Quickdraw Slow Burn (Battle of the Bulls #3) - T. S. Joyce Page 0,54

one side spraying water and wiping down his horns with a cloth, and on the other side of the chute, Dead of Winter was silently doing the same.

He’d been quiet since they’d come to pick them up and seen the destruction Quickdraw had done. Good. The herd should know what he was—a monster.

“I wish I had been there to help you,” Dead murmured.

What? Quickdraw stopped struggling against his horns pinned between the slats in the chute.

“Your lady is pregnant, and you had to watch them do that to her face. And I know there were moments you couldn’t get to her, and that fucks with a man. Fucks with a bull, and I’m sorry we weren’t there. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” Dead swallowed hard and dragged emotion-filled eyes down his wrecked body. “You did good. You made sure she was all right.”

His was all right? Quickdraw perked up, ears erect. The baby?

Dead lowered his voice. “They’re both all right. Annabelle is trying to get here in time. Do this one for her. You got a tough lady. You gotta good match.”

God. Bless. Dead.

Huffing a long breath, Quickdraw leaned against the fencing on Dead’s side for a few seconds, but then stood back up and slammed his horn against the slat just to remind everyone he wasn’t soft. Because he wasn’t.

Not tonight.

Tonight, he had shit to do because it wasn’t just him and his goals anymore. Triumph meant he could build a better life for Annabelle. For the baby. Those two words had changed everything. They’d saved them both. I’m pregnant. That had filled him with a protective rage that had turned the tide. Those two words weren’t shackles. They’d freed them.

And, tonight, he would buck for someone outside of himself.

He would buck for Annabelle and the boy.

And heaven help the rider who tried to spend eight seconds on his back.

Chapter Eighteen

“Hurry, hurry. This way,” Raven murmured, clutching Annabelle’s hand as she led her through the bottom level of risers toward the chutes.

Annabelle’s heart was hammering. They’d rushed from the hospital the second they’d secured discharge papers, but she could see the handlers had already loaded Quickdraw into bucking chute number three. There was already a rider on his back, trying to secure the rope around his hand and settle into position.

“He’s going to buck him off in the chute to shake him up,” Annabelle said excitedly.

“Here, here, here,” Raven said frantically, yanking a rope with a Reserved sign off an entrance to a private box.

Annabelle rushed down to the front of the box and watched as Quickdraw went straight up, nearly cleared the side of the chute, and slammed his head toward Brandon Murphy’s team. The announcers were going wild, and the crowd was cheering and jeering, ooing and ahhing, as they showed Brandon’s team pulling him off the bucking bull’s back and dragging him behind the chutes.

“Hey, you knew he was going to do that,” Raven said, gripping the rail beside her.

“He won’t be spinning either.”

Raven was staring at her.

“What?” Annabelle asked.

“Happy sure looks good on you.” She used the words Annabelle had told Raven in the Dusty Armadillo that first night.

Annabelle bumped Raven’s shoulder. Annabelle was banged up, had a baseball cap on to hide a gnarly set of stitches on her bandaged hairline, had been through something horrifically traumatizing, but no one could accuse her life of being boring. She was okay, the baby was okay, and Quickdraw was clearly okay. The announcers were explaining that they had to skip Brandon’s turn for a moment to get him settled and reset.

“I have to get back and change. I’m bucking in two turns, but that guy volunteered to bodyguard you.” Raven twitched her chin to a man sitting behind them. “He’s already bucked, so now he can just sit here and fuck up anyone who messes with you.”

Annabelle smiled at First Time Train Wreck who tipped his cowboy hat, leaned back into his chair, and scanned the risers around them.

“I’ll be fine,” Annabelle assured Raven. “You’re fussing. Go on, Hagan’s Lace. Go show those boys how it’s done.”

Raven grinned. She was a scrawny, tattooed goth girl with a monster in her middle that had never made sense until she met Dead of Winter and started bucking in the circuit. Now, she was the one to watch. She even had a chance to finish in some money tonight if she dominated. She would. Annabelle knew she would.

“Hey, Raven,” she said as her friend went bounding toward the chutes.

“Yeah?”

“I’m