Thunder and Leather on the Circuit

Thunder rolled across the wide Wyoming sky—low and angry, just like my mood whenever Gage McCoy was within spitting distance. We’d been circling each other on the circuit for years, him on the bulls, me on the barrels. Two stubborn forces of nature destined to collide.

“Thompson,” he’d drawled earlier that afternoon, leaning against the fence as I walked my mare, Daisy, to cool her down after our run. “Still riding that pony like you stole her, I see.”

I shot him a glare that could curdle milk. “Ain’t none of your business how I ride, McCoy.”

His grin was slow and infuriating. “Oh, but it is, darlin’. When you’re cutting across my concentration with that flashy pink saddle pad.”

I’d scoffed. “That’s just an excuse for your sorry riding today.”

The memory of our first encounter flickered—a county fair years back, both of us young and green. He’d swaggered up after my win, all lean muscle and cocky grin. “Not bad, little lady,” he’d said, tipping his hat. “For a girl.”

I’d seen red. “I’d like to see you try it, cowboy,” I’d snapped, chin

I’d seen red. “I’d like to see you try it, cowboy,” I’d snapped, chin high. “Bet you’d fall flat on your face.” That was the first spark—ignition.

Now, years later, the embers still glowed every time we crossed paths. The circuit was small enough that we kept bumping into each other, like two bulls in a too-small pen. He’d always find some way to needle me—commenting on my times, my horse, even my damn boots. And I’d give it right back, twice as sharp.

It was a dance we did, him and me. A push and pull that left us both breathless and spoiling for another round. I told myself it was just rivalry, plain and simple. That the heat in my cheeks when he got too close was anger, nothing more.

But then came the motel mix-up in Cheyenne.

The rodeo secretary had screwed up the reservations—overbooked the whole damn place. Gage and I were the last two without rooms. “Only got one left,” the clerk said, not even looking up from his computer. “One room, two beds.” He slid a key across the counter. “Take it or leave it.”

Gage raised an eyebrow at me, a challenge in his eyes. “What do you say, Thompson? Think you can behave yourself?”

I snatched up the key. “I’m not the one you need to worry about, McCoy.”

The room was small, smelled like stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener. Two double beds with scratchy floral comforters. We stood there, awkward for the first time in all our years of bickering. The air felt charged with all the words we'd left unsaid.

“Guess this is it,” I said, tossing my duffel on the bed farthest from the door.

He dropped his bag on the other. “Yep.”

We got ready for bed in silence, avoiding each other’s eyes. I changed in the tiny bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. When I came out, he was already in bed, lamp off, facing away from me. I slipped under the covers, heart hammering against my ribs.

The room was quiet, too quiet. I could hear him breathing. I sensed his presence in the dark.

“You awake over there, Thompson?” His voice was low, rough.

“Yeah,” I whispered back. “You?”

“Yep.”

Silence stretched, taut as a wire. Then I heard the rustle of sheets, the creak of the bed as he shifted. Next thing I knew, he was standing beside my bed, looking down at me. The moonlight through the thin curtains caught the angles of his face, the intensity in his eyes.

“What do you think you’re doing, McCoy?” I demanded, but there was no fire in it. Just a breathless anticipation.

“What I’ve wanted to do for a long damn time,” he growled.

He leaned down, one hand braced on the wall above my head. His mouth landed on mine—hungry, demanding. I kissed him back just as hard, all the years of wanting pouring out of me.

Clothes came off in a frantic tangle of limbs. His skin was hot under my hands, muscles bunching as he moved over me. He kissed me like he was trying to crawl inside my skin, like he’d die if he stopped.

“Gage,” I gasped, arching into him.

“Wynonna,” he rasped back, my name like a prayer on his lips.

He pushed inside me with a groan, filling me up, stretching me just right. We moved together, hard and fast and desperate. It was rough and raw and everything I’d ever wanted.

After, we lay there in the dark, catching our breath. He drew lazy circles on my shoulder with his thumb, both of us silent. We both knew this changed everything.

From then on, we shared a room whenever we could. Those motel rooms became our own little world, separate from the dust and the crowds and the noise of the circuit. In

those rooms, we learned each other’s skin by touch, by taste. We learned the sounds we made when it was good, the way to move to make the other crazy with want. It was never gentle, never sweet. We were gasoline and matches, always on the verge of combustion.

Until the night it all went wrong.

Gage drew the rankest bull on the circuit—a spinning, kicking devil named Twister. I watched from the chutes, heart in my throat, as he nodded his head, the gate swung open, and all hell broke loose. Twister launched himself into the air, twisting and turning, Gage clinging to his back like a burr. But then came a vicious spin, a sickening thud as Gage hit the dirt, the bull’s hooves coming down hard on his leg.

I was over the fence and running before I even thought about it, pushing through the medics, throwing myself down beside him in the dirt. His face was white with pain, jaw clenched tight.

“Gage,” I said, my voice cracking. “Gage, look at me.”

His eyes found mine, hazy with hurt. “Wynonna,” he gritted out. “You shouldn’t…be here.”

“Like hell I shouldn’t,” I shot back, grabbing his hand tight. “You’re gonna be okay, you hear me? I’m not going anywhere.”

Turned out his leg was busted up bad—compound fracture, the doctors said. He’d be out the rest of the season, maybe longer. They sent him home to his little ranch to heal up, and I went with him. Didn’t even think twice about it.

Those weeks on Gage’s ranch were a different kind of dance altogether. I helped him with his rehab, made sure he took his pills, cooked for him when he was too tired to move. We talked, really talked, about things we’d never shared before. Our dreams, our fears, the press of family expectations and the lure of the rodeo road.

The attraction between us didn’t fade—it simmered, a low burn that warmed us from the inside out. But it was tempered now with something deeper, something that scared me more than any bull ever could.

Before I knew it, the championships were upon us. Gage wasn’t cleared to ride, but he insisted on coming to watch me compete. We drove down to Vegas together, the air between us thick with all the things we hadn’t said.

The night of the final ride, I clocked the best time of my career, crossing the finish line to a roar of applause. But the only face I searched for in the crowd was Gage’s. He was on his feet, cheering, his smile wide and proud.

Later, in the quiet of the hotel room, we came together like we never had before. It was slow, sweet, full of all the longing and tenderness we’d been holding back for so long. After, I lay in the circle of his arms, my head on his chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart.

“Gage,” I said softly, tracing patterns on his skin. “What are we doing here?”

He was quiet for a long moment, his fingers combing through my hair. “I reckon we’re doing whatever we damn well please, darlin’,” he finally rumbled. “But if you’re asking if I want this to be real…if I want to give this thing between us a shot…I do.”

I propped myself up on one elbow, looking down into his eyes. “Yeah?” I asked, my voice quiet. “You sure about that?”

He reached up, cupping my cheek in his rough palm. “Never been more sure of anything in my life,” he said, his voice low and fervent. “I love you, Wynonna. I think I have for a long damn time.”

Happiness rose up inside me, fierce and shining. “I love you too, you stubborn bastard,” I said, leaning down to kiss him soft and slow. “Guess this means we’re stuck with each other, huh?”

He grinned against my lips. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Outside, the lights of Vegas glittered, but inside that room, wrapped up in each other, we’d found something brighter, something stronger. Something that would carry us through whatever the future had in store.

Later, we’d face the challenges of two hard-headed rodeo riders trying to build a life together. But right then, in the still moments after the championship, with the man I loved holding me close, I knew one thing for certain: I was finally home.