Page 112 of Someone to Hold
“One-hundred percent.”
“No regrets?”
“I have a whole wagon full of regrets, but…” I pause. “I’m slowly unloading them.”
“Does that lighter load have anything to do with a pretty redhead?”
I scoff and elbow the older man. “You’re as nosy as a gaggle of grandmas sitting on the front porch watching the world go by.”
He shrugs and grins wide. “Janice told me to report back. She’s the boss.”
The countdown clock is on, and we fall silent as we watch Christopher make his final adjustments on top of Marvin. There’s a breath of stillness just before the gate opens. I remember those moments vividly. I loved the connection with the heaving beast beneath me.
Okay, that’s some philosophical shit for a broken and battered cowboy, but I think that’s why I was so good. I lost myself in those eight seconds, over and over.
Now I’m ready to find myself again, thanks to Molly.
There’s a decent-sized crowd filling the bleachers for a preseason event. They clap and cheer as the bull thunders across the dirt.
“Be ready for it,” I say out loud, even though there’s no way the kid can hear me.
Just as I told him, old Marvin changes direction midair and gives one, two, three sharp bucks in rapid succession. Christopher manages to hold on through it, but I see the moment when he loses focus. I don’t know whether he’s thinking of the girl he left behind in whatever small town he came from, or how many seconds are still on the clock, or the fact that his teeth are rattling inside his head. But I’m not the only one who notices.
Marvin senses that sliver of weakness and spins again.
Christopher sails through the air and lands in the dirt, and you can feel the crowd lean in, waiting to see what happens next and how this ends. The cowboy scrambles to his feet as the bull turns toward him. The bullfighters—the guys who usedto be called rodeo clowns—draw the animal’s attention as Christopher jogs to the edge of the arena and climbs to safety.
“That was a good start,” I say to Ray. “He’s got potential.”
“He could benefit from more of your coaching.”
I shake my head. “I have other plans.”
“Cattle,” my friend says simply.
“Flowers,” I answer.
“Good for you, son,” Ray says as the next rider climbs the gate.
“I hope so. First, I need to convince her to take me on.”
He throws back his head and laughs. “Maybe you should have started with that.”
“Probably.” I rub a hand over my jaw. “I’m going out there tomorrow and?—”
“Or you could talk to her now.” Ray hitches a thumb over his shoulder.
I look past him, and my breath catches in my throat.
Molly is standing in the center of the open area under the arena, her long braid coming loose with strands of hair framing her face. Her eyes are wild as she glances around. Then her gaze crashes into mine. For a second, I see exactly what I hoped for in those crystal green depths—love and yearning and the future I so desperately want.
As I take a step toward her, I wonder if I imagined all of that, because her gaze turns ferocious.
But that doesn’t stop me. Or scare me. Well, it worries me a little. But I’m a fighter, always have been. And she’s given me something to fight for.
“What in the heck do you think you’re doing?” she asks as we stand toe to toe, then punctuates the question with a little shove.
I feel the people around us staring with avid interest. Looks like I might be putting on a better show than the bulls tonight.
