Round Up (Lost Creek Rodeo #1) - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,3

we couldn’t do this without her! The ranch wasn’t providing enough on its own, and last year was the first time I’ve ran a profit since taking over. She’s an angel for financing this, and all she asks for is a case of jam and to sponsor our horses.”

“She hates me,” Ryan pointed out without any shame whatsoever. “She makes that hum of disapproval every time she sees me.”

“Oh, grow up.” Kellie snickered and took a drink of her coffee, her eyes turning mischievous. “You know it’s only because of that circuit in ’14, right? You bested their grandson in the finals, completing the Original Six sweep. She couldn’t stand that, and her husband was cranky for weeks.”

Ryan scowled at the memory, sinking onto a bar stool himself. Hank Harland had been the biggest name in the rodeo business for ages, and his wife might have been a bigger name. When he’d died a few years back, Ms. Ginny had taken over the businesses. If there was a rodeo around, their business had a stamp on it.

It wasn't Ryan’s fault their grandson couldn’t stay on a bronc.

“The Original Six,” he murmured slowly, spinning his mug in thought. “I haven’t seen most of them in a while.”

“Probably not since your injury,” Kellie echoed. “Think any of them will come down this year?”

Ryan shook his head. “I don’t know. The season starts in a few weeks, and I haven’t seen the docket. You?”

“Nope. Might be good to see them, though.”

“Maybe.”

They sat in silence with their coffee for a few minutes, lost in thought.

The Original Six had been a name given to him and five other guys that had formed the first rodeo team at their university, a small agricultural school not far from Lost Creek, less than an hour away. Not only had they started it, but that first year, they had taken regionals, starting the tradition of star rodeo teams there. Lost Creek was now the home of that team, and the event was always a fun exhibition for current and former riders to take part in.

Ryan had done it every year.

Up until last year, anyway.

And this one, now that his career was over.

Would they come down? Did he want them to?

“I don’t know,” he said again, with a long swig of coffee. “But I could find out.”

“Thank you for calling Memories by Melanie. This is Talia, how may I help you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I think I have the wrong number.”

“No problem, have a nice day.”

Talia pushed the call button on the side of her headset and stared at her computer screen with the same blankness with which she’d answered the phone. It was the fourth wrong number call she’d had today, which didn’t bother her all that much.

Less conversation.

Quicker return to quiet.

Less work to do.

Her job wasn’t horrible; she simply didn’t enjoy it. It wasn’t such a crime to feel that way. Most people probably did, unless they had managed to find their dream jobs in this world. It was a good enough job, and it paid her bills.

That had been enough once.

The hours were fantastic, not that it mattered anymore. She could take time off pretty much whenever she needed, which had helped in the past. It was a small photography business, meaning she wasn’t a cog in a machine, but it didn’t stop her from feeling like a robot now.

It was the only thing she felt like now.

One foot in front of the other, one call after another, one tick of the clock at a time. One by one by one, and eventually, the day ended and she could go home. Where time stopped, and she was only ever cold. Eventually, she would sleep, and then she would wake up. Toss, turn, roll over, sleep again. She might even go to her bed, if she felt like it, but the couch was good. Her alarm would go off, and she would shower, eat, and take the train to the office.

Day after day.

She was even working the weekends now, which her boss did not like, but she needed time to pass without tears, without emptiness, and without feeling sick.

She needed purpose, even if it wasn’t fulfilling. All she needed was something to fill her time and her days.

Which this did.

“Talia.”

She blinked at the sound of her name and glanced up. Her boss, Melanie, stood there, hands on her hips, brow wrinkled in concern. “Hi. You need something?”

Melanie pursed her lips, shaking her head. “No, I’m fine. Talia … it’s