Rough Stock (Lost Creek Rodeo #3) - Heather B. Moore Page 0,29

beast. The clown distracted Nitrous from taking out his vengeance on Westin, and two other cowboys on horses maneuvered the bull through another gate then out of sight.

“And now, we have Duramax.”

The black bull was huge.

“If this bull gives a good run, Knox will probably win,” Vonnie muttered. “He’s a higher-rated bull.”

Silvia gripped Vonnie’s hand as the black bull charged out of the gate, bucking, twisting, and all around trying to rid itself of the man on its back. Knox Prosper was good—very good. Even a newbie rodeo attendee like Silvia could see that. How in the world would a rodeo judge be able to decide between the two riders?

When the eight seconds were up, Knox Prosper landed solidly on the ground. He pulled off his helmet and waved it at the cheering crowd. His grin was wide, triumphant, as if he knew he’d won.

Silvia gripped Vonnie’s hand tighter.

“Please let Westin win,” she whispered to no one in particular.

Then Knox’s score was read. And it took Silvia a second to realize it was a half-point lower than Westin’s.

She screamed along with Vonnie and Glory. Then the three of them hugged each other.

Silvia was half laughing, half crying.

It was ridiculous. She’d met Westin Farr yesterday, and bull riding was his job. Just another night in a long string of them. But his victory felt like a victory for the whole ranch in some way.

If there weren’t dozens of people and a series of fences blocking her path to Westin, she’d run down there and hug the man.

She’d come.

Westin had seen her walk in with the women from the recovery group right as the announcements began. Her black hat and red shirt made her like a beacon. A beautiful beacon.

Silvia Diaz looked fantastic in cowgirl apparel.

He wondered which woman he had to thank for that.

Westin had been to dozens—no, hundreds—of rodeos, so he wasn’t missing out when he decided to watch Silvia instead. It was kind of like taking his nephew Jeppsen to one of those Disney movies. The kid’s reactions were more entertaining to watch than the actual movie.

And it was the same with Silvia.

Westin chuckled at the way she became entranced by the events—wide-eyed and sometimes clapping and cheering. At one point, she covered her eyes with a hand—during the calf roping. It seemed she had a bit of a soft heart.

But when the bull riding started, he’d fully focused on his competition. He wasn’t really worried about the other bull riders. Unless one of them had a fantastic night, and he didn’t meet the eight seconds, then the only rider Westin had to worry about was Knox Prosper.

Over the last year, the guy had been solid. Pulling in top scores at most rodeos. Coming in second a time or two, but overall, he’d become the pro-leagues’ darling. Tonight, Westin had to knock Knox out of that top spot.

When Westin found out he had Nitrous and Knox would be riding Duramax, that only made it more challenging. But Westin was up for the competition.

And now, as he walked back into the arena to wave at the cheering fans who’d just learned he’d won the bull riding event, his gaze again sought out Silvia’s black hat and red shirt.

There she was, clapping and smiling.

He smiled back, but it was hard to tell if she knew the smile was directed toward her.

After accepting the cheers and applause, Westin jogged back to the fence and climbed over it. Hopping down on the other side, he was soon surrounded by other cowboys, including Knox Prosper.

“Well done, Farr,” Knox said in that slow drawl of his. “I always say the best cowboy will always win, and you were the best tonight.”

This was about the highest compliment a guy could get from someone like Knox.

“Thanks,” Westin said. “Your ride was excellent.”

Knox touched the brim of his hat in acknowledgment.

“Knox Prosper!” someone yelled, diverting his attention.

Knox gave another nod to Westin, then turned to talk to the young woman, who looked like she had more energy than a rabbit. She held out a piece of paper for his autograph.

“West! Nice job!” Reid and Eric had arrived.

“It was clutch, but you pulled it off.” Reid had won his own rough stock event—bareback riding.

“You, too,” Westin said. “I guess we’ve come a long way.”

“True.” Reid’s brown eyes filled with amusement. The road to becoming successful at their events had taken years of hard work.

“I guess we’re celebrating?” Eric said, clapping Westin on the shoulder. Eric had also won the