Jake stood with one foot on the running board of Trish’s Ford F-150, watching as she loaded the last of her gear into the back seat. This morning, he programmed her cell number into his phone and his into hers. Then he followed her to the rodeo grounds and insisted on helping her get Misty out of her stall and trailer her, despite her insistence she could do it herself. The woman was too fucking independent. Not that he’d want her any other way, but shit, couldn’t she let him help her once in a while? “Yep. Queen Creek. The rodeo’s only four days, but it’s well run and nationally recognized. I have a chance to rack up a few more points.” “Darlin’, you took all three events and the championship here in San Antonio. I’d say you’ve got a nice pocket full of points already.” She closed the door and turned to face him. “But only the top fifteen competitors in each event qualify to participate in the Nationals. There’s some damn good barrel racers out there, Jake.
