Page 71 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

SURPRISE RODEO QUEEN

~RED~

" O h, they're going to kill me," I giggle to myself, checking the tracking app one more time.

The little dots representing my alphas blink on the map—they're clustered together near the beer garden, probably celebrating Corwin's victory and enjoying their drinks on Luca's tab. Perfect. They're far enough away that by the time they hear the announcement, it'll be too late to stop me.

The sequined outfit Poppy helped me change into catches the light from the fair rides, sending little rainbow reflections dancing across my skin.

It's absolutely ridiculous—a sparkly silver crop top that's basically a bedazzled sports bra, matching high-waisted shorts that hug every curve, and white cowboy boots with silver fringe.

My hair is piled up in a messy bun with tendrils framing my face, and Poppy insisted on body glitter. Lots of body glitter.

"You look like a disco ball had a baby with a rodeo queen," Malrik had said when he saw the final result.

"Perfect," I'd replied.

Because that's exactly the point. This isn't just about winning—it's about making a statement. About showing this town, these alphas, everyone who still sees omegas as delicate flowers, that we can be more. That I can be more.

The announcer's voice booms across the fairgrounds. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special treat tonight! For the first time in Country Ridge Fair history, we're opening the mechanical bull competition to omegas!"

The crowd goes wild, and I take a deep breath. This is it.

"Our final contestant of the evening, representing the Lucky Ace Pack—Miss Rowenna Vale!"

I strut out from behind the operator's booth, and the reaction is immediate. Whistles, cheers, several alphas howling like actual wolves. The crowd has swelled since Corwin's ride—word travels fast at these things, and everyone wants to see what the hundred-million-dollar omega is going to do.

The fact that there are plenty of unfamiliar faces helps.

The fair draws people from surrounding towns, even some from out of state.

They don't know me as the rescued casino omega or the Lucky Ace Pack's carefully protected treasure.

To them, I'm just another competitor, albeit one dressed like I'm about to perform at a very specific type of club.

I approach the mechanical bull with confidence I don't entirely feel, but fake it till you make it, right? The operator—a grizzled older man who's been running this ride for probably twenty years—gives me a skeptical look.

"You sure about this, sweetheart?"

I flash him my brightest smile. "Oh, I'm sure."

I grab the side of the bull and hop up with more grace than I expected, muscle memory from childhood fairs flooding back.

Mom had signed me up for the kids' competition when I was eight, determined that her daughter would win that giant teddy bear.

I'd practiced for weeks on a neighbor's actual bull—a gentle old thing named Ferdinand who barely moved faster than a walk.

But it taught me balance, taught me how to move with the animal instead of against it.

Of course, I was about sixty pounds lighter then and significantly less top-heavy. But the principles are the same, right?

I settle into position, wrapping my hand around the rope handle, and start my mental countdown. Fifteen seconds. That's about how long it'll take for?—

"Oh no, she fucking didn't."

There it is. Talon's voice carries over the crowd, and I can't help the grin that spreads across my face.

The announcer continues, building the drama.

"This is our FINAL participant in the mechanical swing madness, OMEGA EDITION!

A first for our fair! And folks, the prize isn't just bragging rights—it's a brand new barn, farmhouse, or ranch makeover!

Completely sponsored by Henderson Construction, no questions asked! "

The crowd gasps at the prize value—we're talking potentially hundreds of thousands of dollars in construction and renovation.

I keep my expression neutral, but inside I'm vibrating with excitement.

Last week, I'd overheard Shiloh and Rafe talking about the barn where Rafe parks that truck—the one he hadn't touched in two years until the night of the storm.

Shiloh mentioned it needed serious structural work, a new roof, updated electrical.

But Rafe had shut down the conversation, saying it wasn't a priority.

Except I'd seen his face when he said it. The way his jaw tightened, the slight flinch when Shiloh mentioned maybe just tearing it down and starting fresh. That barn means something to him. Something connected to Sophia, probably, something painful but important.

And if I can win this—if I can give him the chance to remake that space into something new, something that isn't haunted by ghosts—then a little potential alpha rage is worth it.

"ROWENNA VALE, IF YOU DON'T GET YOUR SEXY ASS DOWN FROM THERE!"

Shiloh's bellow cuts through my thoughts, and several alphas near the ring start laughing.

"Someone's in trouble!" one calls out.

"Better run while you can, sweetheart!" another adds.

I turn toward where I know my pack is pushing through the crowd, and give them my best innocent smile while adjusting my grip on the bull. The body glitter catches the lights, and I swear I hear at least three alphas groan.

The operator leans in close. "You ready for this, darling? Fair warning—I'm not going easy on you just cause you're an omega."

"I'd be insulted if you did," I reply.

He grins, gold tooth flashing. "That's what I like to hear. Hold tight!"

The bull lurches to life, starting with a slow spin that gradually picks up speed.

The crowd roars, and I immediately feel the difference from when I was a kid.

My center of gravity is completely different, my thighs have to work harder to maintain grip, and these shorts were definitely not designed for this activity.

But I hold on.

The bull bucks, trying to throw me forward, and I lean back to compensate.

My abs scream—apparently three months of comfortable pack life hasn't been great for my core strength—but I grit my teeth and focus on the rhythm.

Forward, back, spin left, spin right. It's like a violent dance, and the key is not fighting it but flowing with it.

Twenty seconds in, and the crowd is going absolutely wild.

"Look at her go!" someone shouts.

"Damn, that omega can ride!"

The double entendre isn't lost on anyone, judging by the laughter and wolf whistles.

I catch a glimpse of my pack as the bull spins—they've made it to the front of the crowd, and their expressions are a mix of fury, worry, and something that looks suspiciously like pride.

Talon's grinning despite himself. Corwin's covering his face with one hand but peeking through his fingers.

Shiloh looks torn between dragging me off and cheering me on.

And Rafe... Rafe's watching with an intensity that makes my stomach flip in ways that have nothing to do with the mechanical bull.

Thirty seconds. The operator increases the speed, and now we're really moving. The bull bucks hard, nearly vertical, and I have to throw my weight back to keep from flying over its head. My hair comes loose from its bun, whipping around my face and shoulders, and the crowd loses their minds.

I swing my hair dramatically on the next spin, playing up the performance aspect, and someone actually throws money into the ring.

"WORK IT, GIRL!" Poppy's scream rises above everything else. "SHOW THESE ALPHAS HOW IT'S DONE!"

Forty-five seconds. My thighs are burning, my hand cramping around the rope, but I'm still on.

The operator is pulling out all the stops now—figure eights, sudden stops and starts, maximum buck height.

But I grew up watching my mom ride horses, real ones, learned to read an animal's movement before I could properly write my name.

And this? This is just a machine. Predictable in its unpredictability.

One minute.

The crowd is chanting now. "GO! GO! GO! GO!"

I risk a glance at the timer—fifteen more seconds to beat Corwin's record, thirty to ensure absolute victory. My whole body is screaming, sweat making my grip slippery despite the rope, but I hold on with everything I have.

One minute fifteen.

One minute thirty.

The bell rings, loud and clear, declaring me the winner. But just like Corwin, I don't let go. Not yet. I've got something to prove—to myself, to my pack, to every person who's ever looked at an omega and seen weakness.

I hold on for another full thirty seconds, hair flying, body moving with the bull like we're one entity. When I finally release and slide off, landing on wobbly legs on the inflatable mat, the crowd absolutely explodes.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WITH A TIME OF TWO MINUTES, WE HAVE OUR WINNER!"

"YES, SEXY RIDING BITCH, WE WON!" Poppy's scream is probably heard three towns over as she launches herself at me, nearly knocking us both over. Malrik's right behind her, catching us both before we face-plant.

"What in the seductive madness was that?" Malrik asks, but he's grinning. "Where did you learn to ride like that?"

I'm laughing, high on adrenaline and victory, body glitter and sweat making me sparkle like some kind of mythical creature. "My mom signed me up for junior rodeo when I was eight. Won three years straight before we couldn't afford the entry fees anymore. Muscle memory's a hell of a thing."

"You've been holding out on us," Poppy accuses, but she's bouncing with excitement. "Do you know what this means? That renovation package is worth like, a quarter million at least!"

I can feel them before Poppy's expression changes—that electric charge in the air that means my alphas are directly behind me.

The crowd seems to sense it too, growing quieter, creating a natural circle around us like they're expecting a show.

"They're behind me, aren't they?" I ask, not turning around yet.