Page 26 of Lone Wolf in Lights
Gunner nodded. “I can’t imagine it getting much cuter than that.”
They finished the rest of their meal in silence as they watched as another eager child took their turn, laughter and claps filling the air with each ride, no matter how brief.
There was something undeniably pure about the scene, a reminder that strength came in all sizes, and every victory, big or small, deserved its moment of glory.
Willow clapped as the last of the mutton-busting tykes was scooped up in a flurry of dust and cheers. Then the arena shifted before her, the lighthearted energy ebbing away to something more visceral, more raw. Her gaze was pulled inexorably toward the chutes where the bulls were being loaded, their massive bodies casting long shadows that seemed to loom over the festivities.
“Big guys, aren’t they?” Gunner’s voice, usually so full of mirth, carried a note of respect.
Willow took in the sheer size of the bull. A coil of worry tightened inside her. She thought of Eli. Those bulls, snorting and stomping with pent-up fury, were more than just beasts—they were walking symbols of danger. “Is this...safe?”
“Far from it,” Jaxon said, dead serious.
Oh, God!Maybe this was a mistake. Sure, getting more money for the shelter was great, but not at the risk of Eli’s life.
“Remember Charger?” Gunner chimed in to Jaxon. “That bull was a legend for throwing riders off before they could even blink. They said he was unrideable.”
“Until Eli came along,” Jaxon finished with a proud tilt of his chin. “Eight seconds might as well have been an eternity, but Eli held on. He’s got this uncanny ability to read the bulls, to move with them like some sort of dance.”
As she heard their words, saw the certainty etched into their faces, a sliver of relief pierced through her apprehension. She traced the rim of her beer can with a fingertip, the aluminum cold against her skin. “So, what you’re saying is, he’s got this?” she asked.
“He’s got this,” Jaxon agreed, and Gunner gave a firm nod.
The air crackled with anticipation, the charged atmosphere of the rodeo acting as a living pulse beneath Willow’s skin. Her gaze roamed the arena hungrily, searching for Eli. “Any sign of him?” she asked.
“Not yet,” Gunner replied.
The bleachers vibrated with stomping feet and clapping hands, but all she felt was the thrumming of her own pulse.
As the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers, introducing the gutsy heroes who’d dare to mount the beasts biding their time behind the gates, Willow’s attention sharpened. She was perched on the edge of the weathered bench, her breath caught up in her throat as the first bull exploded out of the gate.
Then after a dozen rides, she spotted him—Eli.
He was a proud silhouette against the backdrop of restless bulls and bustling handlers, his worn tanned cowboy hat on his head, a black shirt and vest covering his torso with jeans and tanned chaps. His eyes were focused, locked onto the bull he was about to face—a massive bull, who kept ramming the gate, as Eli mounted the bull, nestling himself into the groove of the saddle.
“Look, there he is,” she said, pointing to him.
“Hell yes,” Gunner breathed out. “Let’s do this!”
“Eight seconds, that’s all he has to do,” Jaxon said.
Willow didn’t respond; her gaze was fixed on Eli, on the way he rolled his shoulders back, exuding confidence and strength. He wrapped the rope around his palm, securing himself to the beast below.
“Be safe,” she whispered under her breath. “Come on, Eli,” she murmured again, her fingers gripping the cold beer can.
Then the gate swung open.
Ride for her, Eli thought as the bull beneath him slammed his horn into the gate. It wasn’t about proving anything to the crowd or to the ghosts of his rodeo days—it was about helping Willow with her cause, and feeling like he was doing something right by his sister too.
Every muscle was coiled and ready as the gate slowly opened after he gave a nod.
The bull’s hooves dug into the dirt. Eli gripped the beast beneath him, as he was molding himself into an extension of the animal’s untamed power. The air was thick with dust and expectation.
There was no room for error, no space for second guesses. He was here, in this moment, where skill and spirit met, and nothing else mattered.
With a jolt that threatened to splinter bone, the world became a blur of motion. Muscles long forgotten clenched instinctively, synchronizing with the bull’s rhythm in a deadly dance.
Eight seconds, just eight seconds, he chanted inwardly, the time stretching into an eternity, with each and every buck.
