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I like horses better than most people. 

After years of supporting our local equine rescue, it’s safe to say that I have a certified hate-on for the rodeo. So why is Luke McCall, injured rodeo diva, in my training paddock?

I feel bad that he was outed by the media, and I get the need to regroup out of the spotlight. I might even be willing to admit that he’s a little more vulnerable than his Rodeo King persona would suggest.

But, seriously—why does he have to recover in my bunkhouse?

I thought volunteering at a queer-friendly horse ranch was a stroke of brilliance—I’d get to hang out with horses while rebuilding strength and mobility after my injury. Win-win, right? Wrong.

Rebel Sky’s gorgeous foreman hates my guts on sight, even if he is willing to protect me from the bigots who just want a shot at the fallen cowboy.

What would it take to get him to see that I’m a good man with a soft heart and a helpful little rope kink?

Enemies-to-lovers, opposites attract, hurt-comfort, rope play.

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