Firefly Night

CHAPTER 1.5

Now, I'd been to enough rodeos to think I'd seen it all—the buckle bunnies, the seasoned pros, the clowns who'd do anything for a laugh, and the real competition. Surprises were par for the course, and I usually chalked them up to just another day at the rodeo. But Lemon Odell wasn't just another girl in the arena; she was an Odell, and that name alone was enough to make folks sit up and take notice.

The way she stood under the arena lights, her posture so sure, it felt like I was watching a scene from the past. Memories flooded back—of a younger Tex Lamar Odell striding to the center stage to claim his own victories. The past and present blurred for a moment, and I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of déjà vu.

"It's like watching history repeat itself," I murmured to Caleb, my voice barely rising above the buzz of the crowd. He nodded, his eyes fixed on Lemon as she accepted her award.

"Think she'll switch to bull riding? Give us any competition?" Caleb's question hung in the air, half-serious, half-joking.

Internally, I scoffed at the notion. There was no way Lemon would ever take up bull riding, not after what it had cost her family. "Doubt it."

Lemon strode out of the arena with purpose, her steps deliberate and confident. I noticed the lingering gazes of the guys near the exit, their eyes following her like moths drawn to a flame, but she paid them no mind. Even when Wyatt approached her, all she offered was a polite smile and a few words. No flirting, no lingering glances, just a brief exchange.

But then, as she glanced toward the chutes, I caught something—a subtle look, an almost unnoticeable exchange between her and Rem. There was a glint in his eyes, a knowing smile that passed between them. It was then I realized that Lemon wasn't as indifferent as she seemed. The little Odell had a secret, and it wasn't surprising that it involved Rem. He'd been different lately, less interested in the usual crowd of girls, more focused. It all made sense now.

But what gnawed at me was the question of why Rem hadn't said anything to the rest of us. He was usually an open book, quick to share whatever was on his mind. Did that mean this was serious?

I decided it was best to make a quick exit, feeling a little too aware of the tension in the air. Turning toward the secretary booth, tucked away near the back of the rodeo grounds, I made my way to my gray horse trailer parked just past it. I reached into the passenger seat, searching for Red's papers.

The truck was a mess, a real disaster zone. Wrappers from greasy drive-thru meals littered the floor, mingling with unpaid vet bills and crumpled maps. I cursed under my breath as I fumbled around in the chaos of the glove box. Finally, my fingers brushed against a small stack of papers, their edges slightly crumpled from being shoved into that confined space. Dammit Colt, get it together, I scolded myself silently. This should have been sorted out ages ago.

I turned to head back to the secretary station, trying to organize the papers in my hand as I walked, when suddenly I collided with someone. The papers scattered across the pavement like leaves in the wind. "God damn it," I muttered, frustration bubbling up. At this rate, calf roping would be half over, and I'd be cutting it close for bull riding. If I was late, I could kiss my shot at Worlds goodbye. All the hard work, the sacrifices, the pain—it would all be for nothing.

But whoever I'd run into had fallen to the ground, and my irritation shifted to concern. The last thing I needed right now was for another fight to start. I glanced down, and there they were—a familiar pair of hazel eyes staring back at me with a sharp, almost predatory gaze. An Odell.

Lemon Odell was even more striking up close, a blend of her father's strong features and something entirely her own. For a moment, I forgot I'd knocked her to the ground, caught up in taking in the details. Her light brown hair fell in soft waves, and those lips... a shade of light pink with a subtle curve that drew my attention. My mind faltered, the usual quick wit and smooth talk slipping through my fingers like the papers scattered across the pavement.

Say something, Colt, I urged myself, but the words got tangled up in the sudden rush of awareness.

Before I could get a handle on my thoughts, she beat me to it, her voice carrying a mix of challenge and amusement. "You just gonna stand there, cowboy? Thought you Southern gentlemen were raised better."

The gears clicked into place, and I straightened up, a wide smile finally finding its way to my face. "We are, ma'am. I apologize, I don't know where my head was at."

I did, in fact know where my head was at.

Lemon's eyes sparkled with amusement as she took in my disheveled appearance. "And here I thought you were looking for a fight," she remarked, her gaze flicking to the faint bruise forming beneath my cheekbone.

Internally, I cursed. Of course, I had to look my worst—beat up and bruised—right when an Odell showed up. It was bad luck, pure and simple. I tried to straighten up more, but the ache in my muscles and the weariness that had settled deep into my bones betrayed me. Everything hurt—my face, my back, even my damn fingertips.

"Had a run-in with a stubborn bull earlier," I said, trying to brush it off as casually as I could, but there was no hiding the exhaustion in my voice. "Nothing I can't handle."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying my attempt at nonchalance. "Seems like that bull got a good shot in."

I chuckled, a low, self-deprecating sound. "Yeah, he did. But I'll get him back."

Lemon shook her head, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Just make sure you're not too banged up to ride."

She turned away, her gaze dropping to the papers scattered on the ground. I bent down to help her, the closeness between us sending a faint, unexpected thrill through me. I focused on gathering the papers, trying to ignore the way her presence seemed to fill the space around us.

"Colt Langmore?" Her voice was soft, almost curious, as she picked up one of Red's registration papers. The sight of her holding that crumpled document with the Whitewood Ranch logo—my biggest sponsor, staring back at me made me realize how disheveled I must look.

"Yeah, that's me," I replied as I reached for the paper. "And you're Lemon Odell, right?"

She handed me the papers she'd gathered, her fingers brushing against mine for just a moment. Her hands were smaller, softer, and I couldn't help but notice how much warmer they felt compared to my own rough, calloused skin. I looked away, trying on reorganizing the papers, but there was something about the way she moved that caught my attention again.

She smoothed out her shirt, a soft blue fabric with delicate patterns woven into it. It was such a simple gesture, but there was a grace to it that I found almost mesmerizing. I swallowed hard, trying to push away the tightness in my chest. "Yeah," she said, her voice soft, but there was a confidence in it that I hadn't expected.

The silence between us stretched, not uncomfortable, but heavy. I needed to say something, anything. "You rode well out there. Best I've seen in a long time."

A smile lit up her face, reaching her eyes. "Thanks. It's been a while since my last competition, but Fiets handled it well. Are you up next?"

"Yeah," I nodded, "Bull riding. Right after calf roping."

Her smile faltered just a touch, and I thought I saw a flicker of something behind her eyes—disappointment, maybe, or something else. I tried not to think too much about it. Bull riders didn't have the best reputation when it came to relationships. Caleb used to call it the 'cowboy curse'—leaving a trail of broken hearts wherever we went. I never gave it much thought, but there was truth in it, and I'd seen the hurt in the eyes of women I'd left behind.

"Would you like to grab a drink with me later? As a way to make up for knocking you down," I offered, trying to gauge her reaction.

She hesitated, just for a moment, before shaking her head with a polite smile. "Maybe next time."

I hid my disappointment with a grin, tipping my hat. "I guess I'll see you in the stands, then? Cheering me on?"

She rolled her eyes, but there was a playful glint in them. "Don't worry, I'll be rooting for you."

"Glad to hear it," I replied, my voice quieter than I intended.

As she turned to walk away, I couldn't help but let my gaze linger on her retreating figure, the way she moved with a quiet confidence that drew me in more than I cared to admit. Something about Lemon Odell had gotten under my skin, and I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. But one thing was certain—this wasn't the last I'd see of her.