“Beauty before age,” she purred, “’cause, sugar, you are one hot-lookin’ speci-man and I’m your elder by at least eight years.”

“I’m betting that cooing tone and them pretty brown eyes get you just about everything you want, don’t they?” he teased.

She shrugged. And smirked.

“Short version? Or long?”

“Longer is always better.”

He chuckled. “My story’s gonna sound tame. I grew up in a ranching family. Got bit by the rodeo bug early on. In high school I was state all-around champion. I competed with the University of Wyoming rodeo team for four years. Senior year I was collegiate steer wrestling champion.”

Tanna whistled. “Impressive.”

“I had a few rodeo sponsors and the blessing of my family so I decided to try my luck on the pro circuit. I did okay the first year, but I missed home and my girl, so I kept out of trouble, for the most part.”

“Sutton, that ain’t no fun. Pining in your horse trailer instead of ripping it up?”

“Yep. That was me.” He shot her a sideways glance. “Which is why you and me didn’t cross paths more often.”

She laughed.

“I didn’t make it to the CRA first year. I decided I’d give it another year and had a great second season, landing in the top fifteen. Then early on in my third season I had a bad night. Launched off too soon. Hit the dirt and the steer at the wrong angle. Blew out my knee, my elbow and my shoulder. I spent months recovering from surgery to repair a torn patella tendon in my right knee and a torn bicep tendon in my left arm. I moved home. I was worthless. I couldn’t help out on the ranch. I couldn’t get a job while doin’ rehab. My girlfriend saw me as a slug and dumped my ass.”

“Sad story. And no offense, but I don’t see the parallels in our lives.”

“Be patient. It gets worse. Calving season at our ranch means everyone pitches in, including crippled-up sons. We’d moved eight cow/calf pairs into the barn and I was tasked with watching them. Easy, right? I wasn’t out checking cattle in the cold and snow. I’m not sure if it was a change in the weather or what, but the calves freaked out, which freaked out the mamas. I was supposed to stop them to keep them from injuring themselves. But the second I got close to one, I fell down in the muck.” He fiddled with his gloves. “I froze. I’m not talking a momentary lapse. I stayed in the stall, frozen in fear for four hours before anyone noticed.

“I’d gone into shock. Keep in mind—I’d started helping my dad separate cow/calf pairs when I was five years old. Twenty years of experience and I’m suddenly catatonic around livestock. Not only couldn’t I compete in bulldoggin’, I couldn’t help out at the ranch. And I didn’t know how I’d ever get over my fear.”

“Obviously you did. How’d you do it?”

“A neighbor of ours, Fife, a grizzled old rancher, called for help with his water heater. When I showed up, he admitted he’d lied to get me over there. My dad had confided in him, because he didn’t know how to help me. Fife took it one step at a time. After a month of daily baby steps, I’d conquered my fear enough to be around livestock. By two months I was milling around in the pasture with a hundred calf/cow pairs. Three months I was back to taking down steers. By month four I was throwing myself off my horse like I’d never taken a break. No one outside of my family knew I ever had that fear. I healed up, jumped back on the tour and won the world championship the next year.”

“That’s a great story. Inspiring. But my situation is different. I don’t have the luxury of daily immersion. I have a job. So if I’m only goin’ to Eli’s one day a week, if I end up on your type of time frame to get this issue handled, I’m looking at a solid sixteen months before I’m even ready to saddle up. I’ll be almost thirty-eight.”

“You don’t need me to point out that you can barrel race well into your fifties and sixties. Some of the best women in the world didn’t win until they hit their late thirties and early forties.”

“But you can’t deny the majority of the winners are young,” Tanna pointed out. “I won two of my championships during my twenties.”

“I’m just saying that even if it does take you sixteen months? You won’t be washed up. I can tell that you feel washed up right now.”

Wouldn’t you? How can I ever get past this?

“How would you feel if you never climbed on the back of a horse again?”

“Sad.”

Sutton nodded as if she’d said the right thing. “That’s good. How would you feel if you never ran barrels again?”

That one she didn’t answer immediately. “Lost.”

“More lost than you feel right now?”

“I don’t know.” She fought a burst of frustration. “Why don’t I know?”

“Whoa. There’s no right or wrong answer, Tanna. I’m just trying to share some of the same stuff to think about that helped me.”

This guy she’d met only a half hour ago was going out of his way to help her. Eli had been the same way. “Is everyone in the West so dang helpful?”

“Southern hospitality ain’t got nothin’ on us,” he offered in an exaggerated drawl.

She managed a wan smile.

“So see, I do know what you’re goin’ through. If you ever want to talk more . . .”