Page 1 of Rough Stock

One

Was today the day Death would finally call out his name?

The only reason Craig Callahan would strap himself to a two-thousand-pound beast was to shake hands with Death, in the hope of making himself feel alive again.

That’s why this sport was both the perfect excuse and an escape from the drudgery of day-to-day living. Craig knew full well that one day he could very well die doing what he loved. And he loved rodeo.

He didn’t hear the crowds, or feel the heat of the lights, or smell the barbecue, nor the sweat of man or beast. Not when his entire world had narrowed down to one pure moment where he got to dance along that line between pain and pleasure. It was the fight against fear—and he never ran from a fight. It was ride or die, baby, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

He clenched one hand tight around his trusty bull rope, as the blood whooshed though his veins. The adrenaline was so addictive, it was as good for him as it was for the specially bred beast he dared to ride, and this beast’s name wasWraith’s Wrath.

Normally Craig rode broncos, but tonight, he’d chosen to ride a bull in memory of his mentor—this ride was for the ex-rodeo champion and head stockman, CharlieSplinterSplint.

Get ready, Reaper, here I come.

Craig nodded at the gatekeeper. ‘Let’s go!’

The chute’s gate flew open.

And the Brahman bull roared beneath him.

With only a single rope to hold on to, Craig had never felt more alive, as the bull erupted with an unpredictable raw power. Muscles rippled under its rough hide as it twisted, bucked, and leaped into the air, with its hooves pounding the dirt like thunder.

Craig could feel every surge of movement, instinctively reacting to the bull’s wild gyrations, while locked in, with only one hand gripping the braided rope.

He was going to own this beast.

His shoulder held tight as his handgrip remained solid on the rope. His thighs burned from clamping onto the beast’s sides, grounding him to ride out this storm where each buck, each twist, and each kick felt like an explosion, as the bull desperately tried to throw him off.

Red dust kicked up in waves as the rodeo arena’s lights and sounds became a blur. For eight freaking long seconds, it was man against beast, where instinct and skill became a brutal dance of chaos and unpredictable twists.

But then came that sweet sound of the siren.

He’d made the distance. Now it was time to celebrate.

The dismount was swift. The tassels on his leather chaps shifted in a wave, with his spurs catching the arena’s lights, until his boots landed with a heavy thud in the dust. Only then did he hear the crowd’s cheers as he scooped his hat off the ground. He’d managed to keep it on for the ride, but the dismount… Well, there was always next time.

Behind him came a heavy snort, followed by a thunderous thud that Craig felt through the ground beneath his boots.

The rodeo clowns started shouting with urgency and the crowd collectively gasped.

Craig turned around and came face to face with the white-eyed bull, Wraith’s Wrath, their chests heaving in unison.

The adrenaline had spiked so fiercely through his veins, Craig didn’t feel the first impact. He didn’t feel the horn tip pierce through his leather vest, as the bull tossed him high into the air. He only felt the earth slam hard against his back, knocking the wind from his lungs, with that bastard bull staring him down.

Well buck me, it looked like today was the day Death was finally going to call his name.

Two

He wasn’t alone. Craig opened his eyelids, which were so heavy and gritty it was as if he’d been through an outback dust storm, to stare at a strange ceiling. He was used to waking in strange beds, usually with some female company, but this was a single bed with starchy sheets. Then it hit him, full bucking tilt, he was in hospital.

But the perfume…

The scent was light and fresh, a unique honeyed feminine scent that triggered a memory of a past long forgotten. He had to be imagining it.

Craig went to rub his eyes, but his ribs stabbed him with such heat it forced him to groan as every breath sent a sharp pain through his chest as if his lungs were being squeezed. ‘Son of a—’

‘Easy does it, cowboy.’ The female voice was too familiar to ever forget.

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