Page 34 of The Wrong Ride Home (Wildflower Canyon #1)

elena

C opper shifted beneath me, his muscles twitching, ears flicking forward. He knew it was our turn, and he was raring to go.

The announcer’s voice boomed overhead, cutting through the noise. “Next up, we’ve got Elena Rivera riding Copperhead Canyon from Wilder Ranch for the reining pattern.” The speakers crackled, the words stretching and fading for a beat before the crowd stirred again.

I barely heard the rest of his words as he talked about Copper and my previous wins. The pulse of adrenaline was thrumming in my bones, settling deep like an echo that wouldn’t fade.

Shifting in the saddle, I adjusted my grip on the reins, the soft leather of my gloves warm against my fingers.

My starched button-up clung to my back under my embroidered show vest, and the brim of the Stetson shielded my eyes from the glare of the arena lights.

The silver conchos on my chaps caught the light as I squeezed my legs, cueing Copper forward.

He stepped out smoothly, his hooves striking the dirt with easy confidence.

The second we crossed into the arena, the world narrowed, and nothing existed beyond the fence for me: just me, my horse, and the rhythm of the ride.

I settled deep in the saddle, gave the slightest cue, and we took off into a fast, controlled lope. Copper moved like fluid muscle beneath me, every step balanced, every response immediate.

The first maneuver was a large, fast circle.

We surged forward, kicking up dust, wind whipping at my shirt as my horse dug in and pushed through the run. At the marker, I gave a light tug on the reins, and we snapped into the small, slow loop. Copper’s stride shortened, his frame collected, all that power now focused, controlled.

I shifted slightly in my seat, and Copper switched leads effortlessly, smooth as butter.

I could hear the crowd, but it was just noise, far away, unimportant.

I made a quick kissing sound—a cue Copper knew well—and squeezed with just the proper pressure, causing him to surge forward and launch into a dead run.

The fence rushed toward us. I braced, sat deep, and cried out the command, “ Whoa !”

Copper’s hindquarters slammed into the dirt, kicking up a cloud of dust as he slid long and clean, his front hooves barely moving, his whole body tucked neatly beneath him .

The crowd roared, and I turned Copper quick, sent him into a rollback, and we did it again—one more powerful run, one more perfect slide, one more beat of pure, electric movement where the whole damn world disappeared.

Then we stopped.

Even amid the crowd's cheers, I felt silence. I calmed my breath, stroking Copper’s neck as he huffed beneath me.

“Good ride,” I whispered. “Damn good ride.” And a damn shame that I’d lose my beautiful Copper today.

Maverick, I knew, was chomping at the bit—pun intended—to get his hands on Copper as were a few others.

After a win like this at the Wildflower Canyon Rodeo, one of the biggest stops on the circuit, Copperhead Canyon wasn’t just a damn good horse—he was a champion.

A horse like him, with his bloodlines, training, and a fresh trophy under his name, would easily be worth $150,000, maybe more.

That should make Duke happy, I thought, bitterness curling through me.

The son of a bitch was selling it all off, and I hurt something fierce. I mean, it was none of my business, now, was it? Between him and that high-heeled bitch—more power to her—they’d take all the work I’d done with Copper and make a mean profit.

Someday, I wanted my own horses, my own breeding and training operation, my own stable.

Pipe dream, obviously. I’d been working my ass off for years, and all I had to show for it was ten thousand dollars in my bank account. Not even enough for a down payment on a half-decent colt, let alone to start a breeding and training operation. Can’t buy nothing for that kind of cash.

I handed Copper over to Ben at the stables so he could take him to his assigned stall and cool him down properly.

That was when the announcer’s voice boomed overhead, the speakers crackling as the words hit me square in the chest even though I knew we’d won. But hearing it was extra sweet, making it all the more real. It wasn’t my first win, but like every time, I felt pride surge through me.

Yeah, this was my achievement! Only mine!

“Your 2024 Wildflower Canyon Rodeo Reining Champion—Elena Rivera on Copperhead Canyon from Wilder Ranch.”

“Congratulations.” Ben was as excited as a kid on Halloween. “That was…something.”

“Thanks, Ben.”

A heavy hand clapped against my back. “Hell of a ride, Elena,” Hunt said proudly.

“You caught it?”

“Yeah, we all did.” Hunt thrust a bottle of water at me.

I was going to ask who we all meant, but that became obvious when I saw Duke. “Hell of a ride.”

I nodded in greeting and was grateful that I was drinking, so I didn’t have to say anything to him. He’d seen me. Did he see how good I was ?

The need to get his attention, to have his affection, his respect, his love was still clawing inside me after all these years. You could take the man out of the canyon, but you couldn’t take him out of my heart, now, could you?

“Let’s go,” Hunt urged. “We gotta go see Jace.”

I nodded, capping the water bottle and falling into step beside him. The energy of the rodeo pulsed around us: boots kicked up dust, the scent of sweat and horses in the air, and voices raised in excitement.

Duke walked a few steps ahead, close to my left, and I was too damn aware of it.

Of him. The broad set of his shoulders, the way he carried himself like he owned the ground he walked on.

He didn’t look at me, but he didn’t have to.

His presence wrapped around me like barbed wire—painful and impossible to ignore.

Hunt moved ahead, finding a place for us, leaving me alone with Duke. “You always this quiet after a win?” His voice was low.

I glanced at him, my pulse jumping. “I’m quiet in general.”

His lips twitched like he was fighting a smirk. “Not always.”

Was that an innuendo about the time when we had sex?

“You have to be quiet, Elena.” Duke licked my pussy. “Or people will wonder what’s goin’ on in the stables.”

“Duke, please.” My hips sought his mouth, his lips, release .

“I know, baby. I know. You’re so beautiful down here. I love eating you.”

I clamped a hand over my mouth when I exploded, small whimpers escaping me.

“I’m going to take you to the river tonight so you can scream my name.” He drove into me. “So, I can hear you come.”

I took another sip of water instead of answering him and to cool the fuck down. What was this man doing to me?

The bronc chute came into view ahead of us. The crowd had thickened, pressing against the rails, and anticipation humming through them like an electric current.

The air buzzed with energy. The grandstands were packed, the announcer’s voice booming over the speakers, riling up the crowd as Jace lowered himself onto a bronc in the chute.

“Next up in the ranch bronc riding, we got Jace Carter from Wilder Ranch, riding a feisty little mare called Widowmaker !”

Jace was already up on the horse, adjusting his grip on the braided rein. The bronc beneath him shifted, muscles tight, waiting for the gate to fly open.

“He looks good,” Duke murmured

Hunt elbowed me lightly. “He’s gonna give us a show.”

I was standing in between them, so I shifted closer to Hunt. Being near him didn’t evoke the kind of nonsense being close to Duke did.

“Oh, yes, he will. ”

I’d trained Jace and Widowmaker. Each win was a stroke to my bruised ego, a brick in rebuilding my self-esteem and confidence.

The buzzer sounded. The chute gate swung open, and Widowmaker exploded out, all muscle and wild fury. Her hooves barely touched the ground as Jace fought to keep his seat. The crowd roared, and I grinned, feeling the excitement deep in my chest.

Duke’s arm brushed against mine. I could smell his cologne. He used to not wear any then . Now, every time I even got a whiff of it, I was like a mare in heat.

Fuckin’ hell!

I let out a breath, forcing my focus on the arena. Anything but Duke. Anything but the heat simmering between us, ready to burn me alive.

Jace spurred Widowmaker hard, his free hand snapping up for balance as the mare twisted midair, kicking out with all the power of a seasoned bronc. She landed, coiled like a spring, and launched again—wild, unpredictable.

Jace rode Widowmaker through it, his body moving with the horse, not against her. Every jump, every buck, every bone-rattling hit against the ground, Jace took it like he was born in the saddle.

The crowd screamed. I could hear Hunt yelling beside me, and I could feel the buzz of it all—the raw power that only eight seconds on a bronc could bring.

“He’s good,” Duke noted.

“You keep up with rodeos?” Hunt asked.

“Yeah, I do,” Duke replied, surprising me .

Six seconds in, Widowmaker did what she was known for. A dirty duck to the left, then a hard snap to the right—fast, brutal, and meant to send a cowboy flying.

Jace tried to correct, but the mare had her way. He lost his rhythm for half a second—half a second too long. Widowmaker threw one last bone-jarring kick, and Jace sailed off, landing hard in the dirt.

“Fuck!” I cried out.

The buzzer rang just as he hit the ground. I sucked in a sharp breath. Had he made it?

The crowd roared, part excitement, part disappointment, and the announcer’s voice boomed overhead. “And that’s a time of 7.9 seconds for Jace Carter! That puts him in second place, folks!”

I clapped.

Jace rolled to his feet, dust flying as he yanked his hat off and gave a quick wave to the crowd. Widowmaker was already being wrangled back toward the pens, still full of fight.

Hunt whistled low.

"Kid damn near had it,” Duke said, shaking his head.

“He’ll be pissed,” Hunt muttered.

He would, but I knew Jace well enough—he might be frustrated for a minute, but he’d take it in stride and then enjoy himself.