Page 65 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy (Wild Hearts Ranch #1)

SOPHIA

T hunder Creek Arena buzzes with pre-event energy as Walker parks his truck near the loading docks. It’s late afternoon, the heat of the day starting to break, and everywhere I look, there’s movement—vendors marking their spots for next week, workers testing sound equipment, and those posters…

God, those posters I created are everywhere.

Ridge’s image stares back from every surface, captured mid-ride, one hand high, body arched in perfect form as a huge bull bucks beneath him.

It’s from his championship days, all raw power and grace.

RIDGE’S LAST RIDE blazes across the top in bold red letters, with my addition underneath: Eight Seconds to Save Everything.

The date, nine days away, seems to scream at me. At the bottom is One Champion. One Chance. One Ranch Worth Fighting For.

“Still think Ridge’s Last Ride sounds like a funeral?” Walker asks, catching me staring at one of the gigantic banners they’re hanging across the main entrance.

“Maybe a little,” I admit. “But it sells tickets, right?”

“That’s my practical girl.” He comes around to my side of the truck, and I drink in the sight of him. Worn jeans that hug him in all the right places, a blue Henley that stretches across his chest, hat tilted just enough to reveal those brown eyes that never fail to turn me on.

“See something you like?” he teases.

“Always,” I say, not even trying to hide it anymore. We’re past that. Past pretending we don’t affect each other, past the careful dance of new lovers. His hand finds mine immediately, fingers interlacing like they belong there.

“Come on,” he suggests, tugging me toward the loading area. “Bulls are arriving for next week. Want to get a look at what Ridge might be up against.”

“They don’t know which one he’ll ride yet?”

“Random draw, day of the event. Fair for everyone, all the riders coming to support Ridge get the same chance at an easy or hard bull. But I want to see what’s in the pool, get a feel for their temperaments.”

We walk past trailers where cowboys are unloading enormous bulls, and my heart rate kicks up. These aren’t like the cattle at our ranch. These animals are pure muscle and attitude, bred for one purpose. The thought of Ridge on one of these tightens my chest.

“Jesus,” I breathe, watching a particularly large brindle bull slam against the side of his pen. “Ridge is actually going to climb onto one of these?”

Walker squeezes my hand. “You okay?”

“My heart is racing, and he’s not even here. How am I going to survive the actual event?”

“With us holding your hands,” he says simply. “Come on, let me check these boys out, then I’ll show you around while it’s still quiet.”

He guides me to a raised platform overlooking the holding pens, where someone with a clipboard is taking notes. Walker joins him, and they start discussing the bulls below, their stats, their tendencies, their rankings. I tune out the technical talk and just watch Walker work.

His forearms flex as he points to different bulls, and I remember how those arms felt around me last night when I fell asleep. How his hands?—

“Darlin’?”

I blink. He’s looking at me with amusement. “Sorry, what?”

“Asked if you wanted to see the behind-the-scenes area.”

“Oh. Yes. Sure.”

He grins like he knows exactly where my mind went. “Come on, space cadet. ”

The other man chuckles. “That your Omega? The one with the blog?”

“That’s her,” Walker confirms, pride evident in his voice.

“My wife is obsessed with your posts,” the man tells me. “Says you make ranch life sound romantic instead of just hard work and cow shit.”

“Well, it helps when you’ve got three cowboys making it interesting,” I say.

“I’ll bet it does.”

Walker steers me away, hand possessive on my lower back, a huge grin on his face.

The arena is massive from down here, empty seats rising up like ancient amphitheater walls. The dirt under our boots is soft, and the smell of earth and sawdust floods my lungs. I turn in a slow circle, imagining what it’ll be like filled with people, all screaming, all watching Ridge.

“It’s intimidating,” I admit. “Being down here. How did Ridge do this for years? All those eyes on him.”

“He damn loved it,” Walker states, moving closer. “The adrenaline, the challenge. Some people are just built for the spotlight.”

“Not me. I’d throw up.”

“You’re doing pretty well with all your blog followers reading your every word.”

“That’s different. They can’t actually see me.”

He brings me in him, and I melt into his warmth. “I see you,” he murmurs against my ear. “Every morning when you steal all the blankets. Every time you think we’re not watching and you dance in the kitchen. Every face you make when you’re writing and something’s not working.”

“Stalker.”

“Devoted.” His hands slide down to my hips. “Completely fucking devoted to every inch of you.”

A couple of workers pass by, and one whistles low. “Get a room, you two!”

“Get your own Omega!” Walker states, but he doesn’t let go of me.

“Yours is prettier anyway,” one of them calls out, continuing on.

“Damn right she is,” Walker replies, loud enough for them to hear. “And she’s all mine.”

“All yours?” I raise an eyebrow. “Pretty sure I’ve got two other cowboys who might disagree.”

“Right now, in this moment, you’re mine.” His voice drops to that register that makes my knees weak. “And I’m going to show you around our world.”

He walks me through the arena, pointing out the chutes where riders mount up. The narrow metal passages look like cages, barely wide enough for a man to squeeze in beside a two-thousand-pound bull.

“Ridge will enter here,” he explains, showing me the system. “Bull gets loaded, he climbs on from above, gets his rope wrapped just right. Then, when he nods, that gate swings open and the eight seconds start.”

I run my hand along the cold metal, imagining Ridge here, preparing for those crucial seconds that will determine everything. “What if something goes wrong?”

“That’s why we have safety riders, medical crew, everything planned down to the second.” He turns me to face him. “Every preparation is being arranged.”

I nod, gnawing on my lower lip.

“I can promise we’ll do everything possible to keep him safe.” His hands cup my face. “And afterward, when he’s victorious and high on adrenaline, we’re going to celebrate.”

“Oh yeah?”

He backs me against the fence, and my breath catches. “Want to know what I’ve been thinking about all day?”

“Walker, there are people around?—”

“Let them look.” His thumbs stroke my cheekbones. “I’ve been thinking about you in that white sundress you wore yesterday. How the sunlight made it almost transparent. Could see every curve, every shadow.”

Heat floods my cheeks. “You didn’t say anything yesterday.”

“Was too busy planning all the ways I wanted to peel it off you.” He leans closer, breath hot against my ear. “Been thinking about having you against the wall in the barn. Your legs wrapped around me, those pretty sounds you make when you’re trying to be quiet.”

“You’re going to make me blush. ”

“Love how you sound so flustered.” His lips brush my neck, barely a touch but enough to make me shiver.

“Love how pink your skin gets. Right here.” He traces a finger along my collarbone.

“And here.” Down between my breasts. “And especially here.” His hand stops just above my heart, feeling how fast it’s racing.

“You’re being very inappropriate for a public place.” I’m breathless.

“Just being honest about how my Omega affects me. How I can barely concentrate when you’re around. How every time I see you, I remember how you taste. How you feel. How perfect you are when you cry my name in my arms.”

Before I can respond, he kisses me. It’s not gentle. It’s claiming, possessive, his tongue sliding against mine until I’m gripping his shirt to stay upright.

“WALKER!” someone shouts from across the arena. “Boss man’s looking for you!”

“Damn,” he mutters but doesn’t move immediately. “Rain check?”

“On public indecency?”

“On showing you exactly how much I want you.” He backs away slowly, that predator’s grin making my stomach flip. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

I lean against the fence, trying to catch my breath while he jogs toward whoever called him. My lips still tingle, and the heat between my thighs is an inferno.

“You must be the famous Sophia,” a male voice says .

I turn to find an older man in expensive Western wear approaching. He’s probably sixty, with silver hair under a pristine white hat and boots that shine even in the dust.

“I’m Tom Garrison.” He extends his hand. “I own Thunder Creek Arena.”

“Mr. Garrison.” I shake his hand, trying to compose myself. “Thank you for hosting our event.”

“My pleasure. Ridge was magic to watch back in the day. Shame how his career ended.”

“He’s been training hard,” I say, a defensive instinct kicking in.

“I’m sure he has. But three years changes a body. Especially after the kind of injury he sustained.” He rocks back on his heels. “You know the statistics on comeback rides after that long away?”

“No, and I don’t want to.”

He chuckles. “Fair enough. Rose would’ve liked you. She always appreciated a woman who spoke her mind.”

“You knew Rose?”

“Everyone knew her and her Wild Hearts Ranch. She was a fixture at these events, back when her husband was still alive. Used to bring cookies for all the riders.” His expression softens.

“It’s a damn shame what Ronan is trying to do to her legacy.

” He tips his hat. “For what it’s worth, I hope you win.

Wild Hearts Ranch is exactly the kind of place this town needs, not some shopping development.

But if this doesn’t work, his people are already lined up to grab it from the bank. ”

My stomach twists so hard I think I might be sick.

It shouldn’t surprise me, not with the way Ronan operates, but the knowledge still burns, sour and hot.

Fury crackles through me. How dare they treat the ranch like some prize to be stolen, like all the blood and sweat poured into it means nothing?

My fists clench, nails biting my palms, and all I can think is that I’ll fight tooth and nail before I let them take it.

He walks away, leaving me with mixed feelings—gratitude for his support, anxiety about his comments on comeback statistics, and fury toward fucking Ronan.

“Making friends?” Walker reappears at my side. “Tom’s a good guy.”

“He said something about comeback statistics of a returning bull rider I refused to hear.”

Walker flips his arm around my waist. “Good. Don’t need those numbers in your head.”

“Are they that bad?”

“Doesn’t matter. Ridge isn’t a statistic.”

We walk through the rest of the arena, Walker showing me the judge’s booth, the timer’s station, and so much more.

Before long, we’re heading back toward the truck, but I pause at one more poster. Ridge’s face stares back at me, frozen in that moment of perfect control.

“Nine days,” I murmur .

“Yep,” Walker confirms, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “You scared?”

“Terrified.”

“Me too,” he admits quietly. “But not of Ridge riding. Of what happens if we don’t raise enough. Of losing the ranch. Of watching you lose your home.”

“It’s your home too.”

He turns me in his arms to face him. “Home is wherever you are. The ranch is just land and buildings. You’re what makes it home.”

“When did you become such a romantic?”

“When a sassy city Omega crashed into our lives and turned everything upside down.”

“Best accident ever,” I murmur, pulling Walker down for another kiss, only for his phone to buzz between us.

He grabs it from his pocket, frowning. “It’s Cash.”

Walker opens the message, and his whole expression lights up. “Holy hell. Listen to this. ‘Some country music fan page shared Soph’s blog, and donations are flooding in. We’re at three hundred grand. Site crashed twice. Phones ringing off the hook. We might actually pull this off.’?”

My breath catches, tears burning hot in my eyes. “Three hundred thousand?” I whisper.

Walker grins widely, spinning me up off my feet before I can blink. “We’re over halfway there!”

I’m laugh-crying into his chest now, clutching him tightly. “This is real. We can do this. ”

He kisses my temple, still grinning like a fool.

“Come on,” I say, tugging his hand toward the truck. “Let’s get back to the ranch.”

As we drive away from Thunder Creek Arena, I look back at those posters one more time. Nine days. One ride. Two hundred thousand to go.

We have to make this work.

Because failure isn’t an option when you’ve got three Alpha cowboys willing to risk everything for their home.

Even if it means watching the man you love climb onto a dangerous bull.

God help us all.