Rodeo Sparks

Jenna Means tightened the cinch on her saddle with steady hands, the familiar creak of leather grounding her against the chaos of the arena parking lot. Sunlight baked the Montana dirt, carrying the sharp scent of horse sweat and fresh hay. She ran her palm along the mare's neck, feeling the quiver of muscle beneath warm hide. "Easy, girl. We got this. Just like every morning back home."

The local opener always drew a crowd, but this year the stakes pressed heavier on her shoulders. The stable's bills stacked up like cordwood, and that slick offer from Jule's corporation sat in her desk drawer like a loaded gun. She would not lose her husband's legacy to some suit with a checkbook. Not today. Not ever.

She swung into the saddle, boots settling into stirrups worn smooth by years of use. Her sun-streaked hair was pulled back tight under her hat, freckles standing out against skin already kissed by early summer. Around her, other riders laughed and called to one another, but Jenna kept her focus narrow. Breathe. Ride. Win enough to keep the lights on.

The first event blurred past in a haze of hooves and dust. Jenna cleared the barrels clean, her mare responding to every subtle shift of weight. Time flashed on the board. Close. Damn close. She dismounted with a nod to the judge, heart hammering steady and sure. This was her world. These were her people.

Then the roping started, and Dustin Ramer took the arena like he owned it.

He sat tall on that big bay gelding, broad shoulders rolling with the motion, dark hair escaping his hat. The crowd roared as he dropped the loop with perfect timing, calf dropping clean. His time beat hers by two seconds flat. Jenna watched from the rail, jaw tight, as he tipped his hat to the stands with that cocky half-smile she had seen splashed across every rodeo poster from here to Billings.

She placed second overall. Again.

The awards ceremony packed the main pavilion tight with bodies and the smell of beer and fried onions. Jenna stood on the platform, ribbon heavy around her neck, forcing a polite smile while the announcer droned on. Dustin climbed the steps two at a time, his presence filling the space beside her. He accepted his buckle without breaking stride, then turned that piercing blue gaze straight on her.

"Not bad for a city slicker playing at ranch work," he drawled loud enough for the front rows to hear. "You almost looked like you belonged out there. Almost."

Heat flooded Jenna's face. She kept her voice even, the way she did with a spooked colt. "Funny. I didn't see you complaining when my time was posted right under yours. Maybe you should focus on your own ride instead of running your mouth."

Dustin stepped closer under the guise of shaking the judge's hand. The brush of his arm against hers sent a jolt straight through her, rough denim and warm skin, the faint scent of leather and cedar clinging to him. Their eyes locked. Something raw and electric crackled between them, hate laced with something hotter, something that made her pulse skip and her thighs press together under her chaps. She hated how her body noticed the width of his chest, the way his stubble caught the light, the low timbre of his voice that promised trouble.

"City slicker," he repeated softer, just for her, smirk deepening. "Bet those fancy lessons didn't teach you how a real cowboy finishes what he starts."

Jenna's fingers curled into fists at her sides. She wanted to slap that look off his face. She also wanted to drag him behind the bleachers and find out exactly what that mouth could do when it wasn't mocking her. The thought shocked her, sharp and unwelcome, stirring guilt that she shoved down fast. Mark had been gone two years. She was allowed to feel something. Just not for this arrogant bastard.

The crowd clapped and hooted as the ceremony wrapped. Dustin lingered a beat longer than necessary, his hand brushing her lower back as he passed, the touch branding her through cotton and dust. Jenna stayed rooted until the last ribbon was handed out, breathing through the storm inside her chest.

She would not let him rattle her. Not when the stable needed every ounce of her focus. Yet as she walked back to the trailer, the memory of that charged contact lingered like the aftertaste of whiskey, burning all the way down. Dustin Ramer was trouble wrapped in rodeo glory, and trouble was the last thing she needed right now. Still, her body hummed with it, restless and alive in a way it hadn't been in far too long.

Tomorrow she would train harder. Tonight she would pour herself a drink and remember exactly why she kept her guard up. Men like Dustin took what they wanted and left dust in their wake. Jenna Means was done losing pieces of herself to the wind.