Harlequin Western Romance January 2017 Box Set by Patricia Thayer

Author:Patricia Thayer
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781488013485
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2017-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWO

“Careful. That son o’ a bitch can spring.”

Colt handed the end of his rope to Judd and studied the restless bull being prepared in the chute below them. “I hope so.”

A bull that jumped, kicked and spun right out of the chute guaranteed a shot at a high score. The kind of score Judd had failed at grabbing several rides ago when he’d drawn a flat bull that took a Sunday stroll out of the chute instead of blasting out of it. Hopefully, Sonic, the burly beast Colt had drawn, would be feistier.

As if on cue, the angry animal slammed his thick horns into the metal rails, then sprang up, hooking his hooves over the top of the eight-feet-high gate. The cheers filling the Silver Spurs Arena strengthened as the cowboys surrounding the chute yanked on the ropes draped over the bull’s back, pulling him off the gate.

Colt smiled. Hell, yeah. This one was a damn deal feistier.

He glanced around the arena, taking steady breaths and visualizing a successful scenario on the dirt. But his eyes snagged on a cream-colored hat and red hair in the stands.

In the front row, Jen no longer sat, but had shot to her feet, eyes on the bull banging around in the chute below him, and face creased with apprehension. Tammy and another woman he recognized as a barrel racer—Karla, was it?—stood at her side, looking equally dismayed.

Colt turned away, started wrapping tape around the glove on his left hand and did his best to ignore the warm satisfaction rippling through him. Pissed though she was, Jen had not only stuck around for over an hour to watch his ride, she was worried about him.

“Told you this joker could spring,” Judd shouted over the hard rock music. “You ready to get slung?”

“Yep.” Colt bit the tape off, handed the roll to one of the spotters at his side and jerked his chin. “So long as it’s after eight seconds.”

A buzzing in Colt’s back pocket rattled through the denim of his jeans. He yanked his cell phone out, glancing at the lit screen. Mead Enterprises.

Colt shook his head. Friday night. Approaching 10:00 p.m. No doubt his father, John W. Mead, would still be holed up in his high-rise Atlanta office closing another deal. It was always about business with John W. Mead. Never personal. And never about actually building a relationship with his son. That had become especially true after Colt’s mother died.

Nope. His old man probably wanted the same thing he’d been hassling him about for the last year.

Time to get your ass home, Colt. You’ve played long enough and there’s work to be done.

Colt rejected the call with a rough swipe of his thumb and shoved his cell toward Judd. “Mind hanging on to that till I’m through?”

“Sure.” Judd shoved it in his pocket, then firmed his grip on the rope.

Colt scrutinized Sonic’s movements and regained his focus. He shoved in his mouth guard, grabbed the opposite rail and climbed into the chute, placing a boot in the center of the bull’s back.

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