|LEMON ODELL|

    I relished the quiet as I walked through the deserted corridors of the Canyon Ridge Center. It was late evening, competition concluded for the day. Hours ago these corridors had been filled with riders and crew, reporters, stock contractors, and event staff. Hours ago, Colt had handed me his hat, and despite it being a little too big for my head I wore it now.

Tonight I wasn't supposed to be in the arena, but I had forgotten some of Fiets's gear in the shared tack room and I was eager enough to use this as my latest excuse to avoid bar-hopping with the other riders tonight. The idea of spending a night drowning in whiskey and engaging in shallow conversations just didn't sit well with me. Not only would it leave me with a pounding headache tomorrow, but it also meant trouble when it came to working the ranch. Every missed hour of sleep translated to double the exhaustion the next day, and I couldn't afford to slack off. I really, really couldn't. I had an appointment in a few days with the vet to check on the new calfs, and I needed to be sharp and focused.

Finding it with ease I came back out into the corridor, laughter echoed along the walls. Drunk laughter. I set my gear down and followed the corridor to the tunnel leading up to the main arena. Peeking around the tunnel's concrete wall, I spotted Boone and Clive leaning over one of the steel chutes around the edge of the arena floor. They were laughing, their grins wild and eyes gleaming with anticipation as they leaned in. What are they doing?

Suddenly, the air crackled with tension as the metallic clang of the chutes reverberated through the arena. It was like a gunshot, sharp and jarring.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The sound pounded against my eardrums, sending a shiver down my spine. The rhythm was unmistakable. My eyes narrowed as I realized there was a bull in the chute – an angry one from the sound of it.

I crept out, using the stadium seating to hide me from the two men. I fumbled for my phone, not sure who I would call, but I had to stop this before they did something stupid. First I snapped a picture. At least I could prove what I'd seen later if they tried to deny it.

"What are you jackasses doing in here?" The voice came from the far end of the arena, where Colt was striding in. He was older than the other riders, though by far the most attractive of the group.

I frowned. Colt shouldn't even have been here. He had left hours before with Caleb to go to the bars- hadn't he? Boone and Clive looked up. "Langmore, we're just having some fun."

Colt reached the men, and even from across the field I could see the look of disdain clear on his face when he looked at Boone. He took another step and peered into the chute. His brow furrowed, my breath hitched. "Outlaw? Are you insane? What in the seven hells is wrong with you two?"

Boone and Clive shared a furtive look and edged away while Colt dug his phone out of his pocket. As soon as I saw the flash of silver Clive had already snatched away the phone and heaved it into the middle of the dirt-covered arena floor. Colt shook his head and started muttering a string of curses as the pair ran away down the tunnel. I watched as he walked around the chute and easily vaulted over the rail down onto the dirt. Colt quickly reached his phone, half-buried in the dirt in the middle of the arena.

I stood and turned to go find arena security as Colt squatted down to pick up his phone. But suddenly I caught a flash of movement in my peripheral vision.

The chute slammed open.

I didn't hesitate. "Colt! Run!"

I was already vaulting over the railing as Outlaw broke out into the arena 30 feet in front of me.

Colt shot to his feet faster than I could have hoped, but he was still too far from the railing. Bulls respond to movement, and would generally pursue the fastest thing they saw moving. He looked over his shoulder, spotted the bull charging toward him, and sprinted for the far side of the arena.

I hit the dirt and rolled. I clapped, yelled, tried madly to get Outlaw's attention. I just needed to look like a better target than Colt. But this bull didn't care about me. It was focused on the brunette man sprinting away in boots not meant for running.

What Boone had been doing with Outlaw I wasn't sure, but clearly he'd been taunting it in some way. Even the meanest bulls didn't usually continue chasing riders once they were bucked off, although it did happen occasionally.

The three seconds I had before the bull reached Colt wasn't enough. I was running full out, breathing hard, dirt sliding under my boots, 20 feet away when the bull caught up to Colt, slamming into his back. He was lifted off his feet, sliding facedown in the dirt as Outlaw trampled him.

God, this is bad.

In competition, both riders and bullfighters wore protective vests lined with Kevlar. Colt was not wearing one now, the heavy fabric absent from his frame. I changed direction as I ran, trying to lure the bull away from his prone form. I hollered for help, yelled to draw the bull's attention, screamed because none of this should have been happening at all.

The bull turned and followed me along the wall separating the arena floor from the deck above. It charged toward me faster than I expected, it's hooves kicking up clouds of dust. I could taste dirt and hear the bull's labored breathing as I dodged away from the massive animal. My move came just in time to avoid the worst of the blow when Outlaw hooked me on its blunted horns, tossing me into the wall. Pain lanced through my back and my face as I slammed against the steel barrier. My vision darkened for a moment, coppery blood filling my mouth, but I struggled to my feet and cut back across the loose dirt of the arena floor toward Colt before the bull turned toward me again.

"Colt, get up. Get up!" I begged, finally reaching him. I could hear Outlaw behind me, but it seemed to be calming down. Usually it would have been pushed out of the arena by now and it appeared confused. That would buy us a few seconds, and I desperately needed to get Colt and myself out of here. Blood dripped into my eye and there was clearly something wrong with my left arm, but I didn't have time to deal with my injuries. I stood between Colt and the bull, watching the animal over my shoulder. There was blood on its horns and hooves. While they weren't sharp, even filed down those horns were rough edged.

I risked a glance down.

Colt was conscious, slowly trying to get up. But as soon as he put weight on his hands he let out a mangled scream. 

His right hand was a mass of blood and splintered bones, and his crimson shirt was torn, a deep gash across his back bleeding freely. I reached down and grabbed him by his left arm, yanking him up. "Get behind me."

Colt looked up at me finally, confusion followed by recognition on his face.

"Little Lemon?" he asked, his voice breaking. I watched as his eyes flicked up to his cowboy hat perched atop my head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Nice hat," he murmured, his hand reaching up to flick it.

I rolled my eyes. Good to know he hadn't lost his sense of humor.

"Both of you, get out of there," came from above. I looked up and Henry Walton the crew chief, stood above us. Walton offered me a hand up, and over my shoulder I saw two men jump down into the dirt at the far end of the arena, drawing the bull away from them.

I scrambled up as quickly as I could, then turned and helped Walton pull Colt up. He couldn't hold onto anything with his right hand, so I grasped his arm. Once Colt and I were both safely sitting on the deck surrounding the arena floor, Walton stood. "Stay awake, both of you. You may have head injuries. I'll be back with the paramedics."

I watched Walton walk away, then turned to look at Colt. His legs, chest, and face were smeared with dirt, and he cradled his ruined right hand in his left, his jaw clenched tight.

"Are you okay?" I asked, knowing the answer but at a loss for anything else to say. He shook his head and spat blood and dirt onto the deck.

"Hell no." Colt looked up at me, his blue eyes slightly unfocused. "You look like shit too."

The adrenaline that had kept me moving was beginning to ebb, and the pain I'd stubbornly ignored thus far clawed at my arm, my back, and my face. I grimaced as I looked down. Blood soaked my blue T-shirt. My left arm was weak, and my back felt sticky. I reached up to touch my face and my hand came away slick with blood.

"Why did you jump in?" he asked, his voice tight with pain. "I told you to run away from danger next time."

"Now we're even. Next time I'll let you die," I promised with a smile. I started to shake my head, but the world tilted and I pressed a hand to my temple.

"Honey, I'm going to pass out now. Don't let anyone molest me." Colt's eyes closed and he slumped against me side just as the paramedics came out of the tunnel.