Worth the Fall

Prologue

“Folks, I want to see you on the edge of your seats. Our next cowboy comin’ out of the chute is one of the best bareback bronc riders in the business, Colton Nash!

He’s climbing on the horse known as Trigger.

We’re about to see if Trigger can live up to his name and shoot this cowboy into the dust! ”

Inside the steel tomb of the chute, the world was a different story.

Colton jammed his gloved hand under the rigging, the leather groaning under the pressure.

He squeezed his palm tight, forcing the blood out of his hand until his grip felt like iron.

Beside him, twelve hundred pounds of “Trigger” slammed into the metal rails, a violent shudder that vibrated through Colton’s boots and up his spine.

The horse wasn’t just anxious; he was a riot in a box.

The roar of the crowd was becoming a distant hum.

He focused on the noises right in front of him.

Colton tuned it out, focusing instead on the hot, rhythmic huff of the horse’s breath and the sharp clink-clink of his own spurs against the gate.

He could smell the sharp tang of horse sweat and the sticky rosin on his glove.

All eyes were on him, waiting for the signal.

He set his jaw, his pulse hammering against his throat. He looked at the chute boss, his eyes narrowing until the world was nothing but the space between Trigger’s ears.

He gave a sharp, jagged nod.

The boss returned his nod and raised his hand. The gate shot open.