Page 6

Chapter Six

brUNO

I shower in the dark, cold water pouring over my body.

As cold as it is, it doesn’t quell my hard-on.

I lean against the tiles, my hand pumping my cock.

Everly's face is right there behind my closed eyelids; I picture how she looked in the diner booth.

The way her pupils dilated when I crowded close, how she tasted like sugar and sin when she finally let me kiss her, her soft tits pressing against me.

I come hard, with a groan, the water cascading over me.

I go back inside, splash cold water on my face, then pull on jeans. My hands shake slightly as I button my shirt. Stupidly, it’s not nerves about the upcoming competition, but the memory of the little sound Everly made when my tongue swept into her mouth.

I’m coming apart like a cheap saddle. I need to get my shit together.

Ranger's already fed and groomed when I reach the stables. I run my hands over his coat with more attention than necessary, checking and rechecking his tack. My jaw aches from clenching it all morning.

“You're looking mighty pleased with yourself this morning.” Magnus approaches with his bay gelding trotting behind, that sardonic grin already in place.

“Good morning, Magnus.”

His green eyes twinkle. “Indeed, it is. Heard you had dinner with a certain cotton candy vendor last night.”

Damn small towns. I tighten Ranger's girth another notch. “Yep.”

“And?”

“And, very respectfully, mind your own business, Magnus.”

Magnus chuckles. “Defensive. The lovely Miss Parnell has gotten under your skin.”

I check the bridle for the fourth time rather than answer. The leather's perfectly adjusted, but my hands need something to do.

“Just focus on the competition today. That’s what I’m doing.”

“Oh, I intend to give you a run for your money. But we both know you're not riding for the thousand dollars anymore.”

My hands rest on Ranger's mane. “No. I'm not.”

“Good man. Nothing worth having comes easy.”

By the time pole bending starts, the arena's packed tighter than yesterday. I scan the crowd and find Everly at the front of the crowd, hands pressed to the fence rail. Even from this distance, I can see her teeth worrying her lower lip.

She's nervous. For me .

The course is set: six poles spaced in regular intervals in a straight line. Riders weave through at speed, making sharp turns around each pole before racing back to the start. It's a test of precision and partnership between horse and rider.

Drake's up first. He and his sorrel gelding explode from the starting line, racing toward the far pole.

Too fast. The horse fights the bit as Drake hauls him around the first turn, their line sloppy.

The sorrel's hindquarters swing wide around the third pole, and their lost time adds up.

Still, they recover well through the final poles, finishing with a respectable run.

“Nineteen-point-eight seconds for Drake Martinez!” the announcer calls.

Solid time, but beatable. The next rider makes it round in twenty-two seconds. Nothing for me to worry about.

Magnus is up next. I watch him settle deeper into his saddle, hands light on the reins. The bay gelding's ears prick forward, muscles coiled like a spring beneath his rider.

They're off.

What follows is pure artistry. Horse and rider flow through the poles like water, each turn executed with mathematical precision.

The bay's hooves barely whisper against the dirt as they pivot around each pole, never losing forward momentum.

Magnus sits still as stone, letting his horse work, only shifting weight at the exact moment needed.

It's flawless.

They cross the finish line and I know, even before the time is announced, that they've beaten Drake by a significant margin. The crowd erupts in cheers.

“Seventeen-point-nine seconds for Magnus Huckle!”

Damn. That's a hell of a time. Fast enough to win most competitions outright.

Magnus trots past with that infuriating little smile. “Your turn, my friend. Don't let an old man like me show you up.”

My turn.

Ranger and I approach the starting line. The arena falls quiet. I glance toward Everly. She holds her crossed fingers up and mouths ‘good luck’.

The starting bell rings.

Ranger dashes forward, his powerful stride eating up the ground to the first pole. I sit deep, hands quiet, letting him find his rhythm. We sweep around the far pole in a tight arc, Ranger's inside hind foot barely clearing the base.

Second pole. Third. Each turn flows into the next, but something's off. Ranger's fighting me slightly, head tilted against the bit. Still upset about yesterday's warm-up, maybe, or picking up on my own tension.

Fourth pole. Precious tenths of seconds slip away with each imperfect turn. Ranger's normally fluid movement feels choppy, mechanical.

Fifth pole. We're through the pattern now, racing for home, but I know it wasn't our best. Ranger knows it too; his ears pin back in frustration as we cross the finish line.

“Eighteen-point-seven seconds for Bruno Castelli!”

Second place. Behind Magnus.

I dismount and pat Ranger's neck, murmuring reassurances. It's my fault, not his. My head wasn't in the game the way it should have been.

“Well ridden,” Magnus says as he leads his horse past. “Though you seemed a bit... distracted.”

“Mind was exactly where it needed to be.” I glance over at the crowd, where Everly is heading back to her booth.

Magnus follows my gaze. “Ah. Dangerous thing, riding for someone else. Makes you think too much instead of just riding.”

I lead Ranger toward the water trough, my mind churning. Magnus is right; I’m distracted. But it's more than just Everly's presence in the stands.

Standing here in front of hundreds of people, their eyes trained on every move I make, brings back memories I've spent ten years trying to bury.

The last time I competed publicly, my parents were in the stands.

Dad with his arms crossed, that proud smile creasing his weathered face.

Mom clutching his arm every time I took a jump.

“You ride like you've got something to prove, son,” Dad had said after I won the state championship at nineteen. “But the best riders? They ride like they've got nothing to lose. Don’t get lost in your head.”

Ranger nickers softly, nudging my shoulder. I scratch behind his ears, grounding myself in the familiar ritual.

After the accident, I couldn't bear the thought of crowds cheering, judges watching, cameras flashing.

Couldn't stand the pity in people's eyes or the way they'd lower their voices when they talked about poor Bruno Castelli who lost his folks.

The mountains became my refuge. Up there, no one expected anything from me.

No legacy to uphold. No family name to honor.

But now, with Everly watching from the stands, I've put myself right back in the spotlight I spent a decade avoiding. Made myself vulnerable again. Public.

What the hell was I thinking, making that bet?

Announcing to the entire county that I want her?

I shake my head as I remember the way Everly's ex made her doubt herself, made her believe she wasn't enough.

What if I'm doing the same thing? What if this grand gesture isn't romance, what if it's selfishness?

Forcing her into the spotlight alongside me whether she wants it or not.

Ranger stamps his foot, impatient. He doesn't understand why we're standing still when there's work to be done.

I close my eyes and try to find that place Dad talked about; riding like I have nothing to lose. But that's the problem. For the first time in ten years, I have everything to lose.

The mountains taught me solitude. Everly is teaching me what I want. And wanting someone, I'm learning, is a dangerous thing.

I think about her laugh last night at dinner, the way she challenged me about the bet, the soft sound she made when I kissed her. The way she looked at me like I was worth something more than the broken man who fled to the mountains.

Maybe that's what this is really about. Not winning her, but proving to myself that I'm still capable of being the man she sees when she looks at me.

Ranger nickers again, and I realize my hands have stilled on his neck. Time to find out if ten years of hiding have made me forget how to fight for what matters.

The standings flash on the scoreboard: Magnus first, me second, Drake third. Only a few hours until the final flag race determines everything. The pressure has just ramped up. No room for mistakes in the final event. No room for anything but perfection.

“Hey, Bruno!”

Drake jogs over, helmet tucked under his arm, all big hat and no cattle. “Good ride. Guess we're all still in this thing.”

“Appears so.”

“Funny how things work out. Makes the flag race a lot more interesting. You sure you want to stick with that blindfold bet? Might be biting off more than you can chew.”

My hands curl into fists at my sides. “I'll manage.”

“We'll see.” There’s a challenge in his voice. “In a few hours anything could happen.”

Before I can respond, he's walking away with a spring in his step that wasn't there this morning. He thinks he stands a chance. That the stakes got higher, and I'm no longer the favorite.

My mouth curves into a slow smile. There’s no room for doubt. Soon, in front of the whole fair, I'll show them all exactly what I'm fighting for.

Everly Parnell is coming home with me.