Finn loved a lot of things about Alberta.

The open, rolling fields that turned buttercup yellow in September. The bluebird skies, sleek and glistening like wet paint. The pleasant Chinook winds that warmed your skin on cold days in the winter. Spicy Caesar cocktails. The lack of rats.

The sheer number of horse flies, however, wasn't one of them.

"Hang on," Finn said. "You have something in your hair."

Immediately, Jenny went still. Finn plucked the large black fly out of her hair, and the brunette shuddered, eyeing the bug with distaste. Finn smirked. Dustin had explained that his girlfriend grew up in Hawaii, where sharks were a more common occurrence than horse flies; Jenny still wasn't used to the bugs.

"Gross," Jenny muttered.

Finn offered her a small smile. "Wait until you see the ticks."

"I thought Canada was supposed to be filled with polar bears."

"Just up North."

Jenny frowned. "So you don't ride them to school?"

Finn winked. "Only on special occasions."

"Don't let him wind you up, babe," Dustin sighed, materializing at Jenny's shoulder. "Soon, he'll be telling you that they all have pet moose." He kissed her cheek. "And that they put maple syrup on their eggs."

"We do, actually," Finn said mildly.

Dustin scrutinized him. Finn smiled.

They were leaning against the metal chutes, watching as Miguel was tossed violently by a brown gelding. The Spanish rider was off his game today; his arm in the air was flying back and forth like an inflatable tube man outside a car wash. He wouldn't be getting any style points today.

Finn scanned the chutes. "Who are you riding?"

"Get Smart. You?"

"Trigger," Finn muttered, and Dustin winced.

"Bad luck."

Finn sighed. "Thanks."

The jet-black mare was a bit like Sophia: beautiful but deadly. She was notorious for bucking even the toughest riders off, but if you had the strength to ride her all the way to the finish, you were guaranteed to win the day.

Not that Finn was thinking about Sophia. Or riding her.

He definitely wasn't.

The example had been purely for the purposes of demonstration.

Finn swallowed. A large part of him wished that Sophia was here, but the other part was glad that she wasn't. Mostly because he'd do something stupid, like forget how to speak English. Or get down on his knees and beg for her to take him back.

No.

Better she wasn't here.

Finn wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, praying that Dustin wouldn't notice. But he did, of course. Dustin noticed everything.

"Are you nervous?" Dustin frowned. "It's just a go-round."

"I know."

"Do you want a drink?" Jenny volunteered. "I can get you a lemonade."

Finn shook his head. He wanted a strong shot of whisky. And possibly a large boulder to crawl under after his performance. The buzzer went off. Miguel immediately leapt on to the back of a rider's horse, yanking off his helmet. His face was the picture of relief.

"Well, he stayed on," Dustin said. "Terrible performance, though."

"Seventy-five, maybe?"

"If that."

Jenny was staring at a chute a little to their left, and Finn was reminded of the cartoon characters with hearts in their eyes. "Who's that?"

Finn followed her gaze. And then he groaned.

He knew that Andrew Hazelton-Scott would be here, of course, but to actually see the English asshole felt like a kick to the stomach. Andrew was sitting on the metal bar, watching in amusement as his horse bucked in the chute. The animal seemed angrier than usual, Finn thought, recalling the rumors about Andrew putting burrs under the horse's flank strap so that the animal would buck higher.

Finn frowned. "That's Andrew."

"He's cute," Jenny observed.

Dustin scowled. "He's a dick."

"Not as cute as you, of course," Jenny added, kissing Dustin's cheek, and the American rider looked slightly pacified. "Anyways, I would never date a man in pants that tight. They look suffocating."

Finn watched as Andrew settled on the horse, gripping on to the animal with one hand. He nodded at a man, and the chute sprang open.

Finn groaned.

Andrew's performance was, he begrudgingly admitted, impeccable; the English rider seemed to be telepathically connected to the horse. Every movement was deliberate. Exact. When the buzzer went, Andrew vaulted gracefully on to another horse, waving cheerfully at the crowd as he galloped off.

"I hate him," Dustin muttered.

"A ninety-four," Finn agreed. "At least."

"I'll never win."

"Yes, you will," Jenny said, squeezing his hand. "You just need to believe in yourself."

Dustin and Finn exchanged a look that clearly said, don't-let-her-know-how-bad-this-could-be. Finn clapped him on the shoulder like a fellow sailor might clap someone on the shoulder before he walked the plank.

"Slow down when you leave the chute," Finn reminded him. "And relax your shoulders. You always lean too far forward when you're marking out."

"Yes, Mom."

"Oh, shut-up," Finn muttered, but Dustin was at least smiling, now.

Dustin's round went as badly as he predicted; he managed to cling on to the horse for the full eight seconds, but "cling" was the operative word; he was disqualified after his free hand touched the bucking bronco. Jenny groaned.

"He'll be miserable," she said.

"It was a tough horse."

"I should go check on him." She patted Finn's shoulder. "Good luck."

Finn glanced at the clock as Jenny left. Two more Canadian riders, a Brazilian rider, Sam the Australian, and then it was his turn. He blew out a breath. He couldn't afford to get distracted, now. He had to remain calm. Steer clear of all distractions, especially—

"Hoag!"

Finn groaned inwardly.

"Scott," he ground out.

Andrew Hazelton-Scott strode towards him, his red jacket still remarkably dirt-free. Even his black boots were shining. How was that even possible?

"Not a bad ride," Finn admitted reluctantly.

Andrew shrugged. "I wouldn't be too hard on yourself." He flicked a piece of imaginary dust from his sleeve. "As you Americans say, we can't all be studs."

"I'm Canadian, idiot."

"Is there a difference?"

Finn forced himself to count to ten. He wouldn't be bated by a smug English asshole who cared more about how shiny the buttons on his jacket were than common decency. He wouldn't. He would be calm, no matter what.

"Shame about your draw," Andrew continued blithely "Trigger, right? She's a menace. But maybe that's for the best." He clapped Finn on the shoulder. "I have serious doubts about your abilities to rile a woman up."

"Like you do?" Finn shot back. "With the burrs?"

Andrew stiffened. "What did you just say to me?"

"You heard me." Finn took a step closer. "You put burrs under your horse's strap. Everyone knows it. That's why they kick so hard."

Andrew's eyes were flat. His face was calm, but there was a pulse jumping in his throat. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear, Hoag."

Finn paused. He wanted to question Andrew further — or maybe he didn't — but the choice was taken out of his hands, because a stablehand was already waving him over. He shot Andrew one last look before starting towards the chute.

Thunder clapped overhead.

Finn glanced up. Rain droplets pricked at his skin, sliding under the collar of his shirt. Shit. That was never a good sign, was it? He gritted his teeth together, ducking his head as he jogged towards the chute.

He found Trigger happily munching on a terrified horse's tail. The black mare was thrashing against the metal bars, her teeth gnashing together. Finn shielded his eyes against the rain, raising his voice to be heard over the storm.

"Has she been like this all day?"

The stablehand nodded. "Afraid so."

Finn stared morosely at the horse. Brilliant. It would be a miracle if he made it through four seconds, let alone eight.

He climbed the bars, and Trigger lunged at him, snapping and twisting. The crowd let out a cheer as Sam burst into the arena, careening wildly around on the back of a speckled mare. Finn's pulse picked up.

"Hey, there," he murmured. "We're going to spend some time together, okay?"

Trigger tossed her head, pawing at the ground. She twisted to glare reproachfully at Finn. Screw off, she seemed to say.

Finn swallowed.

The buzzer sounded. Sam rode off to applause, and then it was just Finn in the chute, his own breathing like cannon fire. He swung on to Trigger's back, stiffening as the horse threw herself into the bars. He gripped Trigger's rigging.

Please, Finn thought. Just don't kill me.

"Okay," he called. "Let's go!"

The metal chute sprang open. The crowd roared, and Trigger skittered nervously, twisting and bucking. Rain lashed at his face. Finn pitched forward, blinded by the storm, and too late, he realized that his positioning was all wrong.

Trigger twisted left. Finn went right.

Fuck, he thought dizzily. I'm going to fall.

The crowd gasped, and then Finn went airborne, his vision a kaleidoscope of tumbling red, green and blue. For a terrifying moment, everything was still. Had he hit the ground? He couldn't remember. But, no; the dirt was rushing up at him.

There was a sickening crack.

Pain radiated up his left side. Finn tried to stand, but the world tilted horizontally. Someone was screaming his name. Dustin? The person was telling him to run, and he wanted to obey, but he was so tired. So goddamn tired. Maybe he could just rest, for a while.

Something pattered towards him. Footsteps? Sophia, Finn thought hazily, lifting his head; she was climbing into his truck. They were driving to university, weren't they? She was singing along to the radio, her dark hair loose, feet up on the dashboard.

"Finn," the voice roared. "Run!"

The footsteps drew closer.

No, Finn realized, not footsteps — hooves.

Something heavy hit him. The crowd gasped. And then everything was silent.