Page 2 of Rodeo Rivals (Hope Runs Deep #11)

Wyatt Chase

T hree months off the rodeo circuit might as well have been three years .

Wyatt was far behind where he wanted to be in the standings, but he had to take solace in the fact that he’d returned.

Some people weren’t as fortunate as he was.

There was no coming back after some injuries.

He was grateful not to have sustained one of those.

His fate was far more optimistic. He could still establish a legacy in rodeo.

While nothing compared to being in the arena on the back of a bucking bronco, he’d done everything he could to keep his conditioning up while healing.

His timing might not be perfect, but he’d get it there.

He had faith in himself. Someone had to win the National Finals Rodeo, and it might as well be Wyatt.

Hopefully, he hadn’t slid too far back. The rankings weren’t set in stone.

He could still work his way into the top fifteen. December was a long way off.

He never had a solid grip. Rushing things had really bitten him in the ass.

The young mare bested him in six and a half seconds.

He hadn’t even lasted the full eight, which was embarrassing as hell.

His life flashed before his eyes as he flew off the saddle, twisted in the air, and landed wrong.

It’d taken far longer than he would’ve liked to recover from the concussion, broken ribs, and punctured lung.

Shaking his head, he wiped it from his thoughts. The injuries were behind him. He’d gotten clearance. He was back in the saddle. Well, not literally. Tomorrow he would be. Tonight, he should lie low, relax, and prepare himself for his return to the arena.

After hopping out of the cab of his pickup, Wyatt rolled his shoulders and stretched his back as he eyed the hotel.

Yes, he had a Lance 975 Truck Camper with an upgraded mattress that was quite comfortable, but the night before his triumphant return to the arena, he needed an actual bed.

Once he got the jitters out at the next stop, he could go back to sleeping in his own setup, but tonight he needed space.

Reaching up, he ran a hand through his short dark-brown hair before covering it with his black Resistol hat. With a nod, sure he was presentable, he strolled toward the hotel.

“Chase,” a familiar male voice drawled his surname from behind him.

Turning, Wyatt recognized Seth Allen, the man currently sitting at the top of the PRCA’s standings—and by default Wyatt’s mortal enemy. Well, except for the fact that he was a decent guy who deserved every damn win he got. It made it hard to hate him.

Sticking out his hand, he took hold of Seth’s, giving it a good shake.

“Good to see you back out here,” Seth said as he stuck his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans.

Wyatt nodded. “Looking forward to getting in the saddle again. It’s been too long.”

“So what are you doing tonight?” Seth asked.

Wyatt glanced around the parking lot as though searching for an idea. “Probably grab a burger. Maybe hit the gym.”

“I just came from Planet Fitness up the road.” Seth gestured behind him. “I’m supposed to meet up with Dylan and Toby for dinner. You want to join us?”

“Uh, nah,” Wyatt said as he scrubbed the back of his neck, knowing full well those three were going to hit the bar scene pretty hard. That couldn’t be his thing tonight. He needed rest before riding. “Another time.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Seth said as he clapped Wyatt on the back.

The two walked into the hotel together, but when Wyatt headed for the check-in counter, Seth veered off to his room.

Wyatt had to calm the jitters. If he thought too much about tomorrow, he’d psych himself out.

One beer wouldn’t hurt, so he drove over to the Double Wide, a local watering hole, that no one on the rodeo circuit knew about—or shouldn’t.

It wasn’t flashy or trendy, so why would anyone go there?

By taking his own truck, he knew he wouldn’t drink too much. He just needed to take the edge off.

Walking in, he appreciated the colorful Christmas lights strung back and forth across the ceiling, giving the dimly lit bar a festive glow.

Odd, considering it was August and nowhere near the holiday season, but who was he to judge?

For all he knew, they’d just celebrated Christmas in July and hadn’t removed the decorations yet.

As he slid onto an empty stool at the bar, he smirked at the massive horns and taxidermic raccoon behind the bar.

Old-school hubcaps lined the walls of the narrow drinking establishment.

It truly couldn’t be larger than a double-wide.

Behind him were several booths, with a few couples enjoying cocktails.

Just beyond the bar, in the far back of the one-room establishment, was a lone pool table. A woman wearing acid wash jeans with a matching vest bent over the felt as she slid her long cue back and forth before taking her shot. It wasn’t an unpleasant view at all.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, drawing his attention away from the woman with the apple-bottom derriere.

While a Lynchburg Lemonade was on the tip of his tongue, he decided it wasn’t that kind of night. With too many of those, he’d be abandoning his truck in the parking lot. That was against his plan, so he’d better stick to something light.

“You got any IPAs?” he asked.

The spiky-haired bartender arched a brow. “We’ve got Bud Light, Miller Lite, Coors Light, Amstel Light, and Blue Moon on tap. Corona, Guinness, Angry Orchard, and all those in bottles.”

Nodding, he glanced down the bar again to see the fancy handles on their tap.

Or if he were honest with himself, it was to get another look at the woman in acid wash.

She had dark hair tied back in a poofy ponytail that almost resembled a mohawk of sorts.

In the low light, he couldn’t quite make it out, but it looked like she had a tree tattooed on her shoulder and down her bicep.

Clearing his throat, realizing the bartender was waiting on him, he brought his focus back to her. “Blue Moon is fine. Thanks.”

With a nod, the woman shifted down the bar, grabbed a pint glass, and put it beneath the spout. As he watched, his gaze found its way back to the woman popping her hip and curling her fingers around the cue as she studied the pool table.

Hot damn.

Wyatt had had his fair share of buckle bunnies in the past. The scantily clad women with their breasts on display and their asses hanging out of booty shorts vying for his attention didn’t hold a candle to this enchantress.

It was obvious the women who wore cowboy boots as a fashion statement rather than out of necessity missed a meal or two, but not the billiards beauty.

She was thick in all the right places. The brief glances of her face in the twinkle of Christmas lights mesmerized him. He needed to meet her.

The bartender cleared her throat as she served his drink. Wyatt tore his gaze from the unknown woman and reached for his wallet.

“Thank you,” he said as he offered her a twenty-dollar bill.

He should be ashamed of himself for ogling her so openly, but he couldn’t seem to muster the shame. A woman as gorgeous as that deserved all of his attention and more.

Taking a sip of his beer, he waited for his chance.

He wanted to get closer so he could fully assess the situation.

The captivating woman seemed to keep her distance from her opponent but openly smiled and batted her lashes at him—flirting.

If he got date vibes from them, he’d leave it alone, but on the off chance it was just a game, Wyatt would definitely pick up a cue and shoot his shot.

He wasn’t all that good at pool, but he could hold his own.