Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Yup, my slutty mind was pretty darned busy. Abe was the only injury so far for the event, and I was able to head to the stands and watch the bull riding. I was the doctor on call. If someone got hurt, I was to tend to them, connect with the ambulance standing by and get the person to the hospital.
From where I sat—unless someone randomly started choking on a corn dog in the vendor area—I’d know if my assistance was needed. I sat near the aisle with easy access to the competitor area and a great view of the chutes. This was where the bulls were held and readied, then the cowboy climbed the fence and hopped on its back. Once the man was secure, the gate was flung open and off they went, the pissed off bull doing anything to fling off his rider. It practically guaranteed me a few more patients before the event was over.
I scanned the chute area for the two of them, watched as the first few competitors completed their rides. I was equally turned on and filled with dread as one after another had his turn. The crowd felt the same as me, cheering and gasping in equal measure. Riding a bull was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. And the dumbest.
I didn’t know how these guys lived past thirty. Maybe they didn’t. That thought made my chest unexpectedly tighten, like I’d already developed an attachment to the two cowboys I’d met.
Not the first one, the second. Abe was handsome. Gentle, considering his size and what he did for a living. Sweet, even. Boyd, though, was… dangerous. I wasn’t afraid he would hurt me physically, although he had at least a foot on me and probably fifty pounds, but something else. He could hurt my heart. Screw with my plans. I’d been so focused on med school and my residency. On my career. It wasn’t like me to deviate because of a perfect ass in a pair of Wranglers. He was a bad boy who I knew was trouble but wanted anyway.
A rider was flung from his bull and landed hard, then rolled to clear himself from the back hooves of the bull. The rodeo clowns—I was sure they had some other name I didn’t know—ran over, redirected the animal, so the rider could get to his feet. I exhaled as the crowd cheered at his high score. He dusted himself off, lifted his hat in salute and walked out of the ring.
Boyd’s face appeared on the jumbotron, his quick smile twenty feet wide. The crowd went wild, which meant his ego was probably as big as his image on the huge screen. Yeah, I needed to keep my distance from that one because I wasn’t the one-night-stand kind of woman. With med school and residency, I barely socialized, let alone dated, let alone had tons of sex. Or any, really. Maybe a fling would be best for my crazy schedule, but no, that wasn’t me. I was the long term, commitment type. In fact, I’d moved to small town Montana to settle down. Slow down. Find a partner and start a family, just as I’d always longed to have. A family made up of two parents who loved each other and a gaggle of kids. I wanted that kind of insanity. Sledding, science fair projects, pet gerbils. That was what I longed for. Especially babies.
Screwing a rodeo champ was not part of that picture, and I doubted a rodeo champ wanted to fuck a woman who had baby fever. The words “ticking clock” wasn’t the same for him as it was for me. His plans lasted eight seconds, mine a lifetime.
Still, my body went on full alert when I spied his name on the ticker—Boyd Wolf vs. Night Sweats, which was a crazy name for a bull.
I leaned forward to spot him down in the chutes. They all looked the same in their helmets, safety vests and chaps, the sponsors’ logos splashed across the shoulders of their collared button-downs. But then I saw him—at least I was fairly certain it was him. The rider oozed the same raw confidence he’d shown in the medical room.
He straddled the snorting black bull then set about adjusting his grip on the rope with easy, deft movements. Only his hand held him on that beast. I knew none of the details about bull riding, only that I’d overheard it was called a rough stock event. Rough was the definitely right word.
“Hey, pretty lady.” Abe came up the concrete steps and settled his large body into the seat beside me.
I couldn’t help but smile at him, but I glanced back at the chutes.
“Hard to watch?” he asked.
I nodded. “Your ride went well. You stayed on past the buzzer. I should be congratulating you, right?”