The Bull Rider's Valentine by Cathy McDavid

Author:Cathy McDavid
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2017-10-13T12:20:43+00:00

Chapter Eight

“There you are,” Ronnie’s father said when she finally reached her family’s row in the stands.

Everyone automatically shifted over to make room for her, everyone being her dad, stepmom, Frankie, Spence, their twin daughters, Mel, Aaron and his daughter, who happened to be best buddies with the twins.

Quite the gathering, Ronnie observed. The Hartman clan was growing and would grow again with the birth of Mel’s baby. Ronnie was the only sister currently unattached. Even Sam had a boyfriend—the geeky tech student who worshipped the ground she walked on.

Ronnie insisted she didn’t care. She was fine with her single status, thank you very much.

“Isn’t this exciting?” Frankie nudged her in the side.

She’d squeezed in next to her oldest sister after waving and saying hello to the rest of her family.

Theo occupied a seat in the middle and, if Ronnie wasn’t mistaken, was flirting a bit with the middle-aged woman in front of him. Honestly, did he never quit trying? Fortunately, the woman appeared to consider his overtures harmless and played along.

“Fingers crossed nobody gets hurt the first night,” Frankie commented. “Bess is taking a real chance. A bad reputation could ruin her business.”

Ronnie didn’t agree. “Wild Bill’s did really well with their recreational bull riding, and they had a few injuries over the years. It’s unavoidable and part of the appeal. You don’t know these cowboys like I do. They love the adrenaline rush and the thrill of walking away unscathed.”

The restaurant in north Scottsdale had indeed been a popular spot for recreational bull riders. That was until their main building had burned to the ground, the result of an electrical fire.

“I do too know cowboys,” Frankie countered. “I’m getting married to one.”

“When is that, by the way?”

“We’re thinking of March. We didn’t want to steal any of Mel and Aaron’s thunder. Let them enjoy being the newlyweds in the family for a while.”

Ronnie listened to her sister while scanning the arena and holding pens for Nate. Several wranglers were herding the first of the bulls along the narrow, enclosed aisle connecting the pens and the bucking chutes. Excitement among the spectators noticeably mounted.

Just like at any regular, sanctioned rodeo, cowboys sat atop the fences, hung from the rails or straddled the bucking chute walls. A good many men wore protective vests and helmets, a practice Ronnie heartily endorsed. When Nate had competed, he’d claimed the helmet blocked his vision and threw off his balance. It had been their one big, unresolved argument.

If she brought up the subject today, he’d remind her that his worst injury had occurred when he’d fallen from the green-broke horse, miles away from the nearest bull. He’d say, “Just goes to show you there are no guarantees.”

Every competitor tonight had signed a waiver and release of liability form. If not, they would be banned from the arena. The barrel racers were required to sign the same waiver and release. No one had raised a single eyebrow at this standard practice.

Also like any regulation rodeo, two bullfighters roamed the arena and interacted with the crowd, particularly the children.

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