Page 27 of Lone Wolf in Lights
The crowd erupted, their cheers slicing through him, a roaring wave of sound that crashed over him. The bull twisted, turned and thrashed, hell-bent on dislodging him, but Eli held on.
For Willow.
For the shelter.
For Miranda.
As the buzzer sounded when his eight seconds were up, he dismounted landing on his back, but the rodeo clowns were there, protecting him as he jumped onto the gate and away from the bull determined to spear him with a horn. He raised his arm in gratitude, absorbing the cheers around him.
But he didn’t want their applause. He only craved one person’s accolade.
He looked out into the sea of people, instantly finding Willow, like a moth to a flame. She was on her feet, cheering for him, as were Gunner and Jaxon. Her eyes met his, and in the span of a heartbeat, the noise faded, the world receded and he was damn glad she was there. He tipped his cowboy hat at her and her sweet smile stopped him in his tracks. When she looked at him like that, time froze.
When the roaring of the crowd snapped him back to the present, he strode behind the gates, passing by cowboys congratulating him on his ride.
Now it was a waiting game on the last two riders.
Leaning against one of the empty pens, he inhaled deeply, the aromas of sawdust, animal sweat and sizzling meats from the food stands mingling in a scent that spoke to some primal part of him.
“Never thought we’d see Eli ‘The Storm’ Cole back here,” a gruff voice called out, slicing through the buzz of the crowd.
Eli turned to find a burly man with a weathered face and a wide-brimmed hat, shadows dancing across his features. “Clay,” Eli acknowledged with a nod. “It’s good to see you, man.” Clay had been his trainer growing up. His mentor.
Clay slapped Eli on the shoulder. “Likewise. You miss the bulls or the glory?”
“Neither,” Eli said, shaking the man’s hand. “Came for a good cause. Trying to raise money for the women’s shelter.”
“Good on you, son,” Clay said with a warm smile. “What a way to honor Miranda.”
Eli nodded agreement. Clay had been there for Eli through the best moments of Eli’s life and the absolute worst. He’d been the one to pick Eli off the ground when he’d received the call about Miranda’s murder and had driven him home.
As the cheering continued with the next ride, they talked briefly, swapping stories about rides gone by and the thrill of an eight-second victory.
“All right, looks like things are wrapping up here. I’ll let you get to it,” Clay finally said, tipping his hat. “Don’t be a stranger, Eli. This rodeo’s always got a place for you.”
“Thanks, Clay,” Eli replied, clapping the older man on the back before making his way toward the gate.
With every step, more faces from his past emerged. There was Doc Banks, who once stitched up a gash on Eli’s arm after a particularly nasty fall; and Lila, the barrel racer whose laugh could be heard even above the roaring crowd.
He was Eli “The Storm” Cole, shaped by the very dirt beneath his feet, forged in the adrenaline and the applause. And if he was being honest, he missed this place.
Suddenly the crowd roared even louder this time, and cowboys swarmed Eli pushing him back out into the arena as he was declared the champion.
Cheering came at him from all sides, and he felt instant relief that he wouldn’t let Willow down. He waved in gratitude at the crowd, spotting Willow waving her hands in celebration.
Damn, he liked that. Her there, supporting him.
The organizer approached with an envelope. “Hell of a ride, Cole!”
“Thanks, Frank.” Eli took the envelope.
With a sudden surge of pride for what this would do for the shelter, and in his sister’s honor, Eli yanked off his cowboy hat, the one speckled with dust and memories, and hurled it skyward.
The crowd went wild, the sound ricocheting around him.
When his hat landed in the dirt, he grabbed it from the ground, dusted it off as his chest heaved as the last echoes of applause faded away. His gaze, drawn as by a magnet, found its way to the bleachers again, where Willow stood, a huge smile on her face.
Andthatwas worth way more to him than any bull he could outlast.
