Page 20 of Knot my First Rodeo

I don’t look at her, not directly, but I know exactly where she is. I can feel it, like a pull at the edge of my focus.

Clint nods, I nod back, and then the gate cracks open.

The bronc explodes out from under me, launching forward and up in the same breath. There’s no easing into it, no warning. Just power.

Everything else drops away. The world narrows down to what’s under me, and how long I can stay there.

The horse twists hard, back rounding, hind legs kicking high enough to try and rip me loose. My arm snaps with the motion, body jerking with it before I settle, finding that rhythm between getting thrown and staying on.

You don’t fight it; you move with it, or you eat dirt.

Another jump, sharper this time, the kind that tries to snap you forward over the front. I shift, pull back, legs tight against its sides even though there’s nothing holding me there but grip and stubbornness.

Dust kicks up around us, the air thick with it, the sound of hooves hitting dirt coming fast and heavy.

My hand burns against the rigging.

Doesn’t matter.

Eight seconds feels like a lifetime stretched thin, every movement counting, every mistake waiting to happen.

Then the whistle cuts through it, and it’s over.

I let go, dropping from the bronc and hitting the ground solid, knees bending with the impact as dust rises around my boots. Briggs races past me on Bruce to free the mare from the bucking strap.

My heart’s still pounding, body buzzing from the ride. I straighten, dragging a hand through my hair, and that’s when I finally look at her.

Autumn’s staring. “You stayed on,” she says.

“That’s the goal.”

Her eyes drag over me for a second before snapping back up to my face. There’s something different in that look. Not just curiosity now.

“Do it again,” she says.

I laugh. “You giving orders now?”

“I’m just saying. If I’m gonna watch, I want to see more.”

I tilt my head, studying her.

“You like it.”

She hesitates for half a second. “It’s… interesting.”

“Interesting,” I repeat.

“Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not making it weird. You’re the one asking for an encore.”

She exhales, clearly irritated, but there’s something else under it. Her fingers flex at her sides, like she doesn’t know what to do with them.

“You always this annoying?” she asks.

“Only when people are watching me.”

She scoffs, but her eyes flick back to the arena again.