fired up down here,” Reggie told him with a wide grin, his cheeks red from the heat. He wore a championship buckle that broadcast his experience in roping. “My money’s on the new kid, Wyatt, to do the ranch proud tonight. I’ve been working with him off and on since Christmas, and he’s come a long way.”
“That’s good of you, Reg. The young guys all look up to you.” He lowered his voice as the crowd quieted for the national anthem.
Even the people backstage went still. Only the calves shuffled their feet while a local high school girl dressed in red, white and blue belted out the song. When she finished, the crowd cheered and the announcer started to rev things up.
Reggie tucked his rope under one arm and started to head back toward the other competitors in the first go-round. “Boss, you might want to stick around for the lady bronc riders later.”
“Lady bronc riders?” He’d been to plenty of rodeos before, and it wasn’t often that he’d seen women competing in rough stock events, especially at the smaller venues like this one.
“There are more and more of them,” Reggie assured him while the rodeo clowns performed a few tricks to warm up the crowd. “There are only a few signed up tonight, but our own Frankie Walsh is one of them. I’ve seen her ride and she’s not bad.”
Frankie?
A vision of the ranch hand on the back of a bucking bronc flashed through his mind. Followed by memories of Rena’s fall. He hadn’t been there the day his fiancée had been thrown, but that had never stopped his brain from imagining it thousands of times.
His gut balled up in a cold knot.
“Where is she?” Clammy sweat popped out along his brow. “Where’s Frankie?”
He needed to talk her out of it. No, he needed to lay down the law and tell her she couldn’t compete. What in the hell was she thinking to tempt fate like that? Bronc riding was a dangerous sport for anyone—man or woman.
“You okay?” Reggie’s blond brows knit. Frowning, the wrangler reached for a bottled water resting on an empty bleacher off to one side. “Have a drink. You don’t look so good.”
Swiping a hand along his forehead, he tried to shut off the images flashing through his mind.
“I’m fine. Just—” He was already scouring the arena for any sign of the saucy brunette with killer legs. “Where’s Frankie?”
Reggie pointed outside the arena. “Last I saw her, she was heading outside to give herself a pep talk. Looked to me like she was walking in the direction of the Ferris wheel.”
Xander’s boots were already in motion.
Frankie paced quick circles around a broken passenger cart tucked behind the Ferris wheel, out of the way of the kids and couples in line for their turn on the carnival attraction.
Nerves always set in before an event like this. She’d only done half a dozen rodeos, but she recognized the mixture of butterflies and doubt that came before the exhilaration of her moment in the arena. This part—the waiting—was far more of a challenge than the eight seconds she needed to last on the back of a bucking horse.
Rock music blared from the ride’s sound system, competing with a local country band playing nearby, the pings and whistles of various skills competitions along the carnival main strip, and the shouts of carnies urging on the guests to play longer. Spend more. Every now and then, an announcement over the loudspeaker reminded the fair attendees who needed to report to the arena next for their event in the rodeo. Barrel racers, calf ropers and wranglers of all sorts took their turn.
Pacing faster as she let herself get keyed up, Frankie knew tonight would be tough. There were only a handful of lady competitors in the saddle bronc event. But she’d seen the list and recognized the names of two top-notch riders from an all-women’s tour that had made its way around Texas the year before. She’d seen those ladies live and guessed she didn’t have much of a shot against them tonight.
Then again...who knew?
The broncs could surprise anyone. And Frankie had never walked away from a challenge. Her mother had told her more than once it was her worst failing.
Not that she was going to think about her adoptive mom. Or dad. Or the home she’d run from the moment she’d turned eighteen. She’d save those worries for another night, when she wasn’t about to risk her neck.
“Frankie.”
A man’s voice cut clean through her tumultuous thoughts. Her head snapped up to see Xander Currin striding toward her.
Purposefully.
A thrill shot through her at the sight of him in his dark jeans and a fitted black button-down. His Stetson was the same one he usually wore, but his boots were an upgrade from the ones he wore for work. His blue eyes zeroed in on her face, stirring more butterflies.
“Yes?” Puzzled that he would seek her out, she listened hard to hear over her galloping heartbeat.
He didn’t look pleased. He couldn’t possibly still be mad about her taking Carmen out the other day, could he?
“I just saw Reggie.” Her boss stopped a few feet away from her, closer than he’d ever stood before. “He told me you’re entering the saddle bronc event.”
“That’s right.” Relief seeped through the awareness of him. He wasn’t here to give her a hard time about riding Carmen. “There’s a ladies’ competition tonight.”
“Do you have any idea how dangerous rough stock events can be?” His voice was all sharp edges and accusation, just like the last time they’d spoken.
Defensiveness flared. How was it she could irritate this man just by existing?
“I work with horses and cattle every day, the same as you do. I suppose I know a thing or two about them.” She folded her arms, refusing to let him intimidate her here, off the Currin Ranch.
She’d worked too hard in life to be steamrollered by people who thought they knew what was best for her.
“That doesn’t mean you’re ready to ride a surly, pissed-off beast trained to buck.” His jaw clenched. “Do you know how hard riders prepare for this event?”
A burst of applause broke out at a nearby midway game while she reeled from Xander’s sexist audacity.
“Did you give Reggie the same speech you’re giving me?” She felt a flash of impatience that bordered on anger. “Or Wyatt, the greenest of your employees entering a competition tonight?”
Xander’s lips flattened into a thin line. “No. But—”
“Then don’t you think you’re being a chauvinist to call me out for doing an event that I have spent time preparing for and that I’m actually good at?”
His expression shifted slightly, some of the tension around his eyes easing a fraction. He seemed to force
