1 Chapter 1

1

Sweat dripped down the back of Rebecca Rankin’s neck, trickling beneath her top to make the blue ribbed tank stick to her skin, and the waistband of her shorts felt too tight, digging into her sides. It was the hottest Fourth of July in fifty years, and standing in the middle of sweating cowboys, screaming fans, and cranky animals only made the heat worse. The sun hung low on the horizon, but the hot air had been trapped against the ground. Even the growing dusk did not offer any relief. If she’d been smart, she would have pulled her hair up into a ponytail to try and ease her discomfort. But Spencer liked her hair down. Since she only saw him one night in the year, the hair stayed put.

Spectators packed the bleachers, shoulder to shoulder, and the announcement about the next event blasted from the speakers. Audible excitement shuddered through the crowd, and Rebecca inched forward from the spot Spencer had picked out for her. Most of the locals watched the annual rodeo from reserved seats on the east end of the arena, near the announcer’s box, but Rebecca didn’t join them. Spence put her in the chute area, away from the bulk of people, giving her one of the best vantage points to watch the rodeo. He had made special accommodations for her the year before, as well. He probably went out of his way for other girls he saw on the circuit, but it didn’t lessen the thrill. She was Spencer Cole’s guest. The only guest that mattered at this rodeo

“Cole drew third.” A voice at her elbow made Rebecca look away from the arena, and she smiled at the grizzled face of Max Clute. He helped every year with the logistics of the Oakley rodeo. She had met Max three years earlier, after Spencer had insisted Rebecca be the one to shoot all his local photos. Max had taken her under his wing, showing her more and more of how the rodeo worked. The friendship had led to writing a feature on Max for her father’s newspaper, even though Rebecca’s heart lay in her photography. She knew photography would be her ticket out of town one day.

She took the program he offered and scanned over the other names. “Who’s going before him?”

“Plaisted and Bannerman. Make sure you get some pics of Bannerman. I got a gut feeling he’s on the brink of something great.”

Though Rebecca nodded, she was already imagining Spencer’s ride. He was the best bull rider she’d ever seen, and Max’s gut feeling would not sway her into believing someone else would actually win the event. Sure, Spencer lost his fair share, but ever since his magnificent ride four years earlier, Spencer Cole always won in her hometown. He called Rebecca his good luck charm. He didn’t need a good luck charm. He was just amazing.

“What bull did he draw?” When an answer wasn’t immediately forthcoming, she glanced up and saw the frown on Max’s face. “Well?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Tell me.”

Max looked away from her and out over the arena. “Rusty Jack Knife.”

It felt like the air had been sucked out of her lungs with her dad’s leaf blower set on reverse. “Oh, crap,” Rebecca muttered.

Her head whipped around to scan the bull paddocks behind the chutes, but from her distance, it was impossible to tell the beasts apart. That was probably better. She didn’t want to see this particular bull. She wanted to see Spencer on it even less.

Rusty Jack Knife had the reputation as one of the meanest bulls on the circuit. Nobody had taken him in over four years. More than that, he had a tendency to leave the riders who tried in pieces. One had even died, she’d heard. And now Spencer was getting his turn. The cotton candy she’d had earlier started to roil in her stomach.

Spencer would see it as a challenge. He thrived on taking impossible chances, and when it came to bull riding, the greater the risk, the worthier the reward. Trying to speak to him before his ride would be pointless, even if Rebecca wanted to. Talking to him now would only distract him, and he needed every ounce of concentration he could get.

“He’s had worse,” Max commented when she turned back around.

“I know.”

“And he’s good enough to handle this one.”

“I know.”

“Doesn’t make it easier to watch, though.”

Rebecca sighed. “No, it doesn’t.”

She barely saw the first two riders. She forgot about Max’s suggestion to photograph Bannerman as she anxiously waited for Spencer to come out. But then the audience cheered over Bannerman’s scores, and the announcer called Spencer’s name, and she edged forward as far as she could to watch the chute gate fly open.