Page 11 of Knox
His lucky routine. Even now he blew out the breaths.
The cowboy yanked up his fringed chaps, then settled his full weight on the bull, his spurs ahead of the ropes.
Gripped the railing with his free gloved hand.
The crowd went deathly quiet.
He raised his hand, and the chute opened.
Hot Pete spun out of the enclosure, into the dirt, yanking the cowboy hard to the outside. The rider hung on like he might be on a carnival ride.
Then Pete jerked forward, his high quarters bucking up. The cowboy jerked forward, cracked his nose on the bull’s head, and instinctively, Knox’s hand went to his nose.
Broken a couple times on a bull’s wide head before he’d been smart enough to ditch his cowboy hat for a helmet.
Blood spurted down the rider’s face, but he had the grit to hang on despite what must be blinding pain.
Pete bucked again and this time twisted in midair.
The rider didn’t have a chance. He flew off in the opposite direction, his grip breaking free of the bull rope. He landed hard, dazed, into the dirt as the clowns chased down Pete, herding him into the exit chute.
A medic had run into the arena, bending beside the young buck. But he came up on his knees, grabbed a proffered gauze pad, and waved to the crowd.
The audience exploded, cheering.
Rafe glanced over at Knox, grinned.
Deal.
“We’ll email you the signed contract,” Rafe said. “Although, are you sure I can’t talk you into bringing Gordo out of retirement? For one epic ride?”
“What, are you going to ride him?”
He recognized the spark in Rafe’s eyes as he grinned. Shrugged.
Knox shook his head. “You have a death wish, Noble.”
Rafe laughed. “You sticking around for the show afterward?”
“The country music concert?”
“My wife’s favorite band is playing. The Yankee Belles. They’re auditioning for a permanent spot on the tour.” Rafe glanced over to where his daughter, seven-year-old Victoria, sat with her mother, the beautiful Katherine—Kitty, as Rafe referred to her—Breckenridge Noble. New York socialite turned rancher’s wife. But more than that, Katherine Noble had added her golden touch to the NBR-X, extricating the hard-rock edge the PBR thrived on and turning it family friendly and even into a charitable event, with their last-night donations at the door for wounded warriors. She wore her dark, sable-brown hair in a ponytail, a pair of jeans, and a pink NBR-X T-shirt that matched her daughter’s.
“I can get you tickets if you and Tate want to go.”
“I think Tate is working tonight. Security.”
“Then come with us. Kitty has backstage passes—you can meet the Belles.”
Oh, that was the last thing he wanted to do—meet the Spice Girls. What he really wanted to do was track down Kelsey, somewhere in this crowd, and show her that he wasn’t quite as old as she made him out to be. For some reason, the cowboy in the ring had ignited something inside him.
The once-upon-a-times and might-have-beens. Maybe he’d go back to the beer tent and get on that mechanical bull, show those yahoos how it’s done.
Or better yet—
You want to ride him, don’t you?
His gaze turned to the final rider, watching as he fought to stay on the animal. He got flipped off after five point three seconds, landing and rolling in the dirt.