Page 19 of Knot my First Rodeo

The gate opens and the steer bursts out first, taking off down the arena. Briggs is right on it. Bruce surges forward, running hard alongside the steer. One wrong move could send them both crashing.

Autumn shifts beside me, stepping closer to the fence without realizing it.

Briggs leans, then comes off the side of the horse like he’s been pulled there, one hand shooting out to grab the steer by the horns while his boots hit the ground still moving. He doesn’t stop or hesitate.

He plants, twists, and uses his weight to take it down. The steer fights it, muscles straining, but Briggs is stronger. He drives through it, forcing it off balance until it crashes into the dirt with a heavy thud that you can feel more than hear.

Dust kicks up around them and for a second, everything holds.

Then it’s done.

Briggs steps back like it didn’t take everything in him to pull that off, brushing dirt from his hands while the steer scrambles back to its feet.

Autumn’s eyes are wide. “There’s no way,” she says, voice quieter now, like she’s not sure what she just watched.

I grin a little. “That’s steer wrestling.”

“That’s not wrestling. That’s… assault.”

“Works either way.”

She huffs a small laugh, shaking her head again. “You guys are insane.”

“You just figuring that out?”

She shoots me a look, but there’s no bite to it. Not like before. I step closer, not enough to crowd her, just enough to catch the way she doesn’t move away.

“You still think it’s just ‘horses and kegs’?” I ask.

She rolls her eyes. “I didn’t say kegs.”

“That’s not what Clint told us.”

“I didn’t.”

“Whatever you say.”

She opens her mouth to argue, then stops, pressing her lips together like she’s deciding if it’s worth it.

I watch that longer than I should. The way her lips move, the way her tongue flicks out quickly to wet them before she looks back toward the arena. Something settles low in my chest, but I shake it off.

“You up, or you gonna flirt all day?” Clint calls.

Autumn’s head snaps to him then back toward me, eyes narrowing.

“I’m not flirting,” I say automatically, stepping away from her.

“You were smiling,” she says.

“I smile all the time.”

“Yeah, okay.”

I grin wider just to piss her off, then head toward the chute at the other end of the arena. If she’s gonna watch, I might as well give her something worth watching.

I drop down onto the bronc, settling in without a saddle, just leather and muscle under me. My hand finds the rigging, fingers curling tight as I adjust my grip, setting it where I need it before everything goes to hell.

My free hand hovers for a second, loose, ready.