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.