Hank rolled out of the way, but not before the bull’s hoof clipped him on the thigh. The other bullfighter ran alongside the bull, attempting to lead it away from Hank. By then the pickup man galloped alongside the bull and roped him, cutting a sharp right with his horse. They dragged the ornery animal through the livestock gate.

“Folks. Let’s give a big round of applause to our fearless bullfighters tonight, Hank Lawson, Kipper Pitch, and Bebo Smith.”

Lackluster clapping. Fans would stand all day for a great ride, but the bullfighters saving life and limb never brought the same thunderous response.

Did that bother Hank? They’d never talked about it. Kyle watched Hank limp off to the side and a member of the sports medicine team yakked at him through the fence slats. Hank shook his head and waved off his concern. Would Hank have waved Lainie off so quickly? Or would he play it up, hoping she’d give him a little extra TLC?

Maybe you shouldn’t be so fast to dismiss exaggerating an injury to garner Lainie’s undivided attention.

Never. He’d never do that, and neither would Hank. All might be fair in love and war, but playing on a woman’s natural sympathies was cheating and cowardly.

The last rider burst out of the chute. The bull wasn’t anything special. It kicked and jumped. Spun a little. The rider stayed on the full eight seconds, but Kyle knew it hadn’t been an eighty-nine-point ride, which was what the guy needed to overtake the leaderboard. The score came back seventy-seven. Kyle breathed a sigh of relief. He’d won his first CRA event.

Hot damn. Serious celebrating would wait. He glanced at the arena scoreboard clock. Nine thirty. It’d be eleven by the time they finished here and left Lamar for the three-hour trip to Colorado Springs to pick up Lainie. Then they’d drive straight through to Muddy Gap.

They could take it easy and stay the night in Colorado Springs, but Kyle understood Hank’s push. The sooner Lainie got used to the hours spent traveling from event to event, the better. Plus, he suspected the man missed home.

Or Hank wanted to show off his ranch to Lainie. And for that, Kyle didn’t blame him a bit. The Lawson Ranch was a breathtaking piece of heaven on earth. But it’d give Hank another advantage. After seeing the gorgeous Lawson Ranch, no way would Kyle drag Lainie to where he hung his hat when he wasn’t on the road—a shitty trailer he rented dirt cheap.

“Gilchrist? They’re waiting for you in the winners’ tent.”

Kyle went to collect his buckle and his check.

An hour later Kyle tracked Hank to a bench outside the main arena entrance. Hank sat next to a woman—no more than eighteen in Kyle’s estimation—who jabbered like a parrot on acid. Teased hair, pouty red lips, skintight clothes—she looked like every other bunny trolling for a new notch on her rhinestone belt.

Hank’s blank face became animated when he caught sight of Kyle. He pushed off the bench, wincing as he bumped his thigh into the woman’s knee. “Hey, partner, you ready to hit the road right now?”

“Yep.”

The woman leaped to her booted feet, crowding Kyle’s personal space with her toothpaste-commercial smile, stinky-ass perfume, and—holy shit—stripper tits. “Hi. I’m Gia. I was just telling Frank here that I love the rodeo lifestyle. It’s so exciting!”

Kyle bit back a grin. Frank? Yeah, she was the type of woman in for the long haul . . . not. No wonder Hank wore the spooked-rabbit look. “I got all my stuff loaded, Frank, so I’m set.”

Hank scowled.

“Gosh, are you a bullfighter too?” the woman said in a breathy, baby voice.

“Nah. I’m on the cleanup crew.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Oh.” She whirled back around to Hank. “Like I said, I don’t have a thing going on, and I’d love to keep you company on the road. I’m very”—her red-tipped fingers inched up Hank’s shirt—“inventive with ways to make the time fly by.”

Hank twisted sideways to escape the wandering claws. “Ah, I’m sure you are. But I’ll pass. Have a good evening.” He ran out. The man with the injured thigh literally raced outside.

Entertained by Hank’s discomfort, Kyle followed Hank to the truck. He’d barely shut the door and Hank was burning rubber out of the parking lot.

“Jesus Christ. Save me from women like that.”

“Now, Frank, don’t you think you’re bein’ a little hard on her?”

“Fuck off.”

Kyle laughed.

“And thanks for nothin’. What was the bullshit ‘I’m on the cleanup crew’ comment?”

“You see how fast she dismissed me? Works every time.”

Hank sent him a sidelong look. “She wasn’t your type?”

“Meaning . . . easy?”

“If it weren’t for Lainie, would you’ve boasted about bein’ a bull rider and banged her brains out?”

The judgment should’ve bugged him, but Hank was dead-on. Kyle used to take pride in his horndog reputation. “Yeah, I would’ve done her. She don’t give a shit who you are beyond that you’re wearing Wranglers, a hat, and boots. She’d brag to her friends how she bagged a bull rider. I wouldn’t remember her name even while I was f**king her. Sorta sad. But that’s the way I was. I ain’t that guy so much anymore.”

The blinker clicked as Hank steered onto the ramp to Highway 50, heading west out of Lamar. It wasn’t until he’d set the cruise that he spoke again. “Why the change?”