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He pulled the brim of his black Stetson down to shade his eyes as he joined the waiting cowboys.
    The familiar smell of dust, manure, and chewing tobacco assaulted his senses. A rodeo hand safety-pinned a number to the back of Jess’s flak jacket vest. One of Jess’s regular competitors clapped him on the shoulder and said hello. The boom of the announcer’s voice filled his ears.
    Unlike the novices cracking jokes and pacing the planks, Jess wasn’t exactly nervous, just jacked up and ready. Some guys danced to loosen up. Others covered their faces with their hats and prayed. Right before Jess got on, he liked to picture the perfect ride, second by second. It steadied him.
    He would begin with one hand on the reins and his feet over the bronc’s shoulders. To earn a high score, he would have to synchronize his spurring with the animal’s bucking action. He had to go eight seconds without touching the horse with his free hand. Eight seconds without a foot out of the stirrup, without dropping the reins.
    He’d drawn a poor horse in the same even the day before. Today, though, he planned to win. His focus narrowed down until it closed out even the muted roar of the crowd jamming the stands.
    After his events, Jess would be giddy, jubilant, ready to down a few beers and dance all night. That’s how he’d felt when he met Danielle--ready to celebrate. She’d watched from the front row at a big rodeo in Colorado, a knockout redhead in skin-tight Wranglers. She blew him away with her hot moves on the dance floor and her sultry purr as she wrapped her arms around him to whisper in his ear.
    At the time he’d been a professional cowboy, driving from state to state, working hard to make it to the top. Jess knew his winning rides drew the girls, not his good looks and charm. Still, he’d felt good that night, and maybe a little lonely after so many months on the road. After their one night together, Danielle clung to him, even cried a few tears, but they both knew the realities of a cowboy’s life. Maybe they’d meet up again sometime. She had tickets to the National Finals Rodeo; he was “on the bubble,” as the saying went, real close to the top 15 and a shot in Vegas.
    And he had made it that year after all. He drew a great bull, won the championship buckle, and afterwards at the party Danielle showed up. . . .
    A hand on his arm. “You’re up next, Jess.”
    Jess tensed, gritted his teeth, and angrily brushed away the cobwebs of memory. Focus. He had to focus. The bronc in the chute was an ugly bugger, muscular and tough. Was Cassie in the stands? Was she watching for him? He pushed that thought away, too.
    He was in the saddle now, but still between iron bars. Jess measured the bronc rein with his palm. Too long and the horse would fling him back. Too short and he’d fly over the bronc’s head.
    The men by the gate watched his face, waiting for his nod. Jess heard his name on the announcer’s lips. The horse pawed and snorted, ready to explode out into the arena. A hush fell over the crowd.
    This was Jess’s moment. His turn in the spotlight. He took a deep breath, then another.
    He nodded.

CHAPTER THREE
     
    “That’s him! That’s Jess!”
    Cassie spoke to the pretty teenager seated next to her in the stands. Moments before, the girl had introduced herself as Lindsay something or other and offered to explain the finer points of saddle bronc riding.
    Now Cassie gasped as Jess’s horse twisted its body in midair and landed hard. But Jess somehow stuck, one hand on the rein fashioned from a piece of rope, his spurs sweeping back as the animal launched into another frantic attempt to dislodge him. Again and again, the horse reared up and slammed down again, punching the dust.
    The buzzer sounded. Jess dismounted, a dangerous-looking operation given the fact that the animal didn’t for a moment stop bucking. But Jess jumped aside in one swift, agile motion – avoiding the bronc’s flashing hooves -- and