Five
But it wasn’t his raw hide screaming at him beneath the trickle of dust and sweat on his back that had him fidgeting under the flickering barn fluorescents.
It wasn’t the continued stares of the nosey old biddies butting against each other to get a better look at their half-kin putting on a show (although the gawking cows didn’t help).
He couldn’t stop his slamming heart and weak knees at the sweating, dirty, determined woman in front of him.
Rachel had insisted on practicing her falls until she nearly collapsed for the last two days.
Said something about not being able to rely on a beefy minotaur catching her the next time she messed up.
And although he initially thought maybe she was punishing herself for an earnest mistake, the more he watched her work, the more he saw her implement his critiques, the more he realized this was just how she was—pure, raw grit compressed into a human shape.
Tonight, she’d swapped her farm clothes for a sports bra and leggings, leaving her boots on in a way that had Eric adjusting himself whenever she looked away. He couldn’t stop that Joe Cocker song from floating into his head but swap “hat” for “boots.”
Now, fresh from several successful safe-falls in a row, sweating, chest heaving, pushing her hair from her dark eyes, Rachel simply nodded.
Eric knew it was time—he hadn’t strapped himself into this ridiculous rig just to parade around for his extended relatives.
But his nerves were screaming, every muscle tight at the thought of Rachel touching him again.
Worse, it’d be strictly a utilitarian exchange—her riding to learn his cadence, to practice staying on longer than her male competitors bet she could.
This would not be tender and heated the way it had been two days ago.
It would be violent.
And in that moment, Eric couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do less .
“Don’t puss out now.” Rachel popped an impatient hip. “I did my part, now you do yours.”
“It’s just—” She cut him off with a sharp quirk of her brow, the only muscle living in a stone face. Eric ducked his head, took a steadying breath, and returned her gaze. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
Dropping to all fours, he waited as she hooked a confident boot into the stirrup, swinging herself up and over his broad back. He was sure the thick press of her thighs could feel him shaking, knew with his body squarely between her legs she would know everything he felt even before he did.
“Eric,” she said from above him, voice softer this time. He waited a few trembling breaths for her to continue. “Don’t act like I’m breakable.”
“Rachel—”
“I’m so goddamn tired of everyone thinking they know what’s better for me out here. I want to win this right, so I want you to throw me, same as anyone else. Alright, cowman?”
“Alright, cowgirl.” He felt her adjust against him as he got his footing.
Her weight on his back was a steady promise, and he remembered again the sheer force of her he’d seen in the last few days—fussing over the herd, picking fights with Illeana, flinging herself again and again from the hay bales just to crash into the dirt knowing it was for the best.
This was not a woman he could break, even if he wanted to.
“There’s not long between each rider, if Roger’s plan works out.
” Rachel’s voice returned to its normal assured command, repeating what Eric had relayed to her after his morning meeting with the rodeo manager.
“He wants you to throw each contestant instead of driving, penning, and tacking a different bull for each. So, you’ll do your eight seconds—”
“If that.” This time Eric interrupted. He was determined not to let anyone outlast Rachel, which meant throwing each rider as soon as possible to give her the best odds.
“I like your attitude, but let’s plan for the worst and hope for the best.”
Eric shoved aside the twinge of sadness at yet another casual Illeana-ism slipping from the cowgirl’s lips. How many more lessons would she leave behind? How many more ways would she haunt the very words from their mouths once she passed?
“Then, you’ll return to the pen for the next rider to mount. They get a few seconds to settle and signal they’re ready, then they’re announced and the gates open.”
“And it’s a bucking show from there.” Eric could hear her roll her eyes, but he snorted at his own stupid joke. “Miss Anderson, you’ve mounted, are you ready?” He continued in his best announcer voice.
Rachel let out a screaming “yee-haw” and kicked the heel of her boot into his ribs.
It wasn’t painful, but it startled him into action.
Eric set off in a tight loop around the barn, rocking forward onto his arms and donkey kicking back as hard as he could, altering the cadence so Rachel couldn’t get too comfortable.
But the cowgirl hadn’t lied—she knew how to ride a wild animal.
Her weight shifted and slid easily along his back, adjusting to each jagged jump, kick, and buck he made.
Her hips were like waves of grain, rolling and rippling with the harsh wind of his movement.
Finally, after what felt like much longer than a few seconds, Eric feigned like he would buck back but flung himself forward instead, angling his back legs for added weight to the tilt and flinging Rachel over his head.
She caught herself expertly in a shoulder roll, standing up with both arms in the air like an Olympic athlete who's just won gold.
A few cows lowed in appreciation, stomping a hoof or two, and she turned to each side, bowing dramatically in thanks for her bovine fans.
Eric stood, stretching his arms in front of him, and reveled in the cowgirl’s joy. She was infectious like this, whooping and hollering and sprinting laps around the barn, stopping briefly to cradle a cow’s head in her hands.
“Did you see Darla! I told that minotaur I could ride—he didn’t believe me! Ha!”
“I never said that.” Eric unbuckled the saddle, rubbing carefully at the raw hide on his ribs. He’d be bruised and bleeding in the morning.
“Oh?” Rachel tucked her hands behind her back in faux-nonchalance, sashaying dramatically over to him back in the center of the barn. “And what exactly did you mean by making me practice falling then, hmm?” She batted her eyelashes at him, tilting her face to his with mischief on her lips.
“May I point out that you did fall?”
“At 8.3 seconds, hoop-nose.” She flicked the ring through his septum playfully, something feral brewing in her eyes.
“Remind me which one of us had the stopwatch?” Eric joined the game, leaning close enough to count the freckles dusting her cheeks, looping an arm around her waist and hauling her closer.
She tapped the side of her head with a wink. “It’s a talent of mine,” she said, sliding her hands up his bare chest, eyes burning darker, lids hanging heavy. “You’re not the only one with a little magic.”
“I believe it.” Eric closed the distance between them and let his hunger for her take over.
He kissed her the way he’d wanted to all day—watching her drink coffee on the porch, a husbandry manual in one hand, barefoot hanging over the arm of the rocker.
Listening to her chat and laugh with the herd, as if she could truly understand them—as if they had important things to say and weren’t just a money-making enterprise.
Watching her muscles work, sweat, ache as she jumped again and again, determined not to let threat of injury block her from winning her dream.
He loved the way she gave into him, grinding against his cock still straining painfully through his jeans, hands roving over every bit of his hide she could touch, mouth opening to his curious tongue.
She kissed as well as she rode, and the thought unleashed something in Eric that had long lain dormant.
A suggestive low froze his hands as they snagged in the back of her sports bra.
Right. His extended relatives.
Without another word, Eric scooped Rachel at the waist, hoisting her over his shoulder like a sack of grain and strode from the barn. “No free show tonight, ya perverts!” he called over his shoulder.
Rachel shrieked with glee, clamping a hand over her mouth as they reached the threshold.
“The door, Eric, the door!” She stage-whispered, kicking her boots like a giddy schoolgirl against his chest. With his free arm, Eric swung the heavy door shut, sliding the bolt in place before taking off at a speedwalk for a more secluded part of the pasture he hoped was still there.