You don't survive very long in this sport if you only learn to read the rider.

"Heard you signed with Maddox Enterprise," Wyatt says, breaking the silence.

I look at him. "Where'd you hear that bullshit?"

"Eh, just heard it around the bull pens. You know how rider gossip goes. Probably because ya'll come from the same town is all."

“Well, fat chance in hell I work for that asshole. Even if I was cleared.”

Wyatt just nods. “Well, you didn’t hear this from me, but I heard he’s willing to finance a guy looking to get some unsanctioned rides in. If you know what I mean.” He gives me a pointed look.