Rodeo Cowboy Quotes

When you choose a man who thinks eight seconds is a long time, perhaps you need two of them. Hmm?

You're gonna have to hold on tight, because this rodeo is just getting started.

Her purchases just about busted her vacation budget, but what else is a vacation for, if not for overindulgence and mindless extravagance?

Zach glanced out the window to what had to be the quietest town he’d ever been in. “Big gang problem around here? Lots of cow jacking?” “We have all sorts pass through our little town, thank you very much. Bikers. Cowboys. The always dangerous rodeo clowns.” “Rodeo clowns?” “Don’t ask.” Zach shrugged. “I don’t want to know.” “Any other condescending questions about my town?” “Oh, I’m not being condescending. I’m very interested in your tiny little town, with its tiny little people. I bet you guys even have a movie theater.” Sara barked out a laugh. “You certainly are a charmer.

I can't believe you thought I'd ever let you go.

They fight because there's more between them than they understand at their age.

I'd purchased it before my trip to the gay rodeo with a bunch of friends many moons ago. Many horses had been saved that weekend as many cowboys had been ridden." ...

I make you nervous,” he said. She frowned. “Of course you don’t.” He clearly did, and that, perversely, made him feel.. relaxed...

I'll be waiting for you. As long as it takes, Celia. I love you.

Because, kitten, you kiss and claw when you're afraid.

You don't always have to act so tough, you know.

Sweet wife of mine.

I don't always argue with you.

I love the contented sigh you make whenever I touch you.

One night turned out to be a lifetime.

I like who I am when I'm with you, Kyle. I like who we are together.

I needed to touch you.

Roxanne Archer designed her strategy like a four-star general—or a stalker.

Love is like a zebra refereeing a football game. I should know, because I am the rodeo cowboy riding that zebra.

Never a horse that can’t be rode and never a rider that can’t be throwed. (I’ll pass this off as my own, but I really stole it from my father, a cowboy and rodeo rider in his younger years.)

Marriage Rule Number One: She is you confidante. Confide in each other before all others, without, exception. Marriage Rule Number Two: Don't be the tough guy with her. She's had enough of that in her life with the way her brothers raised her. Marriage Rule Number Three: Don't withhold your emotions from her. I'm not talking about affections. Because emotions and affections are totally different things.

When Tucker glanced in Becca's direction and saw her watching, he smiled and winked. That one move, just a wink, made her knees go weak. She swallowed hard and knew with complete certainty, she was going to do it - she was going to spend the night with him.

His eyes were that curious shade of hazel that made her think of sunshine and toffee, caramel and whiskey, sweetness and sin all at once, and they were fixed on her with so much heat. So much intent. And she knew he was right. This was her moment, here and now....

To enjoy rodeo properly, you gotta be close enough to see the snot fly.

Getting sweaty with a woman after some good sex was one thing, but he'd rather not start out that way.

When a man that attractive licks his lips, a girl's got to look. And imagine...

I dance like a rodeo tornado, and I make duck soup with extra feathers. To make it taste more authentic, you should try drinking it out of a dusty cowboy boot.

Politics is a lot like walking through a feedlot in springtime: it's slow going and you're constantly surrounded by crap.

Tucker took off his cowboy hat and laid it on top of the dresser and then crossed the room to close the curtains. The big question of the night was answered - he did take off his hat for sex.

I was disappointed when she suddenly looked away, bashful. It surprised me. Madison occurred to me as so cool and confident. This was her private space though, likely the place she was most herself, no facade, no way she had to be, just a girl with her horses. This was not the kind of place or girl that rodeo boys got to be in or near. Yet here I was, standing toe-to-toe with the goddess in her most private of cowgirl places.

I’m not here for a man,” Trisha mumbled, her mood turning sour. “Heard that too and you’re wrong.” Cindy huffed behind her. “I bet my new Gucci purse you’ll be riding a cowboy and saving a horse before this trip is over.

His eyes are cold and restless His wounds have almost healed And she'd give half of Texas Just to change the way he feels She knows his love's in Tulsa And she knows he's gonna go Well it ain't no woman flesh and blood It's that damned old rodeo Well it's bulls and blood It's dust and mud It's the roar of a Sunday crowd It's the white in his knuckles The gold in the buckle He'll win the next go 'round It's boots and chaps It's cowboy hats It's spurs and latigo It's the ropes and the reins And the joy and the pain And they call the thing rodeo She does her best to hold him When his love comes to call But his need for it controls him And her back's against the wall And it's So long girl I'll see you When it's time for him to go You know the woman wants her cowboy Like he wants his rodeo

All that adrenaline running through him with no outlet - God, what would sex be like with a man who literally vibrated with energy the way he was now? Explosive. Unforgettable. The exact opposite of how sex with Jerry had been. Becca realized that, against all common sense, she was dying to find out.

Becca had gone through many, many years of schooling in her life. She'd spent more hours in libraries than she could begin to calculate. Yet this was the first time she'd ever made out in one. As he claimed her mouth for the second time against the volumes of Chaucer, she realized all she'd missed out on in the past.

Through the earpiece, she heard Emma sigh. "All right, but you should really consider giving him a call. Just to let him know you're in town. You're new to Oklahoma. Maybe he could show you around to all the local hot spots." Any spot where Tucker happened to be would be a hot spot. Becca pushed that errant thought aside.

Cowboy Rodeo was a very simple man. He liked his life simple. He liked his ranch full of animals, he liked the breeze across the plains, and he liked when the sun rose and set. He liked strong, cold whiskey and the stars at night. Cowboy Rodeo realized at that moment he also really, really liked corsets and black pencil skirts that showed off the curve of the hip.

Zebras have the unpleasant habit of biting a person and not letting go. They thereby injure even more American zookeepers each year than do tigers! Zebras are also virtually impossible to lasso with a rope—even for cowboys who win rodeo championships by lassoing horses—because of their unfailing ability to watch the rope noose fly toward them and then to duck their head out of the way.

Don’t make this harder than it already is. I like her so much it’s killing me, but I don’t know how to be the guy she wants me to be.” “Yes, you do. Real relationships are just like bull riding. You have to be willing to risk getting hurt, and you have to hang it all out, and never give up no matter how scary or hard it gets. You know how to do it. You’re just too much of a coward to try.

To tell the history of the Americas is to tell the story of bovine expansion. Settlers may have made the Wild West and the frontier, but they followed in the wake of their bovine brother. No other animal has so shaped a culture. So many American icons are associated with the cow: the cowboy, the western, the rodeo, the hamburger, the steak house, the Marlboro Man, the very notion of the frontier itself. The story began more than five centuries ago.

He pulled her closer and she felt the bulge in his jeans. "I never knew books were so sexy." "You got turned on today by a bologna sandwich, too." She wrapped her arms around his waist. "I don't think it's the books." "You're right. Maybe it's not the books or the bologna." He leaned lower. "Maybe it's not." She rose up on her tiptoes, closer to his tempting mouth. He groaned and closed the small distance between them, backing her up against the shelves as his lips covered hers.

Contrary to her sister-in-law Janie’s claims, Celia hadn’t been in love with Kyle Gilchrist since her childhood—she’d simply loved to annoy him. ... Armed with childish logic, Celia made it her mission to get under Kyle’s skin as often as possible. She’d drawn hearts emblazoned with her name on every one of his school notebooks. He’d retaliated by stringing up her My Little Pony collection from a tree. She’d pushed him into the stock tank. He’d held her down and tickled her until she peed her pants. She’d put a snapping turtle in his gym bag. He’d tied her to the tire swing and spun her until she puked. All harmless pranks that demanded retaliation.

Put that thing down, girl. Don't you know it steals part of your soul, that little mechanical masterpiece you hold so frivolously? Don't you know it's not just mine it seals into its gears and trick mirrors, but yours, too. What you feel at this moment, what you hope for, what your dreams are, what you think your future will unfold like, it steals it all from you, too. You aren't safe just because of the side of the lens you're on. And later, when everything is said and done, and you want to forget everything that happened in these walls, when you're all alone, this picture, this piece of your soul you didn't even know was gone, will haunt you. It will come bearing knives and AKs and nine millimeters, and it will destroy you from the inside out. Put that damned thing down and stop acting like any of this is something worth remembering.

Angel From Montgomery" I am an old woman named after my mother My old man is another child that's grown old If dreams were lightning, thunder were desire This old house would have burnt down a long time ago Make me an angel that flies from Montgomery Make me a poster of an old rodeo Just give me one thing that I can hold on to To believe in this living is just a hard way to go When I was a young girl well, I had me a cowboy He weren't much to look at, just a free rambling man But that was a long time and no matter how I try The years just flow by like a broken down dam Make me an angel that flies from Montgomery Make me a poster of an old rodeo Just give me one thing that I can hold on to To believe in this living is just a hard way to go There's flies in the kitchen, I can hear 'em there buzzing And I ain't done nothing since I woke up today How the hell can a person go to work in the morning And come home in the evening and have nothing to say Make me an angel that flies from Montgomery Make me a poster of an old rodeo Just give me one thing that I can hold on to To believe in this living is just a hard way to go John Prine, John Prine (1971)

In case you haven't noticed,rodeos are a serious business.Careless cowboys tend to break bones,or even their skulls,as hard as that may be to believe." She stared down at the hand holding her wrist. Despite his smile,she could feel the strength in his grip. If he wanted to,he could no doubt break her bone with a single snap. But she wasn't concerned with his strength,only with the heat his touch was generating. She felt the tingle of warmth all the way up her arm.It alarmed her more than she cared to admit. "My job is to minimize damage to anyone who is actually hurt." "I'm grateful." He sat up so his laughing blue eyes were even with hers. If possible,his were even bluer than the perfect Montana sky above them. "What do you think? Any damage from that fall?" Her instinct was to move back,but his fingers were still around her wrist,holding her close. "I'm beginning to wonder if you were actually tossed from that bull or deliberately fell." "I'd have to be a little bit crazy to deliberately fell." "I'd have to be a little bit crazy to deliberately jump from the back of a raging bull just to get your attention, wouldn't I?" "Yeah." She felt the pull of that magnetic smile that had so many of the local females lusting after Wyatt McCord. Now she knew why he'd gained such a reputation in such a short time. "I'm beginning to think maybe you are. In fact,more than a little.A whole lot crazy." "I figured it was the best possible way to get you to actually talk to me. You couldn't ignore me as long as there was even the slightest chance that I might be hurt." There was enough romance in her nature to feel flattered that he'd go to so much trouble to arrange to meet her. At least,she thought,it was original. And just dangerous enough to appeal to a certain wild-and-free spirit that dominated her own life. Then her practical side kicked in, and she felt an irrational sense of annoyance that he'd wasted so much of her time and energy on his weird idea of a joke. "Oh,brother." She scrambled to her feet and dusted off her backside. "Want me to do that for you?" She paused and shot him a look guaranteed to freeze most men. He merely kept that charming smile in place. "Mind if we start over?" He held out his hand. "Wyatt McCord." "I know who you are." "Okay.I'll handle both introductions. Nice to meet you,Marilee Trainor. Now that we have that out of the way,when do you get off work?" "Not until the last bull rider has finished." "Want to grab a bite to eat? When the last rider is done,of course." "Sorry.I'll be heading home." "Why,thanks for the invitation.I'd be happy to join you.We could take along some pizza from one of the vendors." She looked him up and down. "I go home alone." "Sorry to hear that." There was that grin again,doing strange things to her heart. "You're missing out on a really fun evening." "You have a high opinion of yourself, McCord." He chuckled.Without warning he touched a finger to her lips. "Trust me.I'd do my best to turn that pretty little frown into an even prettier smile." Marilee couldn't believe the feelings that collided along her spine. Splinters of fire and ice had her fighting to keep from shivering despite the broiling sun. Because she didn't trust her voice, she merely turned on her heel and walked away from him. It was harder to do than she'd expected. And though she kept her spine rigid and her head high, she swore she could feel the heat of that gaze burning right through her flesh. It sent one more furnace blast rushing through her system. A system already overheated by her encounter with the bold, brash,irritatingly charming Wyatt McCord.

In late fall, I had a phone sessions with my Oregon therapist. For some reason, we started talking about happiness. “Chris achieved happiness so easily,” I said to him. “And I don’t.” The counselor interrupted me. “Do you know how he did?” I started to answer that I didn’t. But then I realized that Chris had set out to do many things, and he’d achieved them. He’d wanted to be a rodeo competitor, work as a cowboy, join the SEALs. He’d done all of those. What’s more, he excelled at them. Those achievements made him happy, or at least confident enough that he could be happy. As we talked, the counselor noted that I, too, had my own achievements. But I told him--as he already knew--that I wanted to do so many more things. And I always do. Was that a reason not to be happy? The counselor pointed out that I tend to focus on what I haven’t done, rather than what I’ve achieved. My thinking runs; If I do A, then B, then C, then I’ll be happy. But when I achieve A, rather than saying “Yay!” I say, “I haven’t done B and C, so I can’t be happy.” Why focus on what I haven’t done? Why not celebrate those things I have done, even as I look forward to doing other things on my list? Those achievements are accomplishments--I should feel good about them, confident I can do more. And happy. Or at least happier. Another lesson. There are other components to happiness beyond achievement. “Smaller” things, like carving out time for workouts as well as the kids, are actually big things when they are added up. Yet I often feel those things are distractions from what I really want to achieve. Blockers, rather than stepping-stones. Obviously, the wrong way to think about them. On paper, it doesn’t seem like a very profound realization. But put into practice, it means that I--we, all of us--have to keep things in the larger perspective. If you want to achieve a lot, then the reality is that you are always going to have something else you want to do. Keep trying to achieve, but don’t beat yourself up for not getting everything done. The “smaller” things are just as essential to happiness. So: the key to my happiness is appreciating what I have and what I’ve done, and realizing that I’ll always have something else to do. Profound? No, but empowering. I might never have realized it had I not been grieving so deeply. I would have felt silly, really, talking about achieving happiness when Chris was alive. Why wouldn’t I be happy with a great husband and wonderful children? I was happy. But not at the deepest level. I’m not there yet, obviously. But it is possible now. And yet I still wonder: How can I possibly be happy with Chris gone?

Actually, I think you sound more Southern than me." "I blame my Mama for that, too," he replied. "She was an old-time rodeo queen from Amarillo, Texas. She homeschooled me and my brother Dirk until high school, so the Texas twang kinda stuck. Now as for Georgia, I find it a real shame you'd want to get rid of it. I find a woman with a soft Southern drawl incredibly sexy." "Tell you what, when I decide I want to be sexy for you, I'll be sure to turn it on full force." She was a real firecracker, this Georgia girl. He liked that. He answered her with a grin. "I'll look forward to it." "In your dreams, cowboy," he thought he heard her mutter under her breath. He cocked his head, "What was that?" "Coffee?" She smiled wide. "If I recall, you promised me Starbucks.

She wished she could just set down the secret and leave it somewhere. But secrets were like land mines. You had to make sure no one stepped on them. Or the whole family might blow up.

Shae-Lynn, come on. You know I didn’t mean for it to happen that way. I was just trying to do right by you.” “Doing right by me would have been respecting my wishes and keeping your promises. Leave me alone, Billy. I don’t want to be friends with someone I can’t depend on.

But wanting to change, and actually making it happen were two different things.

Pilgrims WHEN MY OLD MAN said he’d hired her, I said, “A girl?” A girl, when it wasn’t that long ago women couldn’t work on this ranch even as cooks, because the wranglers got shot over them too much. They got shot even over the ugly cooks. Even over the old ones. I said, “A girl?” “She’s from Pennsylvania,” my old man said. “She’ll be good at this.” “She’s from what?” When my brother Crosby found out, he said, “Time for me to find new work when a girl starts doing mine.” My old man looked at him. “I heard you haven’t come over Dutch Oven Pass once this season you haven’t been asleep on your horse or reading a goddamn book. Maybe it’s time for you to find new work anyhow.” He told us that she showed up somehow from Pennsylvania in the sorriest piece of shit car he’d ever seen in his life. She asked him for five minutes to ask for a job, but it didn’t take that long. She flexed her arm for him to feel, but he didn’t feel it. He liked her, he said, right away. He trusted his eye for that, he said, after all these years. “You’ll like her, too,” he said. “She’s sexy like a horse is sexy. Nice and big. Strong.” “Eighty-five of your own horses to feed, and you still think horse is sexy,” I said, and my brother Crosby said, “I think we got enough of that kind of sexy around here already.” She was Martha Knox, nineteen years old and tall as me, thick-legged but not fat, with cowboy boots that anyone could see were new that week, the cheapest in the store and the first pair she’d ever owned. She had a big chin that worked only because her forehead and nose worked, too, and she had the kind of teeth that take over a face even when the mouth is closed. She had, most of all, a dark brown braid that hung down the center of her back, thick as a girl’s arm. I danced with Martha Knox one night early in the season. It was a day off to go down the mountain, get drunk, make phone calls, do laundry, fight. Martha Knox was no dancer. She didn’t want to dance with me. She let me know this by saying a few times that she wasn’t going to dance with me, and then, when she finally agreed, she wouldn’t let go of her cigarette. She held it in one hand and let that hand fall and not be available. So I kept my beer bottle in one hand, to balance her out, and we held each other with one arm each. She was no dancer and she didn’t want to dance with me, but we found a good slow sway anyway, each of us with an arm hanging down, like a rodeo cowboy’s right arm, like the right arm of a bull rider, not reaching for anything. She wouldn’t look anywhere but over my left shoulder, like that part of her that was a good dancer with me was some part she had not ever met and didn’t feel

None of them was even your type.” “How do you know my type?” “Were they?” Eve asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. She hooked a thumb in Cree’s direction. “Is he?” “My type?” Kate shook her head. “Yes.” No. Wasn’t that the point? The men she dated were like...like seat-fillers at awards ceremonies. One person vacates and another takes his place. Simple as that.

His boyfriend ‘sell-by’ date had expired two nights ago when—and she shivered at the memory—he’d drunkenly licked her cheek like a standard poodle in lieu of a kiss when he’d said goodnight. Which was the last in a short, but consistent list of line-crossings that had effectively ended them.

I dare you to stop dating. Take a break. Reconnoiter. Go cold turkey.” Cold turkey? Phhhhftt! Of course, she could. It wasn’t like she had a problem. She could be alone. Entertain herself on a Friday night. Or...or a Saturday.

Becca watched Tucker bend at the waist. Mmm, mmm. He was sure built nice. From the top of his felt hat to the tips of his worn leather boots. Those leather chaps he'd just slung around his hips weren't too bad, either. He reached back to buckle the chap straps first around one jean-clad thigh, and then the other. And she'd thought the rodeo would be boring. Ha! She could watch Tucker do this all day. Buckle and unbuckle. Bend and stand. She let out a sign filled with pure contentment. "All right, Em. I'll admit it. Cowboys are hot." Next to her, Emma laughed. "Oh, yeah.

Despite his attractiveness, Sandie couldn’t have been more disappointed. She lamented, thinking that she should have known that it would have just been another stupid cowboy like her father to show up. Still, she couldn’t help but hope that he would be some sort of comfort, even if only as company and a hand with the sometimes back-breaking work. He certainly was easy on the eyes, and his warm smile conveyed a sort of gentleness that was almost entirely foreign to her. The way he extended his hand earnestly, even removing his hat when walking up to her, made her feel respected and appreciated.

He could handle his former lover under his roof for a couple of days. No sweat, right? But when Trevor’s eyes caught Edgard’s, the punch of lust whomped him as sharply as a hoof to the belly, making him just as breathless. Dammit, don’t look at me that way, Ed. Please. Edgard banked the hunger in those topaz-colored eyes and Trevor silently breathed a sigh of relief. The blank stare was a reaction they’d both mastered during the years they’d spent together on the road. If sponsors, promoters or fans caught wind of his and Edgard’s nocturnal proclivities they would’ve been blackballed. Or would’ve been beat to shit on a regular basis if the other rodeo cowboys suspected he and Edgard weren’t merely traveling partners. There’d been no choice but to become discreet. Nothing discreet about the way Edgard had eyeballed him. “Trev, hon, you comin’?” “Go on. I’ll be right in after I take care of this motor.” He retreated to the barn, needing to find his balance after being knocked sideways. Edgard was here. Trevor’s gut clenched remembering the last time he’d seen the man. Remembering the misery on Edgard’s face, knowing his face reflected the same desolation when they’d said goodbye three and a half years ago. Crippled by pain, fear, and loss, Trevor hadn’t had the balls to wrap Edgard in his arms one last time. He’d snapped off some dumbass comment and done nothing but sit on his ass in the horse trailer like a lump of moldy shit and watched him go. No. Let him go. He’d gotten drunk that night. And every night after for damn near six months. He’d f**ked every woman who’d crossed his path. Sex and booze did nothing to chase away the sense he’d made a huge mistake. Or on the really bad nights, his all-too smug relief that he’d never really felt “that way” about Edgard and he was glad the too-tempting bastard was gone for good.

What could I do? I was beyond pissed off. Trevor not telling anyone about us was always a big issue between us. I understood his reasons and never pushed it. But when he made fun of guys who had the balls to come out of the closet? That was a line he shouldn’t’ve crossed. I hated he’d done it in front of me.” Edgard shoved a hand through his hair. “After dinner, the whole family loaded up and went to the big rodeo dance. I declined. “I burned my bootheels getting to the g*y cowboy bar in Denver and hooked up with a dentist who was in town for the rodeo. I spent the night in his hotel room and didn’t see Trevor until the following afternoon when we had to compete.” Chassie figured she wouldn’t much care for Trevor’s jealous reaction, but she wouldn’t be surprised by it. “We sucked in the arena. Lost our chance for points or purse. Soon as we were alone he lit into me. We fought. Not with words. With our fists. We beat the shit out of each other, Chass. It was ugly.” “Where’d it happen? Since you were always so discreet?” “In the living quarters of the horse trailer. Trev said something. I said something back. He took the first punch. I landed the last. Christ, we were rolling around on the floor, bleeding—” “Whoa—bleeding?” Edgard closed his eyes. “When we were shoving each other some beer bottles got broken and we just kept going, stomping all over them. Trevor slipped and fell and I didn’t help him up, I just kept beating on him. So he has a cut on his back and I have a gash on my arm as a memento.

Another reason I was deeply uncomfortable was because I’d been having thoughts. Lots of thoughts. Ever since my family had pointed out my lack of relationship experience, I’d thought back through the last ten years and second-guessed everything. I remembered going to the rodeo when I was fourteen and getting a boner when I saw the cowboys in chaps. But I’d also gotten a boner that weekend in church when the choir sang, so that wasn’t saying much. Then

More fun than a hungover, carbuncled cowboy might have while trying to stay aboard a longhorn, in a dusty rodeo, but it would be a close decision

With the way the setting sun diffuses across her face, it becomes apparent that Blake Tanner isn’t the young and hopeful rodeo star I once admired from afar. She’s hardened. But it doesn’t stop her from being the most beautiful woman I’ve laid my eyes on.

Mom doesn’t like calories, either,” Savannah said in a very matter-of-fact voice. “I think they’re delicious.

what’s a buckle-bunny?” She grinned. “It used to be a description of the girls who hung around rodeo cowboys looking to hook up. Now it means any Texas gold digger who’s looking for a sugar daddy.” “I’m not a gold digger.” “No, you advise them in your column. You tell them to support themselves and get their priorities straight.” “Everyone should listen to me,” I said, and Haven laughed, lifting her glass. -Ella & Haven

[Hank] dumped the saddle on the ground as he set the sawhorse down. “Am I makin’ you nervous?” “Not you so much as your unusual… supplies.” That damnably alluring grin appeared again. “Ah, hell, darlin’. It ain’t nothin’. We’re just gonna have ourselves a private rodeo.” “Let me guess. Instead of bulls and broncs, you’re gonna be ridin’ me.

Yours and Finn’s? What happened between you is like a rockslide that came out of nowhere, but maybe those rocks are not so insurmountable. Maybe they could build a bridge between you two.

What’s the news?” she said, foregoing a greeting for the obvious. That’s Georgia—take the bull by the horns. It was one of the things I loved most about her, one of the things that had saved us when our own love story took a few tragic turns. The phrase awakened a memory and instead of answering I said, “Do you know that Tag actually grabbed a bull by the horns once? I saw him do it.” Georgia was silent for a heartbeat before she pressed me again. “Moses? What are you talking about, baby? What’s going on with Tag?” “We were in Spain. In San Sebastian. It’s Basque country, you know. Did you know there are blond Spaniards? I didn’t. I kept seeing blond women and they all reminded me of you. I was in a horrible mood so Tag got this bright idea that we should go to Pamplona for the Running of the Bulls. He said a shot of adrenaline was just what I needed to cheer me up. Pamplona isn’t that far from San Sebastian. Just an hour south by bus. I knew Tag had a death wish. At least he did at Montlake. And I knew he was a little crazy. But he actually waited for the bull to run past him. And then he chased the bull. When the bull turned on him, he grabbed it by its horns and did one of those twist and roll things that cowboys do at rodeos.” “Steer wrestling?” Georgia still sounded confused, but she was listening. “Yeah. Steer wrestling. Tag tried to wrestle a bull. The bull won, but Tag got away without a scratch. I still don’t know how. I was screaming so loud I was hoarse for a week. Which was fine. Because I didn’t talk to Tag for two. That son-of-a-bitch. I thought he was going to die.” I stopped talking, emotion choking off my ability to speak. But Georgia heard what I couldn’t say.

of the

One Multicolored strands of lights twinkled from every surface around the dining room of the Big Texan Steak Ranch, even from the antlers of mounted deer heads and the ears of one embarrassed-looking coyote. Only the buffalo head maintained its dignity. Well, he and the giant fiberglass Santa guarding the exit door. I’d wanted to come here ever since my rodeo-cowboy father ran off before my promised seventeenth-birthday dinner, but, in light of the news I’d just received, all of the decorations were suddenly a little too much. I cradled my iPhone between my ear and shoulder, one hand clutching the neck of my poncho and the other slinging my purse straps over my other shoulder. “Come on,” I whispered to Jack, my boss—a man

When the Hawaiians appeared at Frontier Park, the audience and other cowboys paused to take them in: ornate leather chaps, long rawhide lariats, flowers around their hats, and dark skin—they were different in every way. To locals and tourists in Cheyenne, the paniolo were not just odd; they were interlopers.

By firelight he read the book he had gotten on his one trip to New York. It was called The Moonstone, written by someone named Wilkie Collins. The pretty girl behind the counter had recommended it to the cowboy as an exciting story. Disappointed the first time he'd cracked it open, over time he had become interested in the characters and the story, finding something beautiful in the language used, which had thrown him harder than a bronc at a rodeo at first.

Life is a series of adjustments. I learned that from all the years I spent bronc ridin'. The bronc goes left, I had to shift right and then make counter move after counter move. It's the same sort of shuffle and shifts with life.

Champions arise through a combination of luck, hard work, and heartache.

Mistakes are simply lessons learned. Don't let one mistake steal your talent. We all mess up. It's what you do with the mess that matters. Learn from it. Take the rope.

Energy and actions speak louder than words. If you are really present with a horse, or a human for that matter, you come to realize that words really aren't that necessary.

Find the middle. Life is a series of extremes, but it doesn't have to be. Try and find the middle. Work on recognizing the highs and the lows and let them be just that. Don't give those feelings an energy, just let them pass through you, come and go.

around like a rodeo cowboy. The whole ride had a mesmerizing effect on him, and it had taken only a few minutes for him to lose all focus and stare at the

He rubbed the side of his face, using his left hand. No wedding ring, she noticed. But then there hadn’t been last time, either. He gave her a lopsided smile. “Sounds like you’re still a little angry.” “I’m not angry, O’Dell. Just really not interested in seeing you. Or talking to you. Or even breathing the same air as you.” His eyebrows went up. “That’s harsh.” Obviously not harsh enough because he didn’t leave. Instead he wandered to the display of chocolate letters and selected an “S.” For Sage? “ I owe you an apology,” he allowed. “Five years ago you owed me an apology. Now, you just need to walk out that door and let me go on pretending I never met you.” He sighed like she was the dolt in the classroom who just didn’t get it. “I did try to apologize. But you left town mighty fast.” Less than twenty-four hours after she crashed on that second barrel, her father had shown up in Casper, Wyoming and had whisked her home. But there had been time for Dawson to reach her. If he’d wanted to. That had been the last rodeo she’d ever competed in. And it had been the last time she’d let herself get tangled up with a cowboy, too. “Sage, even if it is a little late, I still want to say it. I was sorry then, and I’m sorry now.” Damn, if he didn’t look sincere. But she hardened her heart. Facts were facts and how sorry could he be if he’d waited so long to find her? Keeping her tone artificially sweet, she asked, “What exactly are you sorry for? Would