Montana Gold. Genell Dellin

on back to the pens behind the chutes to put away his rigging. He wished he was up in the bull riding tonight. That’d give him a shot of excitement for sure.

      But he wasn’t, so he’d do the next best thing and go help his buddies get on their bulls. Maybe just watching them ride would lift him out of this mood.

      ELLE FELT EXHAUSTION grab her legs for the second time, so she leaned on the barrel to rest them for a minute while the safety men moved in and pushed the bull to the gate. She was going to have to run more. Or work out with heavier weights. Maybe add a couple of repetitions to every part of her workout.

      Excitement surged through her in such a steady stream, though, that she didn’t worry that her legs would give out completely. That couldn’t happen because this was her night.

      “And he-ere’s our last bull ride of the evening, rodeo fans,” the announcer said. “This’ll be the twentieth great bucking bull to perform for us tonight. Don’t you think these fine animal athletes from Birch Creek Rodeo are some of the best in the world?”

      Elle grinned to herself. Yes, they were, and she’d done a bang-up job on every one of them. She had learned a lot, she’d been skillful and she’d been lucky. Overall, this performance had been the best of her career, bar none.

      The thought sent a shiver of excitement running through her. It would help her reach the top. That save she’d made for J. C. Taylor would get her talked about and it’d earn her a lot of respect. If she kept that up, some fine day she’d be going to the PBR, all right.

      The next rider up nodded for the gate and adrenaline surged into her muscles as strongly as if the night had just started. She felt a huge smile take over her face, cracking a streak of mud that she hadn’t quite wiped away.

      Nothin’ like a bull to pull a girl into focus. This one—an old, wily character named Skinny Dippin’—came spinning out of the chute pretending to be a tornado in a floppy skin and whirled like an F-5, away from the rider’s hand.

      “Folks, this bull has been ridden on only ten percent of the tries since he’s been on the Birch Creek string, and that’s five or six years,” the announcer said. “And when he throws a man he takes off to go get him. We’ve got a real match-up here—a bad bull pitted against a good cowboy.”

      The noise of the crowd began to build and he turned up the volume. “Jared Davison, folks, last year’s winner of the PRCA World Championship in bu-ull riding!!!”

      After that, Elle didn’t hear another word. She stayed on the move, trying to feel what would happen next, trying to stay out of the way yet still be in the right place when Jared started to slip or the whistle blew, whichever came first.

      He was wearing a helmet with a cage across his face, which interfered with their balance, a lot of cowboys said, and its weight might be pulling Jared a little to one side. Helmets limited peripheral vision, too, so she’d need to be right there when he came off because he might not be able to see the bull the whole time.

      Riding a spin away from his hand was harder than riding one into his hand, and Jared was getting more and more out of shape, fighting with his outside leg to stay centered. If he slipped any more off his rope, the centripetal force of the spin would pull him down into the well—the circle made by the bull’s body. Skinny Dippin’ was a perfect example of what the cowboys called a “welly” bull.

      Jared got his balance back and from then on, when the bull straightened out and started kicking high, the two of them were a picture of true beauty—two creatures in a ballet choreographed by the bull. Whatever he did, Jared made a move to counter him.

      The dirt was deep and wet in spots and heavy enough to wear out an iron man. Jared had good natural balance and upper body strength, and he used his free arm as a pilot really well, so he was able to ride the new spin when it came and then react when Skinny Dippin’ stopped spinning and started bucking again. The old bull kicked high and twisted hard, leaping high into the air like the famous bull Bodacious used to do.

      The announcer was yelling, the crowd was on its feet, and the seconds were ticking past forever. In the blink of an eye, almost so fast Elle couldn’t see it happen, the bull stopped and jumped again, way high, then he came back down to buck with a vicious fury that sent a chill down her spine.

      “Stay with him, son, stay with him,” the announcer screamed.

      The buzzer sounded.

      Jared jumped or fell from the far side of the bull and as the animal turned toward him, Elle moved in to shoot the gap between Skinny Dippin’s head and the cowboy. But they weren’t separated. The bull spun fast away from her with the rider flopping and trying to stay on his feet and run alongside, his hand hung up in the rigging. She rushed toward him as the spin got faster.

      Skinny Dippin’ was twisting, hooking back at Jared, wanting in the worst way to get a horn in him. Elle threw herself onto the opposite side of the bull and stuck there, running with him, then riding on him, amazed at the uncontrollable force underneath her, jarred and shaken so much that she couldn’t see but she wouldn’t let go, holding on with one hand and grabbing to free Jared from the bull rope with the other.

      She and Jared nearly bumped heads, finally she jerked him free, and the force sent her falling headfirst over the back of the bull. Instinctively, she threw herself into a backwards somersault and landed on her feet.

      The bull turned away from her, thank God, because for an instant she could hardly stand, much less run. Everything happened in a whirling instant but Elle saw Skinny Dippin’ fixating on his rider and going after him as he tried to scramble away on his hands and knees.

      Her heart stopped when the bull flattened him faster than she could take a breath but she got there before he hooked him by running in to jump over Jared’s prone body, dragging her hand across the bull’s nose, grabbing the lowered, searching horn. She tried to turn the massive head, which was like moving a mountain, but she did succeed in getting his attention.

      Skinny Dippin’ turned. He was interested in her, now. She took off her hat and slapped him in the face and he came after her.

      Her blood singing with the thrill of it and with the satisfaction of getting him away from Jared, she ran toward the middle of the arena. Skinny Dippin’ came with her part of the way but then, as if he’d suddenly decided he was bored, he turned away and trotted toward the out gate, as docile as a calf.

      Thank God. She’d used up nearly everything she had.

      She heard the crowd, just for a second. Then the safety pickup men got behind Skinny Dippin’ to drive him on out and she ran toward Jared, although she didn’t think she could run another step. Before she could reach him, Junior was helping him to his feet and the Justin Sports Medicine people were coming in.

      Jared got to his feet, looking for her. He took a couple of shaky steps toward her and as soon as she got there, gave her a huge hug. He let her go and they shared a big high-five. The announcer and the crowd were screaming now, but she hardly heard them because Jared was stepping back and taking his hat off to her. It was the rare accolade that was usually reserved for a victorious bull after a hard-fought ride.

      The roar of the crowd grew even louder.

      So. Take that, Chase Lomax.

      The thought came out of nowhere and shocked her even more than Jared had just done. She hadn’t even known she was thinking about him.

      ELLE’S STOMACH GROWLED as she punched the button in the hotel elevator and sent it gliding downward, toward a late-night snack. More accurately, a very late dinner. She was still so high on what she considered her career-best performance that she couldn’t come down, but she didn’t want to go out on the town and kick up her heels by herself, and nobody would go with her.

      Her friends were all gone to practice roping or repair some rigging or lift some weights or work their horse on the barrels or to get some sleep. Or, in M.J.’ s case, to hang out with her boyfriend, who not only thought she was the funniest, cutest woman he’d ever seen, but couldn’t keep