Hannah
Usually I’ll peek through a gate and watch the bronc riding event after I’ve led Queen through some warmups in the practice arena.
But the second I climbed up on one of the rusted metal gates, my lungs seized up.
Of course, he would be here. I’ll probably see him quite often this summer, and the very thought of that sends my stomach into knots.
The one and only Dean Wilder shoots out of the gate like a lightning strike.
It’s infuriating how talented he is. He makes riding a bronc bareback seem as simple as taking a walk in the park.
The way the black fringe on his chaps seems suspended in air as he’s thrown up and down, over and over, is mesmerizing.
“Amazing, isn’t he?” I clamp my open mouth shut, burying it in the fabric of my sleeve. Mallory George steps up on the gate beside me, resting her chin on the top bar. Her eyes are glazed over, as if in a daze.
“Him and all the others,” I mutter, the excuse sounding childish even to me.
When she doesn’t answer, I push off the gate, huffing at the perfect score he just received and the racer turned swooning buckle bunny behind me.
He shouldn’t bother me as much as he does.
No man has ever lingered on the edge of my mind as annoyingly often as this man has since last weekend.
I haven’t even talked to him, for crying out loud.
He probably doesn't even know I exist outside of our interaction on stage.
And that irritates me more than it should.
My fingers angrily untie Queen’s reins from one of the railings, and I swing up into the saddle, muttering to myself about how stupid I’m being.
“Hannah, right?” I wince at the cramp that forms in my neck from how quickly I look in the direction of my name.
A tall man with tan chaps and a tight buzz cut looks at me from his place on top of the metal fence.
He smiles at me with perfectly straight teeth.
Any girl would melt on the spot, I’m sure they’d drop to their knees for him right here in the dirt, surrounded by people.
But me? I’m bothered that I have to even pretend to enjoy his company.
“Right.” I make to turn away, but he reaches out and grabs Queen’s halter, rubbing her between her eyes. Damn traitor falls into his trance and nuzzles into him. Rolling my eyes, I release her reins and put my fake ass smile in place. “That’s me. You are?” His crystal blue eyes meet mine.
“Kasey.” I nod my head at him.
“Nice to meet you, Kasey. What event were you in tonight?” He stares at me a beat too long, and I feel my smile start to slip.
“Just rode, bare back,” he says with a hint of seduction. The wink he gives me has me doubling over in silent laughter.
I lean down, resting my elbow on the saddle horn.
“Please tell me that doesn’t work for you?
” When he doesn’t respond, I drop my head back and stare at the ceiling in disbelief.
“Kasey, if I was any other girl, you’d have me in the tack room bent over a saddle right now.
” His fingers pause mid scratch and Queen nuzzles in more.
Greedy whore . With his mouth parted, I continue my scolding.
“But I’m not. Leave your cheesy pick up lines for the bunnies.
” This gets a laugh from him and he slides off the top rung of the fence, hand running along Queen’s neck until his fingers still just inches from my knee.
“Who would guess rodeo queen Hannah Harlow has such a filthy mouth on her?” His eyes sparkle with mischief.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a cloud of black settle into place behind a section of the fence.
When I look in that direction, goosebumps prickle my skin and I suppress a shudder at the sight of Dean Wilder.
His chin rests on the section of fence where paint has peeled off, those storm cloud eyes boring into mine.
I’ve forgotten Kasey was even here until he nudges my knee.
“Seems like someone doesn’t like sharing your attention.” I follow his gaze back to the man across from me. His lips set in a firm line, hands gripping the rung. From here, I can see the spur tattoo flexing over the muscles in his hands. My mouth waters at the thought of what those hands can do.
“I don’t even know him.” Even to me, I can hear the need in my voice. Kasey shifts back to the front of Queen and runs his hands over her nose again.
“Be careful with that one,” he cautions, his voice low.
“What do you mean?” Breaking my trance on the man in black, I look back towards Kasey.
“I’ve tried to get to know him, but he’s an enigma. We’ve ridden in the same rodeos for years, but no one can get close to him. He travels solo.” Without looking in his direction, I can feel his eyes on me, heat pricking my skin.
“Bronc riding is a solo sport, why does it matter?”
Kasey tilts his head at me, confusion filling his gaze. “You should know better than anyone that despite our events being a one person job, rodeo as a whole is a team sport. We cheer each other on even when our title hinges on the chance that they fail.” God, this man is too nice.
“I don’t have time for friends, Kasey.”
His shoulders sag with defeat. “Another one down, I guess.” With that, he slaps his hat against his thighs and places it on his head. As he pats Queen one more time, he looks up at me.
“Well, Hannah, whether you want it or not, consider me a friend. Have a good ride tonight,” he says with a dip of his chin before walking away.
I notice a few of the riders do a double take, watching Kasey exit the arena.
He catches Mallory’s eyes and gives her that megawatt smile he tried on me earlier.
To his credit, she falls for it, blushing and giving him a shy wave as he passes by.
But my attention goes back to the boot prints left behind by the cowboy that makes me feel things I’ve promised to never feel again.
Placing second tonight stings, but at least I didn’t have to stand face to face with Dean Wilder again.
It gave me the chance to put some space between us.
After wiping down Queen and getting her loaded in the trailer, I lock her in and make my way to the sleeping quarter up front.
After selling five acres with our gorgeous little farmhouse, including the life insurance payouts, I walked away with a small fortune.
I only spent it on a new truck and this obscenely massive trailer with sleeping quarters including an attached room and bathroom.
Knowing I wouldn’t settle down for a while, I allowed myself the small luxury of dishing out good money for a comfortable place to sleep while on the road.
It also gives me the chance to spend the days between races to camp out and explore local trails between rodeos.
During the winter, I place Queen in a pasture I rent out and take off somewhere, usually somewhere warmer.
I don’t do well cooped up in the cold. Mama loved winters, loved how the snow looked, freshly fallen and untouched.
These days, too much down time offers too much time to dwell on the past. That and feeling lonely, winters make me wish I didn’t close myself off to everyone around me.
Traveling and staying on the go keeps my mind from drifting.
Closing the door behind me, I bend down at the foot of my bed to grab my backpack.
When my hand meets the floor, I throw back the clothes littering the floor and search under the bed.
Shit! I’d taken it to the arena tonight to review footage on my laptop, but left it after my race.
Tossing my hat aside, I close the door on my way out and comb my fingers through my hair, happy to release the tension from the tight braid I’ve had it in all day.
My brown, wavy hair blows around me, just how I like it.
Unruly and free. The grounds are quiet at this time; most of the other riders have packed up and left town for the next rodeo.
Some crammed into trucks and headed into town for a drink and dancing.
A few trailers have lights glowing from their covered windows, but the only sounds around me is the steady rhythm of crickets and my boots scuffing over the graveled lot.
As I round the corner to the entrance gate, muffled cries sound from an alcove up ahead.
I slow my steps and strain to listen for the sound again.
Now louder this time and not as hushed, my heartbeat speeds up and my gut twists.
Who the fuck is out here this late? I wish I would have grabbed my pepper spray from my truck.
As I get closer, the moans become louder and more aggressive.
A sharp slapping sound causes me to start running in the direction of a dark hallway just a few yards away.
I have no idea what I’ll do, but if it’s someone who needs my help, I can’t just run past and pretend I’m not hearing what is happening.
As I round the corner, my boots come to an abrupt halt, my hair flying around my face.
Through the strands I’m desperately trying to untangle from my eyes, I’m stuck in place.
Standing there with his black jeans pulled down just below his perfect ass is Dean fucking Wilder.
The dimples in his ass flex each time his hips snap with abandon against the woman he’s fucking.
His skin slaps against the bare ass of a blonde, busty woman with bright red lips.
Her tank top is pulled down over her tits, which he holds in his palms. As his fingers rub her nipples between his finger and thumb, I feel mine tighten beneath my shirt.
Her cries turn into moans, her hands smacking against the concrete wall.
My mind screams at me to turn away. But deep in the dark parts of my mind, I can’t look away from the pair, grinding before me.
His teeth dig into her shoulder and I squeeze my thighs together, the pressure building in my core as I watch the hand with the spur tattooed into his flesh reach up and cup her throat.
I bring my own hand to my neck, rubbing at it, envisioning how it would feel to have his strong grip around it.
The movement catches Dean’s attention, his eyes suddenly flicking to mine.
I expect him to stop, to cover himself, to yell at me to fuck off.
Instead, he angles the woman's head away from me, and turns that stormy gaze directly at me . His gray eyes steal the air from my lungs. It’s obscene, crude, totally inappropriate, and yet wildly arousing .
I stare at him, not once breaking his brisk pounding.
Her moaning is faster now, his breath heavy.
“That’s it, darlin’,” he rasps into the woman’s ear, not taking his eyes off me, “let loose for me.” Shivers skate over my body and I tremble underneath his gaze.
He gives me a wild smile as beads of sweat collect on his forehead, his mess of brown hair ghosting over his eyes.
It’s not until the blonde let’s out a porn star worthy gasp that reality swoops in around me.
My body tingles as if I’m the one who just came, the night air so much hotter than it was a few minutes ago.
Debating if I should say anything or turn and run, I realize he’s still thrusting, keeping her head turned away from me, as if hiding the fact that I’m there.
His eyes screw shut and his pumps into her one last time before collapsing against her.
The moment he closes his eyes, I turn and run down the walkway towards the tack room.
When I reach the room off to the corner of the indoor arena, I slam the door behind me and sag against the wood, sliding to the ground.
“What the fuck!” My palm smacks against my forehead.
Visions of him assault me each time I blink, the feeling of his eyes on me while he came stuck in my mind.
I’m not sure how long I sit on the floor, but through the haze my eyes land on my bag, and I jolt up.
Suddenly remembering why I’m here in the first place.
Pushing to my knees, I dive for the canvas backpack and hold it to my chest, trying to calm my breathing.
How much longer do I wait to leave this closet?
What if he hasn’t left the parking lot yet?
There is no pretending I didn’t just stand there and willingly watch as he fucked a buckle bunny in an alcove.
And there is no way I can ever pretend that I didn’t enjoy it.
I know he didn’t miss the way my nipples poked through my thin, cotton shirt, or the way my hand held my throat the same way he held hers.
“This is crazy,” I mutter to myself. Shaking my head, I turn to leave, but the sound of the door clicking open has my blood running cold.