Page 9 of Rodeo Rivals (Hope Runs Deep #11)

Wyatt

S uited up, Wyatt tapped the brim of his hat to his chin, just below his lips. Standing in the parking lot, amid a myriad of pickup trucks and motorhomes, he bowed his head and mumbled a prayer meant for himself and his maker.

He didn’t ask for greatness or glory. Instead, he requested not to make an ass of himself.

If the Almighty saw fit, he asked to make it out of the arena without injury.

Could the number twenty-three bring him good fortune?

He didn’t need to take first place, but it would be nice to come out of this with a check in his pocket. Something was better than nothing.

Blowing out a heavy breath, he raised his chin and surveyed the men and women decked out in fringed chaps, plaid shirts, boots, and cowboy hats. The uniform of the rodeo. He was proud to don it.

With his gear bag over one shoulder and his saddle on the other, he marched toward the chutes. A horse waited for him, Virginia, his new best friend.

McKayla

After placing her saddle beside the line of others, she kept her head high, and stretched.

First, she reached above her head and twisted, purposefully avoiding the eyes boring holes into her.

The men peered at her as though trying to figure her out.

Good luck. She was an enigma and liked it that way.

As she hopped from one foot to the other, warming up her legs, a six-foot something man filled her field of vision and encroached on her personal space.

Here we go.

“Hey there,” he drawled.

Lifting her gaze to meet his, she recognized Seth Allen immediately. Stuffing down her urge to be in awe of such a skilled rider, she braced herself, ready for an onslaught of misogyny.

“You look a bit lost,” he said.

Lifting her foot so that her heel rested against the back of her thigh, McKayla shook her head as she continued to stretch. “No. I’m pretty sure I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

He chuckled and dipped his head. “Breakaway is over there.” He gestured to the left.

She didn’t even look down there. “Okay.” Her foot dropped, and she repeated the move with the other.

“This here is for rough stock. Bronc riding.”

She nodded. “Yep.”

He cocked his head to the side and looked her up and down.

She folded her arms over her chest and didn’t quite glare at him, but she sure as shit wasn’t looking upon him with appreciation. With pursed lips, she arched her brow and waited for what he’d say next.

“So, you’re her?” he asked.

What the hell did that mean?

He let out a half snort, half huff as his head bobbed up and down. Scrubbing his smooth chin, he glanced around. “I don’t know why, but I expected you to be taller.”

She blinked in disbelief. How was she supposed to take any of this conversation? He didn’t outright insult her, but the vibe was all wrong—it wasn’t welcoming or kind.

He shoved his hand forward.

Reflexively, she stepped back.

“I’m Seth Allen.”

Taking his offered appendage, she shook it briefly. “I’m aware.”

Behind Seth, Wyatt strolled in with a saddle over his shoulder. Of all the men in Texas, she’d fucked another goddamn rider. What were the odds?

Holy fucking shit. What the hell was he doing there?

“You okay?” Seth asked.

She blanched and shook her head. Collecting herself, she focused her attention on him and smoothed her hands down her thighs. “Yep.”

He licked his bottom lip. “Well, best of luck out there.”

When he clapped her on the shoulder, he winked. She couldn’t help but recoil.

On the surface, their interaction was friendly enough, but she felt off.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he whistled and walked away.

Unsure how to process the interaction, her gaze followed him all the way to Wyatt. Quickly, she averted her focus and turned. Ducking down, she squeezed her eyes shut and laughed at herself. What the hell was she doing? Hiding? She wasn’t invisible. He’d see her if he looked this way.

Taking a deep breath, McKayla tried to re-center herself.

Who cared if Wyatt was there? What did it matter?

He did not differ from any other competitor.

What she did on Lady Jane was between her and the horse.

What he did on his own didn’t matter. She’d still stick to her saddle as though she were glued there.

Digging through her duffel bag, she found her resistance band.

She needed to get her head back in the game.

Her focus should be on prepping for going into the arena and not on who she rode last night.

That was behind her. This was her future.

No distractions. She worked too damn hard to get there to allow some random dude to ruin it for her.

Stepping into the large rubber band, she tugged it up around her shins, just below her knees, and placed her hands on the metal rail.

Lifting one leg behind her and then the other, she went back to getting her muscles ready.

This was the most important night of her life.

She couldn’t afford any mistakes. Tonight would shape her career as a PRCA saddle bronc rider.