Chasing Chords (Skyline Acres)

1. Dawn

Chapter 1

Dawn

I was going to vomit. My heart pounded in my chest as the sound of the crowd echoed through the arena. My clammy grip tightened around Celine’s reins, the worn leather slick against my sweaty palms. We moved out of the holding pen, and though every motion with her was muscle memory by now, the tension in my gut refused to unwind.

“And up next, we have Dawn Taylor from Skyline Acres Ranch, riding her seven-year-old chestnut mare, Celine. Known for their precision and lightning-fast turns, this duo is one to watch,” the commentator declared, his voice underscored by the buzz of the crowd.

The dusk air nipped at my face as I led Celine toward the arena entrance. Overhead, the last traces of the spring sun sank below the horizon, painting the sky in muted golds and purples. The stadium lights flared to life, bathing the grounds in harsh brilliance and illuminating the expectant faces of hundreds of spectators. Their energy was infectious—anticipation, excitement, the thrill of not knowing who would win or falter.

Last year’s thirteenth-place finish still haunted me. One spot shy of qualifying for the Canadian Finals Rodeo. One. A bitter loss that gnawed at me but also fueled me. This year had to be different. I’d trained harder, pushing Celine and myself to our limits because failure wasn’t just disappointing—it was catastrophic.

But this year… this year was going to be different. This wasn’t just about riding. It wasn’t even about winning. For me, this was survival.

I glanced at Celine, her dark eyes gleaming as she trotted beside me. “You’re ready for this, girl?” I murmured, running my hand down her neck. Her ears flicked back toward me as if she understood. I smiled to myself. She was a good girl—quick, agile, and strong as hell. She was going to help me get what I needed.

The announcer’s voice crackled over the loudspeakers, and excitement surged in my chest as the crowd hurried to fill the stands. I’d always loved the energy of a rodeo—the anticipation, the noise, the excitement. There was nothing quite like it. But for me, it was more than just a show.

It was my entire life.

The only thing I’d ever truly been good at. My blood, sweat, and tears had gone into this every single day. And I wasn’t about to let that go to waste.

I led Celine out of the waiting area, where barrel racers were warming up just outside the main event. The arena was a swirl of movement—horses galloping, riders adjusting their saddles, a buzz of conversation and nervous energy. I could feel the tension, the fierce competition in the air. This wasn’t just another rodeo; this was another step toward my goal—winning the most lucrative rodeo in Canada.

Not only did I want to win this thing, but I knew I needed to win it this year. Other riders wanted to win for the fame and recognition of their hard work. But me? I was in it for the money.

There had been a time in my life when I’d competed to prove to the world that I was worth something on the back of a horse. That I had the guts to ride quickly and turn sharply as dirt flew in my face; that I was more than just my mother’s legacy. Now… I just really needed the money.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. Nerves were always a part of it. My mother had taught me they were a good thing. They used to keep me sharp. I couldn’t let them control me, even if they seemed to consume me these days.

I mounted Celine, feeling the saddle settle beneath me as we entered the ring. The reins were light in my hands, and I adjusted my grip, glancing around at the other riders, the crowd eyeing us from above, and the rodeo clowns animating on the sidelines.

The countdown began.

I leaned forward, aligning myself with Celine’s rhythm. Time seemed to slow down. The noise around me faded as I locked into the pattern, my focus narrowing to just me and my girl. This was it. I’d done everything I could to get here. Now, it was about doing the job—winning this thing and bringing the money home.

“And they’re off! Taylor is out of the gate with excellent speed, heading toward the first barrel. Let’s see how she handles the turn here…” the commentator’s voice boomed.

I nudged Celine with my heels, and we were off. The crowd’s roar was drowned out by the sound of her hooves pounding the dirt, and the world blurred around us. The first barrel came into view quickly. I guided Celine around it, leaning into the turn. Her response was flawless—smooth, fluid, like we’d done this a million times, which we had by now.

We rounded the second barrel, and adrenaline rushed through me. Celine was fast, but I knew we needed precision just as much as speed. I guided her through the turn, then pushed for a burst of speed as we approached the third barrel.

This was the most challenging part—the sharpest turn that could make or break my run. My heart skipped a beat, but I trusted Celine. We had this; we had to.

I leaned into the turn, my grip tight on the reins. Celine responded instantly. We were flying now, turning the corner and heading for the finish line.

“Perfect turn at barrel three! They’re looking to finish strong. Speed and accuracy are key here, people. Taylor is well known for her flawless runs, as we’re seeing another exceptional one today!”

“Come on, Cel!” I urged, squeezing my legs against her sides, feeling the power beneath me. We surged forward, faster and faster. I could taste the air in my lungs, the thrill of it all. The finish line was right ahead.

As we crossed it, I pulled back on the reins, slowing Celine to a trot. My chest heaved, and I couldn’t help the slight grin that spread across my face.

“Fifteen seconds even!” the announcer called, and the crowd erupted in applause.

I glanced at the scoreboard, my heart racing with excitement—first place.

For now.

I let the moment settle in, just for a second. The rush of crossing the finish line, of knowing we had given it everything we had. But I couldn’t get too comfortable. The competition was fierce, and there was still a long road ahead. But this… this was the start I needed.

I trotted steadily back to the paddock, where other riders were taking care of their horses. We had another full day of competition tomorrow. We needed to stay on top of our game.

Three thousand dollars. Everyone else would have been delighted to win that much in a single race, but for me, it was nothing. This money was going directly into my parents’ ranch to pay for everything they had left us: their dream and their debts.

That wasn’t even counting the money I needed for my sister’s school this year, the various repairs that had to be done on the ranch, the residents’ care—just thinking about all the bills we had to pay made my heart race and my stomach churn.

A cry of excitement pulled me out of my thoughts and my growing anxiety as I turned to see my best friend, Willow, enter the stall running.

“You did it! Another night, another win, baby!” she said, storming toward me and jumping into my arms. I barely had time to open them to catch her, smiling softly.

“It’s just one run, Willow. I’ve got forty-five more to go before the finals.” I laughed, despite the knot of anxiety still coiled in my chest.

“Oh, come on, Dawn! You can celebrate and be proud of your run! Didn’t you hear the crowd cheering for you and Celine?” she added, caressing the neck of the mare eating hay at her feet.

I looked at her quietly as she bent down to offer Celine more hay, even though the mare was already helping herself. Willow’s deep brown almond eyes studied me as she tucked a strand of her black hair behind her left ear.

Willow had been with me through it all. I’ll never forget the first time my parents found her—just fourteen, standing alone by the side of the road, singing for money. Her voice, raw and powerful, carried her sorrow and despair into the air. My parents couldn’t just drive by when they saw her sitting there with nothing but a hat at her feet. They pulled over, spoke to her, and before long, they convinced her to come with them to the ranch. She wasn’t just a lost girl trying to survive anymore; she was one of us. My parents took her under their wing and made her feel at home. From that moment on, she became more than just my best friend—she became my sister.

“Don’t stress so much, Dawn,” she said, reading my thoughts on my face. “You know you’re good enough to win this money. You’re the best barrel racer Alberta has seen since your mother.”

My parents had always been my biggest supporters, pushing me to chase my dreams with the same relentless passion they had for theirs. My mother, in particular, was a legend in the barrel racing world, her name etched in the records of the Canadian Finals Rodeo year after year. She wasn’t just a competitor; she was a force, teaching me not only how to race but also how to live fearlessly, with grit and determination. My father was her steady partner, always at her side, cheering her on, driving late into the night to get us to competitions, and keeping our family grounded through it all.

But that passion came with a cost, and on the way back from one of her races, tired and road-weary, everything changed. The car accident took both of them in an instant, leaving my world shattered. My life changed in the blink of an eye, transforming me into the head of the family at only twenty years old.

Now, no matter how many jackpots I won or little successes I had with the ranch, their absence lingered—a quiet ache in the background of everything I did.

Yet every time I stepped into the arena, I felt them with me. My mother’s voice echoed in my mind, her words of encouragement still urging me forward. My father’s steady presence felt like a guiding hand. They might have been gone, but their love and belief in me had never left. Riding wasn’t just a sport for me anymore—it was a way to honor them, to keep their legacy alive, and to remind myself that even in their absence, I had to keep going, no matter what.

“Willow, even if I win all the rodeos going forward, I’ll still be short more than a couple thousand... It’s not like I’ll be able to earn this kind of money working at a grocery store or something. No offense,” I said quietly, not wanting the other racers to overhear.

My siblings and I had inherited the ranch after my parents passed, but they had left us with more than just beautiful lands and a house. The debts they’d accumulated every year, investing in their dream ranch, were astronomical.

I’d never known growing up that my parents had money problems. We were always well-fed and well-clothed; my mother always participated in her races, and so did I. My father tirelessly worked on the ranch, transforming it for my brother.

I had no idea, until just a month before my twenty-first birthday, that during my first meeting with the notary, he would reveal that their debt had been passed on to us.

Just like that, in a matter of months, I lost my parents and the life I had imagined for myself. I needed to become the new head of the family, to take care of my sister and brother, to maintain the ranch, and to find a way to pay for it all.

“We’ll find a way, Dawn. We always find a way,” Willow said calmly, smiling with confidence.

I wished I could borrow even an ounce of my best friend’s carefree attitude and confidence. She was never stressed about anything, going with the flow of events happily—an actual sunflower, always following the rays of sunshine.

“Now, stop worrying for a sec, and let’s celebrate tonight’s victory with a good drink in hand and a hot cowboy by our side,” she winked, helping me cover Celine with her blanket.

Still, I lost myself in my thoughts, wondering how I would manage to keep my head above water. Because giving up wasn’t an option—not for me, not for the ranch, and certainly not for the people counting on me.

* * *

The crowd’s roar outside the main tent was electric—a chaotic blend of stomping boots, impatient voices, and the clink of plastic cups filled with cheap beer.

Willow tugged my hand, practically yanking me out of my sulk as we dodged a few stragglers stumbling toward the beer line.

“Come on, Dawn! Tonight is about fun, not whatever storm you’ve been stewing in all week.” By all week, she probably meant two years.

Willow’s enthusiasm was impossible to resist. She glowed, her long black hair catching the light from the stringed lanterns, her fringed jacket swaying with every step.

“I don’t know if ‘kissing cowboys’ is going to solve my problems,” I muttered, half-heartedly dragging my boots through the dirt as we ducked under the tent’s striped flap.

“Don’t think about solving anything. Just dance, drink, and maybe let some rugged, flannel-wearing distraction take your mind off things. You owe it to yourself!”

Inside the marquee, the atmosphere was unexpectedly tense. The band on stage played a slow, bluesy number, their lead singer strumming a guitar while murmuring into the mic. Most of the crowd wasn’t even facing them, scattered in clusters by the bar, at the edges of the dance floor, or sitting on stools, waiting.

For what, I wasn’t sure.

Willow nudged me with her elbow. “I’ll grab drinks while I scout for prospects.”

She darted off toward the bar before I could protest, leaving me awkward and exposed on the dusty floor. People glanced in my direction, some raising their drinks in acknowledgement, others offering polite smiles.

They either recognized my victory earlier today or saw a resemblance to my mother. I’d inherited her high cheekbones, the dusting of freckles across my face, and her imperfect smile, with slightly prominent canines.

I sighed and folded my arms, letting my attention drift to the stage.

That’s when I saw him.

The singer stood under the warm glow of the stage lights, his cowboy hat tilted just enough to shadow his eyes but not the sharp line of his jaw. His voice carried over the crowd—a little rough and raw, like he was singing straight from his soul.

Nash Rhodes.

I recognized him instantly, though I hadn’t expected to. Not here, at a small rodeo. The country star I’d listened to on late-night drives, his voice anchoring me, pulling me back from the edge of my spiraling thoughts.

But this wasn’t the same Nash Rhodes the radio had made famous. This man looked out of place, as if he was trying too hard to blend into a scene he no longer belonged to. Judging by the crowd’s muted response, they seemed to agree.

“Man, when’s the DJ coming on?” someone groaned behind me.

“Soon, I hope,” another voice chimed in. “These guys are a buzzkill.”

I glanced around, realizing how little attention anyone paid to the stage. Conversations drowned out the music, and a few people had already turned their backs, waiting for the night to truly begin.

Willow reappeared, a drink in each hand. She shoved one into mine with a triumphant grin. “Strawberry gin and tonic. Thank me later.”

“Do people here even like these guys?” I asked, nodding toward the stage as I took a hesitant sip. The drink burned in the best way, its sweetness balancing the sharp kick of alcohol.

Willow followed my gaze and wrinkled her nose. “Oh, them? That’s Rebel Rose, right? I think they used to be someone. Guess they’re trying to claw their way back or something.”

I scoffed. “Someone? You mean the best country duo Canada has seen in a decade. They won every award they were nominated for in their first year alone.”

Willow wasn’t much of a trend follower. She didn’t know most mainstream music or new artists. She preferred old-school country or underground acts.

“Only because I read the tabloids during my grocery store breaks. They were big, then they weren’t. Heard the singer beat a guy unconscious in a bar last year.” She shrugged, already scanning the room again. “Anyway, who cares? We’re here for fun, not sad cowboy ballads. Come on.”

She grabbed my arm, dragging me toward the edge of the dance floor, where a small group swayed halfheartedly.

The band shifted into another song, even slower this time—the kind of tune meant for couples to shuffle in circles. A few brave pairs took the cue, but most stayed put, sipping their drinks and chatting over the music.

“Dance with me,” Willow demanded, spinning me in a circle before I could argue.

I laughed despite myself, swaying to the rhythm as she exaggerated her moves, her hair flying around her like she was performing for a crowd of thousands. Her movements weren’t in tune with the music, but she didn’t care.

“See? It’s not so bad!”

It wasn’t. For a moment, I let myself get lost in the music, the faint buzz of the cocktail warming my chest. The song reminded me of late nights at the ranch, caring for horses with my father.

As I looked up, I caught the singer watching me.

It was brief—just a flicker of a glance between lines of a verse—but it was enough to send a strange jolt through me. His expression was unreadable, somewhere between curiosity and exhaustion, like he was trying to figure out why I was looking back when no one else seemed to care.

“What’s with the face?” Willow asked, snapping me out of it.

“Nothing,” I said quickly, taking another sip of my drink and swaying to the slow beat.

She smirked, clearly not buying it. “Well, if broody cowboys are your thing, you picked a good one. But good luck getting through that wall of self-pity.”

I rolled my eyes and focused back on the dance floor, pretending not to notice when Nash Rhodes’ gaze flicked my way again.

The band finished their song, and a smattering of polite applause rippled through the tent. Someone near the bar shouted, “Finally!” as the DJ walked onto the stage, headset in place and laptop glowing.

The energy shifted instantly.

People flooded the dance floor, the beat from the speakers thumping hard enough to rattle the tent. Country classics were mixed with modern beats, inviting people to line up, dance, and sing at the top of their lungs.

Willow squealed with excitement. “Now this is what I’m talking about!”

She grabbed my hand again, pulling me further into the crowd. I followed, but I couldn’t shake the weight of that fleeting moment, the way the singer’s gaze had lingered just long enough to feel like something more than an accident.

And I couldn’t explain why it mattered.