Rank
The best of the bucking bulls are rank…and so are the cowboys who ride them!Cole grabbed my arm. “You don’t need to do this. I got myself into this mess. I’ll live with the consequences.”I exhaled and slid Shae-Lynn’s pink armband over my forearm. I kissed it, then did a prayer before climbing into the chute. “This isn’t about you anymore. I got something to prove.”Rodeo is all Billy Ryan and his brother Cole have ever known — until one deadly wreck changes everything. With their mom requiring full-time care and Cole dealing with his own demons, Billy needs to step up to take care of his family. So he walks away from his future as a champion bull rider. Convincing himself he didn’t quit because he lost his nerve…Barrel racer Shae-Lynn, the sweet good-girl-next-door, grew up with the boys on the rodeo circuit. She’s the only person who knows Billy better than he knows himself. She could help him get back in the ring, but there’s a limit to how many times she’ll watch him make the same mistakes. Especially when it comes to her heart.When Cole’s gambling debts get out of control and the bills at home pile up, Billy has no choice but to enter a winner takes all bull riding event. He needs Shae-Lynn by his side, but that isn’t going to happen unless he figures out a way to cowboy up and prove he’s good enough for a woman like her.Intense, emotional and complex, this is Friday Night Lights meets Nicholas Sparks’ The Longest Ride… with edge!
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HarperImpulse an imprint of
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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2015
Copyright © D.R. Graham 2015
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D.R. Graham asserts the moral right
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Ebook Edition © March 2015 ISBN: 9780008140083
Version 2015-03-09
For my Papa and every other cowboy with heart and try.
Contents
Facial wounds bleed a lot. I was reminded of that the day my brother Cole had a bad wreck at a rodeo in Lethbridge, Alberta. In the finals on Sunday, Cole drew a rank bull that hadn’t been ridden in fourteen outs. It was a nasty looking black and white Brahman that rammed its skull into the rail I was standing on.
After Cole eased down into the chute, I took a deep breath, pulled the bull rope, and slapped his back three times for good luck — just the way our dad used to. Cole secured his hat and tucked his chin before he nodded. The gate opened and the bull exploded into the arena with the same force as the adrenaline that shot through me.
A country song blared over the loud speakers, and the crowd cheered as the bull cranked out a succession of belly rolls and shivers. The bull turned into Cole’s hand and side bucked before it whipped around and reared back. He spun twice more to the left, then jumped and kicked with a twist that should have knocked my brother off. When the eight-second buzzer went, Cole reached down with his free hand, jerked his riding hand out of his rope, dismounted, and landed on his feet. He didn’t even lose his hat.
Once I was sure he was all right, I hollered, “Yeah! Now, that’s how it’s done.”
The other guys working the chutes gave me high fives before I leaned over the railing to slap palms with a bullfighter named Mutt. A score of ninety flashed up on the board, Cole tipped his hat to the crowd and then fanned the bull as it ran by him.
Mutt chuckled. “There he goes, stirring the pot again.”
“Shit,” I mumbled and checked over my shoulder. The last thing we needed was Cole disrespecting the stock contractor. I jumped down from the chute and jogged over to where Cole was making his way down the front row signing a bunch of programs and one particularly nice cleavage. Saving him from himself was getting to be a full time job.
“Okay, tone it down,” I said as I pushed him under the grandstand where it reeked of stale beer and popcorn.
“Why? I’m just giving them their money’s worth.”
“Yeah, well, Ron Miller looks like he’s about to stroke out because you fanned one of his best bulls. Stop showboating.”
He shrugged his shoulders dismissively. “I get sponsors by working the crowd, not by kissing a stock contractor’s ass. I couldn’t care less about Ron Miller.”
“You should care because —”
We both stopped talking and watched the last rider leave the chute. He needed a ninety-two to beat Cole, which wasn’t likely, but it was possible.
After the eight-second buzzer went, Cole mumbled, “Damn. That was a good ride.” His cocky attitude faded and he chewed on the leather cuff of his glove as he stared at the scoreboard, waiting. Eventually, an eighty-seven flashed up on the screen. “Yeah, baby!” Cole shouted and thrust his arms victoriously into the air. “Looks like we’re eating steaks tonight.” He jumped on my back, hooting and hollering.
I pushed him off. Partly because he was acting like a fool, and partly because I was too tired to celebrate. “Just go get your buckle and the cheque so we can get the hell out of here.”
“Aw, come on, Billy. I want to party and the girls here are half-decent. Let’s stay a while.” He shoved my chest. “I bet that new barrel racer you’ve been staring at all weekend wouldn’t mind if you hung around tonight. What’s her name again?”
