Buckin' Chastity

Chastity Meadows’ gaze was intense as Buck Caulfield rode the bull with ease. When he rode the large, muscular beast, the entire eight seconds was a sensual dance. She watched as he gripped the animal’s flanks, tightening the muscles beneath his jeans. His right hand tensed as he adjusted the rope ever so slightly. Each time the bull landed, the shock traveled up through his abdomen and rippled his chest before traveling the length of his left hand. Hot damn! He was fine. Her mouth watered. Her nipples hardened beneath her cotton tee, and her stomach clenched. She wanted him to win more than anything but realized if the man didn’t need any medical attention, she would never meet him.

Buck was one of the riders at the Professional Rodeo Cowboy Association Championships here in Las Vegas who didn’t have a personal physician in tow. Some riders’ sponsors brought their own medical team. For those who had none, Chastity and her crew were next in line.

She never recovered from her first rodeo. She’d been an intern, and the PRCA was traveling through looking for volunteers to handle any injuries. The rodeo had been small potatoes, most riders paying their way to ride without the sponsors, but they weren’t the least bit intimidated by her profession. The cowboys were down-to-earth and treated her like she was back on her daddy’s farm. Even though she was planning on working in a large metropolitan hospital when her residency was done, the rodeos were a strong reminder of home.

To say her father was disappointed she was living in a major city and didn’t take over the family cattle business was an understatement. When she told him she wanted to go into medicine, he hoped she meant veterinary science. No such luck.

The buzzer sounded, bringing Chastity back to the present. Luck was on Buck’s side tonight. His landing looked rough as he wobbled on the dismount, but he dusted off and walked to the bullpen where the competition slapped him on the back for a job well done.

Chastity sighed. Was it too much to hope for a dislocated shoulder—something fixable so he’d still ride but need her tender loving care? She giggled at the thought of him riding her. The sound was loud enough to draw the attention of some riders, including Buck Caulfield. He didn’t smile at her, simply nodded and winced. The man hurt, and his pain was her cue to head below.