Page 77 of Reckless Hearts

A card with my face on it flutters in his hand. “Can I please get your autograph?”

I glance over, double-checking the safety rails are secure and they haven’t started unloading yet.

“Real quick,” I say, taking the card from him. I pull a pen from my back pocket, scrawl my name, and hand it back to him. I’m supposed to say something encouraging, something he’ll remember. But Colt’s the one who’s always been good at that. So I hand the card back and point my chin to the lady with a camera phone standing across the parking lot. “Now, run back to your mom.”

A chill slides up my spine as I hear the clanging of steel hitting the ground.

The safety rails.

A black bull barrels over them like they’re made of air, its head low and turning left to right, hot gusts shooting from its nose. It’s out for blood.

The kid. He’s still standing halfway to his mom, frozen as the bull charges toward him. My body moves before I can even process, boots slamming against asphalt, arms outstretched and waving as I try to close the distance.

“Hey!” I yell, desperate to get the bull’s attention. My voice is a raw scrape, my heart an electric jolt. “Over here!”

I’m too far, and the bull is too fast. My legs burn with each stride, fire igniting in my muscles, spreading through my chest as I push myself harder.

The bull’s massive body looms like a nightmare on steroids, and I’m still ten feet away, still too far, brick wall coming for him. The boy’s screams mingle with the cries of the crowd. White noise, just noise. His eyes are glued to the beast, feet stuck like he’s sunk in quicksand, and I’m sure this is the last moment, the last second Colt comes out of nowhere, shoving the boy out of the way, knocking him to safety, and rolling like hell to avoid the hooves that snap the air where they’ve just been. He comes up, arms wide, hollering at the bull, trying to tempt it away.

Without slowing my momentum, I use the distraction to lift the boy into my arms and bring him to his mother.

Tears stream down her cheeks as she takes him, sobbing into his hair, her arms wrapping around him while he clings to her like a toddler.

Not meeting my gaze, her repeated grateful words blur by as I hear wranglers shout, “We’ve got it, Colt. Head out!”

I turn just in time to see the bull rush toward Colt. He spins desperately, not the first time coming so dangerously close to a steer, though he should have gotten to safety by now.

“Get the hell out of there!” I instantly regret yelling, his eyes meeting mine in a moment of distraction that he can’t afford. The bull seizes its chance, charging in with its head bowed low, horns aimed straight at Colt’s stomach.

Stomped bones and torn shoulders can be healed, but a pierced gut is deadly.

These days, we wear protective equipment under our vests, but there was a time when bulls would impale riders and thrash them, tearing apart their intestines. Colt’s not wearing any kind of protection, leaving him vulnerable.

Time freezes, each second as heavy as a broken hourglass, as all I can do is watch.

The horn grazes his stomach as he twists away at the very last second, his ass slamming against the dirt with a dull thud. He scrambles, his hands retreating as he puts enough distance for the bullfighters to take over.

They quickly corral the one-ton beast. I don’t breathe until it disappears into the building.

Then, Colt’s laugh bursts from him, loud and untethered echoing as he tilts his head back, a smile taking up his entire face as he looks up at the sky.

He’s grinning when he gets up, dusting the dirt off his pants, as if he didn’t just brush against death.

He’s smiling and joking around, casual as ever, whereas I’m still not in control of myself, my hands shaking from the residual adrenaline, and he’s out here fucking laughing?

He waves off the guys, saying something I can’t make out through the static filling my ears as he disappears into the venue.

My feet move on their own, eating the distance between us. He’s in the locker room by the time I catch up to him, and the smirk he gives me has my teeth grinding into each other.

“What the hell were you thinking?” I grit out, my hands fisted at my sides, the only thing stopping me from sending my fist through his face. Somewhere inside, I know that this has nothing to do with me, that I shouldn’t be reacting this way, but there’s nothing rational about me now.

“What was I going to do, let the kid get crushed?” Colt shrugs, so fucking casual.

Something snaps inside me, breaking the only thing holding me back. I slowly stalk toward him, each step deliberate, the distance between us shrinking.

“You know damn well that’s not what I’m talking about.” The conflicting surge inside me, a twisting knot of frustration, exasperation, and the remaining anxiety from watching him nearly die, propels my words.

Colt’s hands are up between us, the same as he’d done with the bull, his eyes wide on mine as he takes a step back with every one of mine.

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