Page 70 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

HOLDING ON FOR HER

~CORWIN~

T he mechanical bull bucks violently beneath me, trying its damnedest to send me flying into the inflatable barriers surrounding the ring.

My thighs burn from the strain of gripping its sides, my left hand white-knuckled on the rope handle while my right stays high in the air for balance—proper bull-riding form, even if this is just a machine operated by a sadistic carnie who's cranked the difficulty to maximum.

The crowd's roar is deafening, a wall of sound that should be disorienting. But I've learned to compartmentalize noise—years of performing emergency surgery with bombs going off in the distance, of staying steady while chaos erupts around me. So I do what I always do when I need absolute focus.

I find her voice and make it the only thing that matters.

"COME ON, CORWIN!" Red's scream cuts through everything else, clear and bright as a bell. "YOU'VE GOT THIS!"

Thirty seconds down. According to the giant timer displayed above the ring, I need to hit two minutes to beat the current record and claim the prize. The prize that, forty-five minutes ago, I had zero interest in.

Until Red saw it.

The way her face lit up when she spotted that enormous bull plushie—easily four feet tall, chocolate brown with white spots, wearing a tiny cowboy hat and a bandana—was like watching the sun come out. She'd grabbed my arm, practically bouncing on her toes as she pointed.

"Corwin! Look at that thing! It's massive!"

"It's ridiculous," I'd said, though I was already smiling at her enthusiasm.

"It's PERFECT," she'd corrected, those garnet eyes sparkling with want. "I need it for my nest. Can you imagine? It's like... it's like having a pet bull but without the mess!"

And that was it.

The moment she said she needed it for her nest— that sacred omega space she's been slowly, carefully building over the past week —I knew I'd be getting on this mechanical death trap.

The bull spins hard to the left, then immediately reverses, trying to use momentum against me. My abs scream in protest as I counter the motion, years of core training finally paying off in the most absurd way possible.

"Fifty seconds!" the announcer bellows. "Ladies and gentlemen, we might have a real contender here!"

The crowd goes wild, but I block them out, focusing on Red's voice as she cheers.

She squeals when I manage a particularly difficult save, and fuck—fuck, that sound goes straight to my cock.

My mind unhelpfully supplies images of other scenarios where she might make that sound, situations involving significantly less clothing and absolutely no audience.

The mental image of Red beneath me, making those same excited noises but for very different reasons, sends blood rushing south at the worst possible moment.

Great. Now I'm hard as a rock while riding a mechanical bull in front of half the town.

The tight jeans that seemed like appropriate fair attire are now instrument of torture, but maybe the discomfort will help me focus.

Or not, because Red chooses that moment to shout, "That's my Alpha! Show them how it's done!"

Her Alpha.

The possessive thrill those words send through me nearly costs me my grip as the bull executes a violent buck-and-spin combination. I recover, barely, sweat dripping down my back despite the cool evening air.

One minute twenty seconds.

My forearms are on fire, my thighs shaking from the strain, but I hold on. Not for the prize—well, not just for the prize—but for the look on Red's face when I win it for her. For the way she'll light up, maybe throw her arms around me, maybe kiss me the way she kissed Shiloh that first night.

We've been so careful with her. So fucking careful.

After that first time between her and Shiloh, we all pulled back, giving her space, letting her set the pace.

She's been through enough without four alphas pawing at her constantly.

But God, the want is there. Burning under every interaction, every casual touch, every moment she curls up against one of us on the couch.

It's not that we don't desire her—fuck, I wake up hard just from her scent lingering in the hallways. It's that we're terrified. Terrified of pushing too hard, of making her feel obligated, of becoming just another set of alphas who see her as a commodity rather than a person.

But maybe we're being too careful. Desperat in trying not to pressure her, we're making her think we don't want her that way.

The bull spins again, faster now, the operator clearly trying to end my run before I beat the record. One minute forty seconds. Twenty more seconds and that plushie is Red's.

"TWENTY SECONDS!" Red screams, and I can hear her jumping, probably doing that little bounce she does when she's excited. "YOU'RE ALMOST THERE!"

I grit my teeth and hold on, muscles screaming, the burn in my thighs reaching an almost unbearable level. But I've dealt with worse pain. I've extracted bullets from my own flesh, set my own broken bones, pushed through injuries that should have killed me.

Twenty seconds of riding a mechanical bull for my omega? Child's play.

Even if my cock is so hard it might actually burst through denim.

The image of Red in her nest, curled up with that giant plushie, maybe wearing one of my shirts and nothing else?—

The buzzer sounds.

Two full minutes.

The crowd erupts, but I don't let go. Not yet. I've come this far; might as well make it memorable. The bull continues its frantic pace for another thirty seconds before the operator seems to realize I'm not planning to dismount voluntarily. Forty-five seconds. A full minute past the required time.

Finally, I release my grip and let momentum carry me off, landing on my feet on the inflatable mat with more grace than I probably deserve given how my legs feel like jelly.

The roar of the crowd is deafening now, but before I can even straighten fully, I'm tackled by three bodies at once.

"Holy shit, Crowne!" Talon is practically screaming in my ear. "That was fucking incredible!"

Shiloh's pounding my back hard enough to bruise, grinning wider than I've seen in months.

"Fucking Show-off," he says, but there's pride in it.

Even Rafe is smiling— actually smiling, not his usual smirk —as he grips my shoulder.

"Well done."

"This year's winner," the announcer booms over the PA system, "lasting an incredible THREE MINUTES on our bull, is Jackknife Ridge's favorite and only medical doctor, Doctor Corwin Ashford!"

The whistles and cheers are overwhelming, people pressing in from all sides to congratulate me, but I'm only looking for one person.

And then she's there, pushing through the crowd like a force of nature.

Red looks like something out of a dream in a white flowy sundress that hits mid-thigh, the fabric light enough that it flutters with her movement.

Her hair is down, those auburn curls wild and free, catching the lights from the fair rides.

The dress has tiny cherries embroidered along the hem—of course it does—and the sweetheart neckline shows just enough cleavage to make my mouth go dry.

She doesn't slow down, doesn't hesitate, just launches herself at me with a squeal of pure joy.

I catch her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist as her arms go around my neck. "YOU WON! YOU ACTUALLY WON!"

I laugh, spinning her around as the crowd continues to cheer. "Are you happy?"

"Hell yeah!" Her eyes are bright with excitement, her whole face glowing.

"You see how big that thing is? It's bigger than me!

Triple my size!" She's talking a mile a minute, the words tumbling over each other.

"How is it gonna get in the house? Can it fit in the house?

Maybe we have to put it in one of the barns?—"

I silence her the only way I can think of, crushing my mouth to hers.

The kiss is immediate fire, all the careful restraint of the past months evaporating in an instant.

She makes a small surprised sound that turns into a moan as I deepen the kiss, one hand tangling in her hair while the other supports her weight.

She tastes like funnel cake and cherry lip gloss, sweet and addictive.

She kisses me back with equal fervor, her fingers threading through my hair, tugging slightly in a way that makes me groan against her mouth. I can feel every inch of her pressed against me, the heat of her through the thin dress, the way her thighs tighten around my waist.

The wolf whistles and cheers get louder, and I'm vaguely aware of camera flashes going off—everyone with their phones out, capturing this moment. By tomorrow morning, this will be all over the town's social media, probably with captions like "Doc Claims His Prize" or some equally embarrassing shit.

I don't care.

Allow this grand moment for everyone to know that this brilliant, beautiful omega is ours.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Red's lips are swollen, her eyes slightly glazed, and the look she gives me is pure heat.

"I guess we have to go celebrate with drinks at the bar," I manage, still holding her against me.

She grins, coming back to herself. "The drinks are on our friendly neighboring Alpha, remember?" She looks over my shoulder. "Right on cue."

I turn, still holding Red, to find Luca approaching with that practiced swagger of his. He's dressed to impress as always—designer jeans, a button-down that probably cost more than most people's rent, his dark green-tinted hair styled to perfection.

"Well, well," he says, that fake smile not reaching his eyes. "Not surprised the cunning omega would use today for her open tab."

Red sticks her tongue out at him with childish pride. "Are you upset my Alpha is the greatest at hanging on?"

She emphasizes 'my Alpha' in a way that makes my chest swell with pride and possession.

Luca's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, but his smirk remains in place even as something darker flashes in his eyes. He looks like a sore loser trying to pretend he wasn't even playing.

Before he can respond, Poppy's voice cuts through the crowd.

"RED! Get your cute ass over here! Omega event starts in ten!"

We all turn to see Poppy and Malrik approaching.

Poppy looks like a vintage wet dream in a cherry-red halter dress with white polka dots, her platinum-and-teal hair styled in elaborate victory rolls.

Malrik is more casual in dark jeans and a fitted henley that shows off his lean muscle, those unusual amber eyes scanning the crowd with the alertness of someone who's always calculating exits.

"I'm coming!" Red calls back, then looks at us with an expression of exaggerated innocence. "Gotta go do omega stuff."

"What omega event?" Shiloh asks, immediately suspicious.

"Oh, you know," Red waves her hand vaguely. "Girlie shit. Boring stuff. They're gonna doll us up for the evening festivities."

"That's all?" Talon presses.

"What else would it be?" She bats her eyelashes. "You'll see when we're done."

We all exchange glances, collectively deciding we don't quite believe her but knowing better than to argue.

"Well, at least you ain't riding a damn bull," Shiloh says.

Red laughs, bright and delighted. "Now why would I do that?"

Rafe groans.

"Because you're someone who would, if tempted. So don't tempt her."

"Hey!" She huffs, reaching out to poke his chest.

He catches her finger and pokes her side in retaliation, making her giggle and squirm.

"Nooooo," she squeals, trying to wiggle away from me to escape. "I'm ticklish!"

"Noted for future reference," Rafe says with a smirk that promises trouble.

"I'm running away now!" Red declares, and I finally set her down.

She presses a quick kiss to my cheek, then does the same to each of the others before darting toward Poppy and Malrik.

We watch her go, the white dress fluttering around her thighs, her laughter carrying back to us as Poppy immediately starts talking her ear off about something that has both omegas gesturing wildly.

"Keep playing house," Luca's voice cuts through the moment like a blade. "It's only a matter of time before reality forces you guys to wake up and smell the coffee."

There's something ominous in his tone, a threat wrapped in casual words.

But before any of us can respond or I can demand to know what the fuck he means by that, he walks away.

His retreat is unhurried, hands in his pockets, whistling something that sounds suspiciously like a funeral dirge.

The crowd parts for him automatically—even in a place like Jackknife Ridge, people recognize a predator when they see one.