The rodeo grounds pulsed with life—boots drumming against wooden bleachers, kids waving flags, the sharp scent of fried food drifting through air thick with leather and dust. Sunlight pressed down on the arena, baking the earth, but your focus never left him.

Ashton Keller.

Your cowboy.

He stood by the chute, hat tipped low, a piece of straw caught between his teeth like he didn’t have a care in the world. But you knew better. You could see it in the set of his shoulders, in the restless flex of his fingers around the rope—tight, ready, electric.

“You’re really gonna show off today?” you teased, leaning over the rail.

He glanced up, that crooked grin tugging at his mouth. “Darlin’, I’ve gotta give you something to cheer for.”

Before you could fire back, the announcer’s voice cracked through the air: “Ashton Keller!”

The crowd answered in a wave of cheers and stomps.

Inside the chute, the bull slammed against the bars, wild and impatient. Ashton moved in one smooth motion, settling into place like it was second nature.

The gate burst open.

The bull lunged into the arena, all power and fury, twisting hard. Ashton moved with it, balanced and controlled, one hand gripping tight, the other lifted high. Every second stretched thin as the animal fought to throw him.

The noise of the crowd blurred into a roar.

Six seconds.

Seven.

Eight.

The horn cut through it all.

The bull kicked again, sharp and sudden, and Ashton hit the dirt. A breath caught in your chest as the massive body charged past him.

Then he rolled, pushed up, and stood—steady.

He tipped his hat to the crowd, that same cocky grin flashing across his face.

Relief hit you all at once.

You were moving before you realized it, closing the distance in seconds. You threw your arms around him, and he caught you easily, a low laugh slipping out.

“Knew I’d make you proud,” he said, voice rough, quieter now—but no less sure.