34
“T here, there!” Dakota cries.
I rush around and drop napkins onto a picnic table.
She thins her lips, gives me an abashed look. “I feel bad bossing you around.”
Charlie, crouched behind the food stand, snorts. “You learned it from your husband.”
I bat my eyes. “Stars are just like us.” She laughs and I touch her arm. “This is fun. Really.”
The Rough Rider Rodeo—an annual tradition in Resurrection—is a sight to see. Small-town charm at its finest. The mouth-watering scent of elephant ears and hotdogs lingers in the air. News crews roam with video cameras, while a local band belts out country music on stage.
The Montgomery’s are a full-throttle force. It’s all hands on deck for Dakota. As a food vendor, she’s selling hand pies before the rodeo begins. Her unofficial official opening of The Huckleberry.
Everyone’s here. Ruby’s in the booth with Dakota assembling desserts. Charlie’s hammering on the busted side of the booth. Davis keeps running into town whenever supplies get low, and Stede’s taken Duke to the calf-roping exhibit.
And I’m manning the coffee station while Ford wipes down picnic tables.
The only ones missing are Wyatt and Fallon, who’ve gone to get ready for the rodeo.
Belonging—that’s what this feeling is in my heart.
Something’s shifted in the last week. Ford’s brothers treat me like we’ve been friends for years. And right here, at this rodeo, with this family, I feel more at home than I ever did on stage or with Gavin.
Ford, in ranch jeans and a gray T-shirt, hustles food to guests. As he passes by, he flashes me a sexy smirk. My heart flips as I stare at his handsome profile. His chiseled jaw and day-old scruff is quintessential heartbreaker. And damn the audacity of that backward baseball cap.
Something’s shifted between us, too.
Ever since he dropped the no-friends bomb, we’ve been moving fast. Every night I stay over at his place, it feels like I’m sealing my fate. To stay. To trust. To love—so deeply I almost don’t know what to do.
Except tell him the truth. Tell him I love him. But can I trust him not to leave me? Do I trust him to love me back? That feels like asking for the world.
Besides, he has a job offer waiting for him. Whatever’s between us, I’m terrified of ruining it. So, I busy myself with all things rodeo.
By the time late afternoon falls, I’m a sweaty, sticky mess.
Ford pulls me from the booth and hands me a bottled water. “Here, take a break.”
I glance over at Dakota, making sure she has it under control before I sink onto the picnic table bench.
His phone chimes. He glances at it quickly, then me. “Your pill.”
I blink. “You set an alarm?”
“Yeah,” he gruffs. “I did.”
I smother a smile at the pink flush on his cheeks. He can act like a bulldog all he wants, but he’s really a golden retriever in disguise.
I take my medication, covertly popping the pill into my mouth.
“How’s it going with DiFeo?” Ford asks.
I finger the newest necklace around my throat, tracing the small gold cowboy hat. “I like her. She’s no-bullshit.”
After six therapy sessions with Dr. DiFeo, I feel strong. Happy. I wonder why I didn’t do it earlier and that’s when I remember Gavin wouldn’t let me. Well, fuck him.
I’m learning from Dr. DiFeo that I am worthy. And Ford’s been showing me too, in the way he looks at me, the way he treats me. I am his obsession, and he doesn’t hide it.
He’s stocked his kitchen with honey bears just because I love them, stays up late with me to talk about our days, and after every therapy session, he buys me a new necklace as a reward. Most people assume who I am, but Ford understands who I am. And he doesn’t try to change me. He treats me in ways I’ve never been treated. Plain and simple, I love being with him.
“So, is this our date?” I ask.
“Hell no.” He looks offended by my question. “An actual date off the ranch, Birdie Girl. No ranch shit.”
“But I like ranch shit.”
“Yeah, but I want to know what you like.” He takes my hand, braiding his fingers through mine. “It’s important.”
Heart hammering hard, my eyes scan the picnic tables, the Montgomery’s. How do I leave him? How do I leave all this?
But I remind myself, there’s been no promise of the future. No three little words exchanged. We’re more than friends, yet there’s no real commitment.
Soon, the crowd dwindles, and the booth is closed. An announcement goes up over the loudspeakers.
“If you can believe it,” I tell Ford. “This is my first rodeo.”
“We’re done,” Dakota announces, collapsing beside me.
Davis hands her a bottled water while Ruby sets a platter of hand pies in the middle of the picnic table.
“Got a blueberry for me?” Wyatt asks, rocking the table as he drapes himself between me and Ford. With clumsy hands, he hunts through the stacked pastries.
“Right on time,” Dakota quips.
Ford elbows his brother. “Move your ass.”
“Hey, man, I gotta eat.”
Charlie sighs.
“Soothing your self-destructive tendencies with sugar?” Fallon’s husky voice settles over us. Eyes on Wyatt, she slips through the crowd to join us. “You did it, Koty.” A rare smile graces her pretty face. “Hand pies.”
Standing, Dakota pulls her sister into a hug. “Hand pies at the rodeo. Although, I seem to remember you sticking around to serve them.”
Fallon laughs.
Dakota tugs the fringe on her sister’s vest. “Did you take your medication?”
Wyatt looks like he’s about to burn right through Fallon with his stare.
She sighs, levels her sister with a stern glare. “Dakota.”
Stede appears, walking Duke on the tops of his boots. “Pumped him full of sugar just for you.”
Dakota shakes her head. “Thanks, Dad.”
Davis chuckles and lifts his son into the air. “Kid’s gotta live.”
Stede turns to Fallon. Pride shines in his eyes as he takes her hands. “You got this, Fallon. You ride hard and you ride fast.”
Fallon gives him a curt nod. “Yes, Daddy.”
“My girl, my girl, my girl,” booms an unfamiliar, male voice.
Fallon snaps her muscled body into place. Her smile is feline as she turns toward the source of the noise.
A rotund man—looking every bit the part of a wealthy Texas cattleman in his three-piece suit—confers with Fallon. To her left stands a lanky, golden-haired guy, his face shadowed beneath the brim of a cowboy hat. He carries water bottles and Fallon’s gear.
“Who’s that?” I ask, leaning into Ford. The way everyone’s face has gone stormy makes me think they hate the guy.
“Fallon’s entourage. Fat guy is Pappy Starr, her agent.”
I watch, fascinated but worried. Already, he reminds me of Gavin. Power hungry. He’ll shape her, make her, then break her.
“What about the skinny kid?”
“Tripp Hendrix.” We look over at Dakota. She’s smiling. “He’s been in love with her since high school.”
“He’s her water boy,” Wyatt adds, looking none too happy. “Follows her around like a goddamn puppy.”
Davis rolls his eyes, puts a broad hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Easy.”
“Pappy wants Fallon to go big time,” Charlie explains, dark head dipping close. “If she wins today, she could get a sponsorship. She’s the first female who’s ever been this close.”
Turning to Pappy, Dakota crosses her arms, her stance protective. “Is my sister ready?”
Pappy snaps his suspenders. “As ready as ever. I should know. I trained her.”
Dakota’s pretty face darkens. Davis lays a hand on his wife’s shoulder like he’s holding her back.
“Training a woman, Pappy. Never thought I’d see the day.”
Every single eye snaps up at the deep voice. Boots crunch on the dust and dirt. I hear someone whisper, “Hey, that’s him.”
Gasping in surprise, Ruby stands on top of the picnic table bench to see better.
Ford swears. Charlie bristles.
But my jaw drops.
The man looks like a storm sweeping the horizon. Every inch of him screams bull rider . Broad chest. A sharp square jaw. Large, calloused hands. A large man only made larger by the vest, spurs, chaps and brace. He’s closely followed by his entourage, men who look nowhere near as scrappy as Fallon’s team does.
Ruby grabs my hand. “That’s Cole Weston. He’s Fallon’s competitor.” Charlie gives his wife a proud smile, like she’s a pro at the sport. “He’s the reason for the cameras.”
Fallon opens her mouth, but she’s cut off with a lift of Pappy’s hand.
“Fallon McGraw plans to be your fiercest competitor yet, Weston. Mark my words.”
Nostrils flaring, Fallon grips her vest like she needs to give her fists someplace to still.
Amusement lines Cole’s rugged features. “I highly doubt that.”
I arch a brow at his arrogance.
This time, Fallon moves. Striding closer, she jabs her finger in Cole’s chest. “You’re gonna get your ass stomped, Weston.”
Davis groans and closes his eyes.
“I don’t argue with little girls,” Cole snaps at her.
“Oh fuck,” Charlie mutters.
Steam is practically coming out of Fallon’s ears.
But it’s Wyatt who’s in Cole’s face so fast I never saw him move. “You call this woman a cowgirl. You fucking hear me?”
Fallon’s surprised eyes slice to Wyatt, but she says nothing.
Beside me, scenting the potential for a fight, Ford and Charlie are on their feet. The only thing keeping Davis in place is Duke in his arms.
Ruby, chewing her lip, sinks beside me on the stool.
“Oh lord,” Dakota murmurs, looking like she wants to chuck the remaining hand pies at her brothers-in-law.
Pappy holds out a hand, chuckling. “A little healthy competition never hurt no one.” His other hand, holding a cigar, gestures at a camera. “In fact, it’s good for business.”
But Fallon’s once again sizing up Cole, that fiery glare returning.
“Don’t let him rile you,” Wyatt orders softly. He holds her arm, and I don’t fail to notice the way Fallon leans into him. “It’s what he wants. Save the angry for the bull.”
Instead of a cutting, sarcastic remark, she gives a sharp, obedient nod.
Stetson low on his brow, Cole turns to leave. “I don’t care how bad you are, darlin’, the fact that you think you can win this is fucking laughable,” he tosses over his shoulder as he stomps away.
“Asshole,” Ford mutters, wrapping an arm around me.
For one long second, Fallon stands there fuming.
Pappy gives her a look, and she immediately shrugs out of Wyatt’s grip. Then she storms in the direction of the arena and does not look back.
We take seats on the bleachers. I listen intently as the brothers try to explain rodeo to me.
“If she reaches the threshold to score, she’ll make history in Montana,” Davis says.
My eyes bounce between them. “I thought she already rode professionally?”
“She does. But she wants the NFR,” Charlie says. “She wants to win that jackpot.”
Ford takes pity on me. “Eight seconds. That’s all you gotta remember.”
“Eight seconds,” I echo, looking toward the ring. I’m not sure I’ll ever understand those souls brave enough to get in a ring with a bull, ready to get their shit rocked.
“Fallon’s the definition of insanity,” Ford explains. “She keeps doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.”
“Expecting not to die,” Charlie mutters from his spot on the bench in front of us.
“Why does she do it?” I ask Ford.
Ford looks unhappy. “Death wish. Glory.”
A hush falls over the crowd as Fallon claims her place atop her bull.
“Where’s her helmet?” Davis blasts.
“What?” Dakota cranes through the crowd.
“Oh fuck.” Ford groans. Fallon wears a cowboy hat.
“Is wearing a cowboy hat that bad?” I ask Ford.
He smears a hand down his face. “It ain’t good.”
We all lean forward, watching Fallon get into position in the chute.
In the thousand glittering lights of the outdoor arena, even though she’s not here for beauty, Fallon stuns in simple cream and brown attire. Ribbons dangle from her vest. Her thick caramel braid tucked under her hat. Limbs tense, she’s fierce and coltish in the twilight.
In her face I see the same restless search I once felt. Who am I? What do I want? One thing is clear: she craves the spotlight. Nothing wrong with that. I used to love it, too.
But not anymore.
And that’s when I realize I know what I want. I might not be New Reese, but I’m good enough. Right here. Happy. Alive. And that’s everything.
Ford’s arm tightens around me. “You okay?”
I kiss him softly. “I’m perfect.”
Then the announcer’s voice echoes around the arena. “From our very own Resurrection, Montana, our hometown girl, our woman bull rider, Fallon McGraw!”
The horn sounds and the chute flies open. Bull and beast come roaring out. Fallon’s poised, right arm raised, left hand gripping the braided rope handle. I know nothing about bull riding, but she looks wild and free.
Like she could do it every damn day for the rest of her life.
That’s love.
That’s lunacy.
It’s exactly how I feel about Ford and this life of mine.
The bull thrashes Fallon, but she hangs on. Eight seconds feels like eight years.
I’m wincing, covering my eyes, while watching through my fingers.
The crowd lets out a deafening roar of excitement as the buzzer rings, signaling she made it the full eight seconds.
“Oh my god!” Dakota screams. She launches out of her seat. “She did it.”
Fallon hits the ground—hard—and then pops up to standing, dusting herself off. If she’s in any pain, she hides it like a pro.
“Holy hell!” the announcer screams. “Fallon McGraw has just made history in the fine state of Montana, folks!”
A beaming Fallon steps into the spotlight, tears off her Stetson, and tosses it into the air.
I’ve never seen her look this happy. The weight she’s carried this summer is gone—if only for a second.
In the crowd, I spy Wyatt hanging on the rails, a Cheshire cat grin spreading across his face. Relief, pride in his eyes.
Media swarms Fallon as she exits the ring.
The tension eases, and we settle back to watch more bull riders. Cole Weston takes the lead, draws a massive bull. An hour drifts by, then it’s time for Wyatt—bareback bronc riding to close the rodeo.
In the chute, Wyatt glances around the arena. Beside me, Ford’s body stiffens. Around me, all the brothers have gone on alert.
I glance at Ruby, who shakes her head, just as confused as me.
I touch Ford’s arm, noting the deep crease of worry on his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Wyatt doesn’t normally ride bareback.” He shakes his head. “He’s looking for Fallon. Goddamn idiot.”
“His mind needs to be on that bronc,” Charlie snaps, eyes locked on Wyatt.
Baseball hat gripped in his hands, Ford half-rises in his seat as the horn sounds and the chute opens. Wyatt and the bronc explode into the arena.
Grip firm, Wyatt’s upper body bends in ways I had no idea a human body could bend. His back slams against the horse’s back, keeping a perfect rhythm with the animal. He makes it look easy. Effortless.
As the eight second buzzer sounds, Wyatt tries to release his hand. But he can’t. His riggin’ has slipped, dragging his body sideways at an almost horizontal, eerie angle. For a brief second, panic flashes on his face as he tries to wrench himself free. A pick-up man on the side of the chute reaches for him, but it’s useless. As the bucking horse comes in closer, we all watch in horror as Wyatt is slammed against the rail.
Gasps ripple through the crowd.
Free of the riggin’, Wyatt hits the ground.
But he doesn’t get back up.
“No.” The word falls from Ford’s mouth in one strangled syllable.
The beast of a horse continues to buck and run around the arena. Too close to Wyatt. Too deadly.
My heart races as Ford rockets to his feet. “Get my brother out of that fucking ring!” he screams, eyes wild.
The pick-up men scramble, but they’re a beat too slow. Rodeo clowns try to corral the horse, but it’s a monster—pissed off, frantic, unable to be caged. Vicious white hooves pound near Wyatt’s head.
“Oh my god. Oh my god,” Dakota chants.
We’re all on our feet.
Movement in front of me. Charlie.
In two seconds flat, he vaults the fence and jumps into the ring. He races over to Wyatt and covers his brother’s unconscious body with his own, shielding Wyatt from the bronco’s hooves.
Ruby barely blinks, squeezing Dakota’s hand.
“Stay here,” Ford says to me before he races down the aisle.
“Goddamn it!” Davis whips Duke into Dakota’s arms and takes off after Ford.
My panicked eyes watch as Ford enters the ring. He grabs the horse’s reins, swings himself up, and rides him into the chute.
Ruby bursts into tears as Charlie and another cowboy quickly lift Wyatt and carry him out of the arena.
The crowd begins to file out. Ruby, Dakota and I go in search of our cowboys.
It’s dusk, the sun beginning to creep low behind Meadow Mountain, in a deep amber glow.As we pass through the dusty parking lot, I look over at the entrance of the fairgrounds. A black SUV slowly cruises past the gate.
A shiver rolls over my spine, and I freeze.
Gavin?
But when I blink, the car’s gone. Disappeared into thin air.