1. Bull Rider Bet

CHAPTER 1

BULL RIDER BET

CODY "BIG D" FORD

Standing around, shooting the shit with the other cowboys, I get only a turned-up nose from the rodeo queen when I whistle at her low and slow through my teeth. She passes on by—nope, struts in her saddle—on the back of a pretty palomino. A red ribbon in her thick, long, auburn hair matches three bows tied in the horse's mane.

"Damn, cowgirl. Why don't you get to know me first before you break my heart?" I snicker and call after her. She holds up one hand and flips me the bird without even a backward glance at me. I like her spunk.

"She's way outta your league, Cody. She's been here all summer, and she's turned us all down when we've asked her out. My sister says she's getting over an ex and not interested." Dwight guffaws. He's a long-time friend of mine in the amateur rodeos around here.

In the off-season from playing hockey, I get back to my first love, rodeoing all summer long. My specialty: riding wild broncos.

My other specialty, when I'm not chasing a puck on the ice: chasing beautiful women. The more out of my league, the better. I love winning them over.

I love winning period.

"Oh yeah? Maybe she's passed over boys like you, holding out for a man like me." I point at my chest.

"What makes you think she'll give you a shot?" He and the other guys howl. They're all local and haven't had the chance to see the world beyond Montana like I have. That's what playing my ass off in hockey has done for me, broadening my horizons. I left my Montana hometown to chase my hockey dream, the journey taking me from Minnesota to Los Angeles, where I now play for The Puckers. We're a scrappy team with a lot of heart.

"Shoot. I'm more in her league than you mother fuckers. Just wait. I'll bet she's mine by the end of the night." I stake my claim to her.

"I got a twenty says she leaves you hanging." The bet starts among them, and I love a challenge.

She's the hottest woman I've laid eyes on all week. Hell, all summer. Being back at the Double Barr Ranch for training in an off-season hockey conditioning camp hosted by my good friend and coach, Duke Daniels, has been difficult, ass-busting work. I'm ready to trade the view of my teammates for something more soft and feminine tonight.

I leave the guys behind and shuffle over to the rails and climb them. With my ass perched on top, I watch her maneuver her horse into the arena while she holds a flagpole with the flag of the USA. I remove my hat out of respect and because my mama raised me right with manners and all, but the only thing I focus on is the announcer when he says her name.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for our national anthem and American flag, presented by Kallie Ann?—"

"Kallie," I repeat to myself, ignoring the announcer stating her last name.

I like what I see of her. The way her name rolls off of my tongue would sound even better when I moan it as I come with her later tonight. Yep, I'm one cocky and horny dude. I know what I want when I see it.

The national anthem blares over the sound system, and she starts her horse on a trot, her heart-shaped ass bouncing in the seat with the horse's gait. Mid-song, the pace picks up with a gallop, then they end it with a full-out run.

Always the grand finale of the presentation of the flag at the end of the anthem in rodeo, the song fades and she races past me out of the arena, her hair like fire, breezing behind her. A beautiful country girl vision for my eyes.

Next up comes the announcement of the cowboys competing tonight. I hop off the rails and hit my gear bag. Dad's words come to mind as I fix his old leather chaps in place on my thighs, fastening the buckle. I can picture him now as he tightened my first pair of chaps on me when I was starting out long ago. He'd said, "Son… You gotta know when to hold on tight and when to let go. God willing, you'll get the best bull of the night. He'll do his part. The rest is up to you."

All I've ever wanted was to make him proud. He's gone now, but I still keep trying to prove I can make it, that everything Dad taught me growing up wasn't a waste of his breath.

I hear the announcer call out the names of my competitors in bull riding, and I rush through the gates of the arena in time for mine.

"Cody… ‘Big D'… Ford!" The announcer elongates each name like a roar and the cheers turn up loud as I take my old Stetson off—another item of Dad's—and wave it in the air to the fans. I've been entertaining this crowd for half a dozen years, each summer hanging on tight to a bull that wants only to buck my ass off and leave me in the dust. I've won first place more often than not, and gained a good reputation for entertaining the crowd.

After the fanfare, me and all the cowboys exit, heading to our respective posts to prep for our events. Only there's Kallie on her horse, lined up with the other riders, apparently competing in barrel racing. The number pinned to her back is thirteen. I take it as a sign because my jersey on the Puckers is lucky thirteen, too.

She side-eyes me outside the ring as I pass her, eyebrow arching. "Big D? Seriously?"

"Wouldn't you like to find out, darlin'?" I wink. Her eyes take a sultry dance down the front of me. So, it begins. Hell yes, I have her interest. Now all I need is to hang on tight and win tonight. Then I'd find her and make my move.

When it's her turn, I sneak closer over to the rails of the arena again to watch her race. She manages a decent time and I'm impressed as she ends with the third best time overall. Nothing I like better than a woman who knows horses.

Bulls are last on the schedule, and I pulled the final ride. We're all in the chute, prepping the animals, the cowboys helping each other as we each compete, like a team. We might win individually, but the team camaraderie is always there.

Tonight, there's added pressure from another team in the stands—my hockey teammates who all gathered at the ranch this week for the conditioning camp at Duke's.

Between all of them watching, and me wanting to impress Kallie, too, landing on my ass and losing is not my goal here.

Finally my turn, I steel my jaw and get into position, hovering above "Old Buckeye," a beast with a mean streak, so I've heard. Well, hell. As a left defenseman and the enforcer on the Puckers, I'm usually the one who has to get mean, fight the battles on the ice, defending my teammates, and start shit up when warranted or when the coach says so.

What most people don't know about me is I'm really a good guy, a softie, and plenty of fun to be around. But when I need to raise hell, don't count me out.

I close my eyes for a brief moment, long enough to conjure up the one thing in my life that pisses me off every single time I think of it. The one memory that raises my blood pressure. That is sure to put me in the right frame of mind to kick some ass.

The night my father was killed by a drunk driver…

"Ready, Big D?" Dwight calls, zapping me back to the present

"Let's go, Old Buckeye. You've met your fucking match." I scowl and drop on him, and the chute opens. Here we go.

One Mississippi…

Old B bucks right out of the gate, almost pinning my calf into the rails.

Two Mississippi… Three Mississippi…

I recover fast and rear my left arm back for balance, getting into a rhythm with this ornery bastard.

Four Mississippi… Five Mississippi…

The beast changes things up, twisting the other way.

Six Mississippi… Whoa. Fuck. I almost get tossed. I grip tighter on the rope.

Seven Mississippi… Eight Mississippi…

Oh yes, baby. I'm still hanging on tight. The fans are on their feet, yelling for more.

There's the horn.

Nine Mississippi… Ten Mississippi… Eleven Mississippi… Twelve Mississippi…

I give the fans the best show of the night and win the whole damn thing. The clowns take away the bull's attention, I slip off, and my boots land safely in the dirt, kicking up dust behind me. I pick up my hat and hold it high, cockily, taking in all the fan praise, all the glory, since I'm the victor tonight.

Now to claim my prize.

It's the rodeo queen herself, handing out the silver belt buckles to the winners. When it's my turn, I step right up to her and lean down. Big mistake. Her fragrance of vanilla infused with sweet wild flowers teases my senses—and there's something else there, too. A scent of a woman. This ain't no silly buckle bunny with nothing better to do than chase cowboys all summer long. No, there's something different about her. Up close, I can tell she's about my age, with a confident air. Smart. All class.

Fuck me.

Out of my league, the perfect challenge. Just the way I like it. She looks like she needs a good time, someone to wash away the memories of her ol' ex. Yeah. I'll bet she's a real wild child underneath her gorgeous exterior. I take a chance.

"If you're curious what the Big D stands for, why don't you be a good girl and follow me to the hay barn, darlin'. I'll show you all my secrets," I casually whisper my invitation into her ear.

She backs up, glaring at me. I almost thought she'd slap me. "Leave it in your pants, cowboy. You're not getting any of this." She motions down her curvaceous body, then walks away.

"I guarantee you the ride of your life. Come on, darlin', don't make me beg."

"I'm nobody's darling." She yells back. "Try a buckle bunny. I hear they're easy prey."

My mouth hits the ground while I watch her get into a truck with a friend and drive away.

"Damn." I seriously need to adjust my big dick after letting a firecracker like that walk out of my life.

Dwight and the cowboys all get rowdy, laughing at me, slapping their thighs, as they figure out who won their bet.

I put my gear away and avoid their jeers. My teammates Storm and Saint find me and offer both congratulations for winning and condolences for not making a better impression on Kallie.

Oh well. Like Dad told me, I have to know when to let things go. But something tells me a woman like Kallie won't be easy to forget.