Hard To Fall (Hearts Bend #4)

Chapter 1

COLT

This bull is more than mean.

I know it the second my hand settles into the rope. And he’s not just mean—he’s pissed. There’s a difference. I’m mean, but mean helps me win; it keeps me focused. This guy is pissed and wants to hurt me for even attempting to ride with him.

The chute rattles beneath us, metal vibrating all around. The bull shifts his weight low and tight, muscles coiling under me like he’s waiting for permission to ruin my day. I tip my Stetson forward and block out the noise, the crowd, and more importantly, the ache already screaming in my knee.

Eight seconds. That’s all I’ve got.

That's all I need.

I lean down and mutter, “Don’t make me regret this.”

The gate snaps open, and all hell breaks loose.

The bull explodes out of the chute, his power slamming up through my spine.

He twists hard, bucks higher than he needs to, head snapping like he’s trying to tear me loose by force of will alone.

My free arm slices through the air. My thighs lock, and I ride him the way I’ve always ridden—angry, focused, and stubborn as sin.

But the pain hits early. My knee lights up like it’s reminding me I’m twenty-nine and not nineteen anymore, but I just ignore it. There’s no time for this injury anymore. I’ve got to keep this rodeo on the map, and if I’m the only one to do it, my knee can’t quit on me now.

The world narrows to seconds.

One…three...five…

The bull spins left, suddenly and viciously. I shift with him, and the crowd roars, the sound crashing over me like a wave.

Seven…

The buzzer screams.

I let go and hit the dirt hard, shoulder first, then hip. White-hot pain tears up my leg, and I taste blood, but I roll like muscle memory demands and come up on one knee, hat still low on my head, blocking out any potential pictures fans might take that would show I’m hurting.

The bull charges past, pissed that he didn’t win.

I straighten slowly, forcing my knee to behave, jaw set tight. I tip my hat to the stands because fans want a show, and I don’t give them anything less, even when my leg feels like it’s about to fold.

I scan the crowd out of habit, and that’s when I see her.

She’s gorgeous, honestly, but that’s not what catches my eye first. While everyone else is on their feet clapping with beer sloshing everywhere, this woman doesn’t cheer.

No, she stands still near the rail, sunglasses shoved up into blonde hair that’s coming loose from her ponytail.

Her expression isn’t thrilled, and it isn’t scared.

It’s focused.

Like she’s evaluating that bull, or worse, her future problem.

Me.

Her eyes are on me, and I frown, quickly running through the women I’ve met on the road over the years.

Did I screw this one over? Did I not call? Give the wrong phone number?

I shake my head. There’s no time to wonder what her issue is with me today.

I make my way through the gate, throw my gloves on the table, and grab the Gatorade that’s waiting for me. I wait for my score, toss the cup in the pail, and make it three steps before a shadow drops in front of me.

“Hold still.”

The voice is calm and warm, feminine. I stop and slowly look down.

She’s crouched in front of me already snapping on rubber gloves, a small first aid kit next to her. She smells faintly like citrus and sweat, not perfume. No, there’s nothing fake about her. She’s one hundred percent real. And she's kneeling in front of me, causing me to hallucinate.

“Didn’t ask for help,” I say.

“You didn’t have to,” she replies easily. “You’re bleeding.”

I glance down. Sure enough, red liquid is beginning to seep through my shirt.

Huh.

She follows my gaze and nods once. “Thought so. Now sit.”

I scowl, but still let her push me onto the bench seat. “You the new medic?”

She smiles brighter, like my gruff attitude doesn’t touch her. “Nope.”

“Good,” I mutter. “Because I don’t need a medic.”

With magic fingers, she’s got my shirt unbuttoned and peels it back in record time, just enough to inspect the scrape along my ribs. I suck in a breath before I can stop myself.

Her eyes flick up, and one eyebrow arches. “Sensitive?”

“Only to bullshit,” I say.

“Mm,” she hums. “Must be exhausting.”

She dabs antiseptic against my skin, and it stings like hell, but at least it drowns out the pain radiating through my knee.

“Careful, sunshine,” I growl.

She pauses. “Sunshine?”

“You seem to be enjoying my pain a bit too much,” I bite out.

“So you admit you’re in pain?”

I grind my teeth as she leans in closer, voice dropping just enough to crawl under my skin. “You stayed on for eight seconds. I figured you could handle a little sting.”

My gaze drags over her face, down the white tank top she’s got no business wearing in a place like this, and further down her dust-smudged jeans that hug her curves tightly. She wears confidence like she was born with it and has a mouth that looks like it knows how to argue and enjoy it.

“Name?” I ask.

“Lily Mercer.”

“And who are you to this rodeo, if not a medic?”

She finishes taping me up, then straightens, brushing dirt from her hands. “The woman hired to save this rodeo.”

I snort. “Good luck. We don’t need saving.”

She smiles like she already knows everything about me. “You don’t accept help easily, do you?”

I push to my feet, knee screaming, towering over her now. She’s way too close, and instead of stepping back, all she does is tip her chin up, holding my glare.

“I don’t,” I say quietly.

“Good,” she replies. “Then I’m exactly where I'm supposed to be.”

We stare at each other, dust hanging thick between us.

I tip my hat, but not for the crowd this time. “Well,” I drawl, voice rough as gravel, “welcome to Hearts Bend, sunshine. We’re different here; you should try not to get trampled.”

Her smile turns wicked. “No promises, cowboy.” She faces me as she backs up. “Sometimes a little trampling is needed to turn things around.” She turns on her cowboy boot heels, hips swaying as she walks away.

I know one thing for certain. That bull wasn’t the most dangerous thing in the arena today.