The Rodeo Queen's Second Ride

I was moments from becoming Lone Star Rodeo Queen, poised to cement my place in Texas society, just as I had in another reality. But in that past, that "first life," my story ended brutally. The economy tanked, my husband, Blake, blinded by his obsession with Clara Belle Hayes, abandoned our kids and me. I fought, but we died, leaving Blake's horror-stricken face as my last memory.

Then, *snap*. I was back. The roar of the rodeo crowd, the familiar dust. At midnight, ready for the final barrel run that had, in my first life, set me on that tragic path. Pure panic seized me. Not again. I wouldn't repeat the nightmare. So, with a deliberate, clumsy move, I fell, hitting the dirt, breaking my wrist, and losing the crown.

Blake rushed in, but not for me. He was there for Clara Belle, the new Queen, their golden, triumphant embrace a cruel echo. Gossip swirled: "Poor Sarah." "Blake looks smitten." "I'm happy for her," I lied, the words tasting like glass, knowing he'd secretly coached her then too. My heart, once shattered, was now scarred and hard. This time, I'd see the storm coming. This time, I'd survive.

The first time I died, it was ugly.

The Texas economy had tanked, or maybe it was just our part of it, the Hamilton empire crumbling under what felt like targeted attacks.

Blake, my husband, wasn't there.

He was with Clara Belle Hayes, protecting her, he'd said.

She was already married to someone else by then, but Blake always saw her as fragile, needing him.

He left me with our two kids, a boy and a girl, in the middle of the chaos.

I remember the dusty ranch road, the sounds of engines not belonging to us.

I hid them, my babies.

Then I faced the men who came for what was left.

I fought. I lost.

The last thing I saw was Blake's face, finally arriving, too late, his eyes wide with a horror that didn't touch the coldness I felt. He'd chosen.

Then, I was back.

The roar of the crowd hit me, and the smell of dust and animals.

The Lone Star Rodeo.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a wild, terrified thing.

I was on my horse, Midnight, ready for the final barrel run, the one that won me "Lone Star Rodeo Queen" in my first life.

The title that got Victoria Hamilton's attention.

The title that got me, Blake.

Panic, cold and sharp, clawed up my throat.

Not again. I couldn't do it again.

My hands, slick with sweat on the reins, trembled.

As Midnight rounded the first barrel, I pulled too hard, too suddenly.

A deliberate, clumsy move.

We stumbled.

Pain shot up my arm as I hit the dirt, a sickening crunch echoing in my ears.

The world spun, and then I focused on the concerned faces above me.

I'd lost.

Good.

They said it was a bad sprain, maybe a small fracture in my wrist.

The "Lone Star Rodeo Queen" sash went to Clara Belle Hayes.

She looked surprised, then tearfully grateful.

I lay on a cot in the medic tent, a lavish bouquet of roses already beside me with a "Get Well Soon, Sarah" card from Victoria Hamilton.

Of course.

Through the tent flap, I saw Blake swing Clara Belle into a hug, her face buried in his chest.

They were a picture, golden and triumphant.

Gossip buzzed like flies.

"Poor Sarah Jenkins, such a terrible accident."

"She almost had it."

"Clara Belle must be thrilled, though. Blake looks smitten."

I smiled, a tight, painful stretch of my lips.

"I'm happy for her," I told anyone who asked, "And Mrs. Hamilton's flowers are lovely."

They looked confused. I didn't care.

I remembered how Blake must have secretly coached Clara Belle in our first life, how he'd smoothed her path. She wasn't that good, not really.

Clara Belle herself appeared, all wide eyes and Southern sweetness.

"Oh, Sarah, honey, I feel just awful that this happened to you."

Her voice was like warm honey, laced with something I now recognized as poison.

"Are you sure you're okay? Will you still help me train sometimes? You know I'm not as good as you."

Before I could answer, Blake was there, his arm around Clara Belle's waist, protective.

"Clara Belle is the new Queen," he announced, his gaze sweeping over me, cool and assessing. "And I don't want anyone upsetting her or spreading any foolishness about Sarah being the better rider. Accidents happen."

He looked directly at me. "We're all friends here, right, Sarah?"

The pressure was immense.

"Right, Blake," I said, my voice flat. "Friends."

It felt like swallowing glass.