A bull riders grace, p.1
A Bull Rider's Grace, page 1
Copyright © 2024 by H.M. Hoy
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact hmhoy.author@gmail.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, products, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or animals (living or dead), events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
First Edition August 2024
ISBN: 979-8-9911986-1-5 (e-book)
ISBN: 979-8-9911986-0-8 (print)
Book Cover by GetCovers
Editing: Romance Editor, Nina Fiegl, s.p. (www.ninafiegl.com)
This book was 100% written by an actual human. No generative artificial intelligence (AI) was used at any point during the writing of this novel.
No AI Training: Without in any way limiting the author's exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to 'train' generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.
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Contents
A Note From the Author
1. Prologue
2. Chapter 1
3. Chapter 2
4. Chapter 3
5. Chapter 4
6. Chapter 5
7. Chapter 6
8. Chapter 7
9. Chapter 8
10. Chapter 9
11. Chapter 10
12. Chapter 11
13. Chapter 12
14. Chapter 13
15. Chapter 14
16. Chapter 15
17. Chapter 16
18. Chapter 17
19. Chapter 18
20. Chapter 19
21. Chapter 20
22. Chapter 21
23. Chapter 22
24. Chapter 23
25. Chapter 24
26. Chapter 25
27. Chapter 26
28. Chapter 27
29. Chapter 28
30. Chapter 29
31. Chapter 30
32. Chapter 31
33. Chapter 32
34. Chapter 33
35. Chapter 34
36. Chapter 35
37. Chapter 36
38. Chapter 37
39. Chapter 38
40. Chapter 39
41. Epilogue
About the author
A Note From the Author
Content Warning
This novel contains domestic violence scenes between the Female Main Character and her ex-boyfriend. As a domestic violence survivor myself, I acknowledge that these scenes may be difficult to read.
The following chapters each have at least one scene that may be triggering for some. Read at your own risk.
*Chapter 2
*Chapter 4
*Chapter 9
*Chapter 15
*Chapter 30
*Chapter 32
Dealing with domestic violence?
Help is available!
National Domestic Violence Support Hotline:
800-799-7233 or text START to 88788
Prologue
Two Years Earlier
He’d felt pain before, but nothing like this.
Colt Boone stood at the gravesite, wishing he were anywhere else. The pitying looks and mindless platitudes people kept giving him were getting irksome.
His wife was dead. His life lay in ruins. He wanted this thing to be over and for everyone to leave him alone. Especially those who seemed to think this was the right time to tell him he’d meet someone else. They probably meant for it to be comforting, but it only pissed him off.
There wouldn’t be anyone else for him. She’d been it. Nobody could ever replace her. It felt like he was seconds from shattering into thousands of tiny pieces. Only anger and sheer determination kept him from falling apart. He’d be damned if he’d risk going through this hell again.
Colt tugged at the collar of his black western shirt then popped the top button. Today, the shirt seemed to be strangling him despite being one of his most comfortable.
He’d had no choice but to wear his Sunday best. It bothered him, but by the time he rolled into town this morning, it’d been too late to hunt down a suit. As it was, he’d needed to drive nearly straight through to get here in time for Sarah’s burial. When he’d arrived at the graveyard, several attendees—his in-laws loudest of all—whispered snide comments about his apparel. Not that he cared. Sarah would have understood why he wasn’t wearing a suit, and only her opinion mattered.
The minister leading the funeral service motioned for him to step up to the podium, but Colt couldn’t get his feet to respond. His limbs were heavy as if filled with lead. The eulogy he planned to give felt hollow. Lacking. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her. Never would be. Maybe that explained his reluctance to speak.
He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and started forward. He’d barely taken two steps before he paused again to gather himself.
A familiar hand clapped down on his shoulder. “You good?”
Colt glanced sideways at his best friend, Cash West, and jerked his head in affirmation.
Cash studied him for a moment, a mixture of concern, compassion, and disbelief clear as day in his vivid green eyes. “You sure? You don’t have to speak. I’m sure nobody would hold it against you if you didn’t.”
That’s where Cash was wrong.
Sarah’s parents had never liked that their daughter fell for a rodeo cowboy, and they never let Colt forget it. Not even today. Days ago, they’d gone so far as to immediately reject everything he’d told them of his wife’s funeral wishes. They’d had the audacity to claim he was lying. As if he’d lie about something like that. Only the knowledge that Sarah wouldn’t want them bickering—again—made him hold his tongue and hand over the reins.
He’d never been good enough for her in their eyes, but he’d loved their daughter even more than he’d ever loved rodeo, and that was saying something.
No, his wife’s family would condemn him if he didn’t say at least a few words. Of course, they probably would regardless.
It didn’t matter. After today, he’d never cross paths with them again. Not willingly anyway. Still, he needed to say something. He owed it to Sarah.
She’d always supported him. Encouraged him to chase his dreams. And he’d done the same for her. In spite of how her parents felt about him, his and Sarah’s marriage had been nearly picture perfect. The sort people dreamed of having.
And he’d killed her. Nobody would ever convince him otherwise.
His gaze locked on the casket that held his heart within it, and he swallowed hard.
Rather than answering Cash, Colt forced himself into motion and stepped up to the podium. The expectant gazes of everyone gathered landed on him.
How the hell was he supposed to give a eulogy when his tongue felt thick in his mouth?
He cleared his throat and struggled to get his voice to cooperate. “Thank you all for coming.” The hoarseness tinting his deep voice bespoke the turbulent emotions he struggled to hide. “We’re here today to say goodbye to my wife, Sarah.” He smiled sadly then took a deep, hitching breath. “I remember her finding a kitten during our honeymoon and insisting we sneak it on the plane with us when it was time to come home. She made security chase us through the airport for—”
A lump lodged itself in his throat at the memory, and wouldn’t clear no matter how many times he swallowed.
It’d taken close to an hour for security to get her to tearfully relinquish the kitten. He and Sarah nearly missed their flight; if he hadn’t insisted on getting to the airport early, they probably would have. He’d taken her to the animal shelter to pick out a cat the moment they returned home.
“She was a hell of a woman. Generous. Kind. Beautiful. You could count on her to always be there for you, no matter what.” He swallowed thickly. “She wasn’t just my wife; she was my best friend. I loved her more than I can find words to say. I’ll miss everything about her, especially her big heart.” His chin quivered. “Without her, I’m a broken man,” he croaked out.
His gaze swept over the people gathered around the gravesite. Besides both of their families, several of Sarah’s friends had shown up. Quite a few of his own had come to pay their respects as well, their black jeans and cowboy hats looking just as out of place as his own amongst the sea of dresses and suits.
A shudder rippled through him in the wake of the memories cascading one after the other through his mind. They seemed intent on torturing him.
Sarah racing down the stairs to fling her arms around him the second he returned home from the rodeo circuit. Her beaming up at him, her hazel eyes so filled with life and love.
Colt rubbed at the ache in his chest. He’d never again feel the warmth of her embrace. Never taste her kiss or see that smile. She was gone.
Fuck. The finality of it all hit him hard.
He should never have let her go the last time he’d held her in his arms.
“She was my whole damn worl—” His voice cracked, rioting emotions threatening to engulf him. His gaze dropped to the podium as his vision blurred. “I’m sorry, I can’t
” He snapped his mouth shut and hurried away.
Colt rubbed at his burning eyes while his mother-in-law, Claire, stepped up to the podium and took over. After the last conversation he’d had with her, it wouldn’t have surprised him any if she’d left him to flounder. When Claire called him several days ago to tell him about Sarah’s car accident, she’d accused him of indirectly causing her daughter’s death. It was the first, and only, thing he and Claire had ever agreed on.
A hand landed on his shoulder. His gaze swung over to see Cash standing beside him with a grim expression. No further words passed between them. None were necessary. If one person here could understand at least some of what Colt was going through, it would be Cash—the man had suffered more than his fair share of loss as well.
Colt’s eyes landed on the casket in front of him as Claire continued droning on.
How was he supposed to live without Sarah? How was it possible she was really gone? It didn’t seem real.
He took a shaky breath and blew it out slowly.
Mere minutes later, the service concluded and some of the crowd dispersed. Only Colt, a handful of his friends, his parents, and Sarah’s family remained.
Two graveyard workers silently approached, their faces solemn. Colt tensed as the workers began lowering his wife into her final resting place. His chest constricted painfully.
This was it.
He tore his eyes away from Sarah’s gradually disappearing casket, unable to watch any more.
“I’ve got to go,” he gasped to Cash then bolted for his truck.
Colt sat on a barstool in the only bar in town, staring blankly down at the tumbler of whiskey he held.
He’d have to call his parents later. No doubt they’d be worrying about him, considering the way he’d run from the graveyard. Especially his mother—she’d always been a worrywart when it came to him. They would understand why he’d needed to leave.
Cash sat to his left; two of Colt’s other close friends—Dusty McCoy and Brody Emerson—to his right. The three fellow bull riders had followed right on Colt’s heels when he’d hightailed it from the graveyard. It didn’t surprise him any. Whenever one of them was going through shit, the others rallied around him. It’d been that way for all the years they’d known each other.
The quiet presence of his friends filled him with gratitude. There was nothing anyone could say to make this situation better, and they seemed to recognize that.
“Thanks,” Colt muttered, feeling as though he should probably say something.
“Hey, man, don’t mention it,” Cash replied.
Dusty and Brody nodded in agreement.
Colt rolled his glass between his palms for a moment, then took a small sip. Though he wanted little more than to get blackout drunk right now, he couldn’t. There were too many things he needed to take care of at the ranch he’d shared with Sarah. Things he should probably be sober for.
He’d need to pack up her things and figure out what the hell to do with them. Maybe it’d be best to drop her clothes off at a woman’s shelter. She’d approve of that. Then he’d need to rehome her horse, along with her cat. It’d be too difficult having them around, too much of a reminder she was gone.
Shit, what about the ranch? Should he keep it? Sell it? He had no real desire to be there without her. The place held too many memories.
A wave of guilt washed over him as he considered their home.
He should have been with her that night; Claire was right to blame him. Sarah’s death was his fault. If he hadn’t been off chasing his third National Bull Riding Championship title, he wouldn’t be feeling like the Grand Canyon had opened where his heart should be right now. She’d still be alive.
Had he been home, where he’d belonged, she wouldn’t have ended up on that lonely stretch of highway—dealing with a flat tire. The bastard who’d hit her would never have crossed paths with her that night. With no witnesses, there wasn’t even a way to hunt down the hit-and-run driver to get any sort of justice.
Colt may not have killed her with his own hands, but she was dead because of him.
Sarah’s best friend, Katie, told him they’d met up at the sports bar the next town over to watch him ride on the big screen there. If he hadn’t been riding, there wouldn’t have been a reason for Sarah to go.
It was his fault. All his fault.
She’d asked him to stay home for the first time in ages, but he’d gone anyway. She’d said she had a bad feeling about him riding that weekend. But, after a string of bad rides days before, he’d needed the points to recover his spot in the standings too much to stay home. He’d been so focused on earning that next championship title. Too focused.
And now, she was dead. All because of him and his damned career.
Jesus, he needed to stop thinking about it before he completely lost his mind.
“Have you thought about when you’ll be coming back to the circuit?” Brody asked, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen between the four friends.
Colt shook his head. “I’m not coming back. I’m done.”
All three of his friends looked at him as though he’d gone nuts, but he ignored them—or, tried to.
“What? Are you crazy?” Cash asked.
Colt shrugged. “Never been sane. You know that better than anyone.”
Cash widened his eyes, disbelief written all over his face. “You’re one of the top fifteen riders in the nation already this season! I thought you wanted another title. You’re seriously giving it all up?
“There’s no point to anything anymore. One of you guys take the title this year and every year after that. I’m just done.” Colt grabbed his glass and tossed back its contents in a single swallow.
Cash shook his head. “Why? What the hell are you going to do if you’re not riding bulls?”
Colt didn’t know how to explain the chaos in his mind. All he knew was he needed a break from everything, especially the guilt and regret eating at him.
Too bad neither seemed to be going anywhere.
“Don’t know what I’ll do. Don’t much care either. Maybe I’ll get a real job.”
Brody’s head jerked up, his brows snapping together over moss-green eyes. “Riding bulls is a real job!” he sputtered. “How can you imply it isn’t?” He sat up a bit straighter and squinted at Colt.
“His wife just died, man.” Dusty shot Colt a look filled to the brim with compassion and understanding before he narrowed his dark brown eyes at Brody. “Leave him alone.”
Brody glanced at Dusty then exhaled a long breath and gave his head a small shake. “I know that, but retiring? Permanently? That seems a bit rash. Riding might be a good distraction.”
“Or might cause me to join her in the grave real quick.” Colt leveled his gaze on Brody. “How the fuck am I supposed to ride when I can barely breathe? You know how dangerous not being completely focused is. Shit, it’s dangerous enough as it is.”
Brody grimaced and rubbed a hand over his ribs, probably thinking of his last buck-off. A wreck. It hadn’t been pretty, and he’d ended up with three busted ribs for his trouble. All because his thoughts had been on something going on back home instead of the bull beneath him.
“We’re worried about you,” Cash said quietly. “If you need a break, take it, but don’t quit.”
Colt ignored him and stared into his empty glass. He knew his decision wasn’t one that any of the other men could understand. Not even Cash. Bull riding was more than a career. It was life. Walking away from it was unthinkable to them. It had been that way for him too until now.
He got to his feet and tossed a few bills on the bar before turning to look at his friends. How could he explain that even thinking about riding again heaped so much guilt on his shoulders that it made it difficult to stand? Riding was why she was gone.
“Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’m done. I need a break. A long one. Maybe someday I’ll come back, but for now I’m out.”
He heaved out a weary breath.
This was harder than he’d expected—walking away. Not as much from the sport itself, but from his friends. Who knew when he’d see any of them again. The uncertainty of it made the ache in his chest expand. He missed them already. Sure, they could keep in touch, but it wouldn’t be the same as hanging out with them nearly every day.
