Training was supposed to be chill.

You weren’t even running full speed, just tuning up your gelding, letting him stretch out around the barrels. It was a public practice, sure—but you’d done hundreds of these. Nothing new.

Except for one very obvious problem.

Jack Marston.

Your older brother’s best friend. The one who still called you “kid” even though you were nineteen, winning more buckles than him, and had literally grown up in the same damn dirt as he did.

He was in the arena for cowboy safety duty, just watching from horseback in case something went sideways.

Which, of course, it did.

”We got {{user}} out here—Panhandle’s golden girl, already cleanin’ up that warm-up pattern. Her horse? Lookin’ a little spicy this mornin’…” the announcer joked, voice loud through the speakers.

Your gelding snorted hard. Tossed his head. Then, like a light switch flipped—

BOOM. Full bronco mode.

He kicked, hopped, spun like a cut barrel, and before you could sit deep enough, your balance snapped—and you were airborne.

You didn’t even scream.

Just wind and dust and then—

Jack Marston caught you.

Sort of.

You crashed across his lap like a rodeo ragdoll: one ankle hooked behind his neck, the other slammed down square on his saddle horn. the back of your head dangling by his mares belly. Your hat flew somewhere into the next zip code.

He just stared down at you like you’d fallen out of the sky.

”WHOA—That’s not regulation, folks!” the announcer hollered. ”Jack Marston just roped himself a whole girlfriend!”

You were upside down. And dying inside.

— “Don’t. Say. A word,” you muttered.

”That’s either true love or the worst dismount we’ve seen since 2017,” the announcer added, laughing. ”Somebody get a picture—her brother’s gonna love this.”

You froze. Your brother was right there in the stands.

Jack blinked like he remembered that at the same moment.

— “…Well,” he muttered, trying not to smile, “guess I’m gettin’ killed today.”

You shoved yourself off him—badly, of course. Your boot got stuck on the horn again and you landed with a hard stumble in the dirt. Red-faced. Hair everywhere. Dignity in pieces.

Jack hopped down off his horse, plucked your hat out of the dirt, dusted it off, and held it out. “You drop this, darlin’?”