15. Charlotte
15
CHARLOTTE
SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH — MID SEPTEMBER
“T urn and burn, baby!” I shout into the arena, whooping for good measure, and wave my hat in the air.
“That boy ain’t meant to actually ride a damn horse, Charlotte. He’s meant to get his ass thrown off them,” Travis, Wilder’s closest friend says as he steps next to me. He has a bemused smile and sharp hazel eyes on the action in front of us. They watch Wilder awkwardly round the final barrel in the practice ring, encouraging Vesper to hustle to the far end and stop the timer. Wilder doesn’t appear to be fully comfortable in the saddle the way I would be, but Vesper responds to his every command.
“Seems to be doing all right.” I laugh in return. Travis looks from me to the practice area and back again, clearly not impressed. One eyebrow cocks up. I sigh and lean against the rails. “I’m sure his ability has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Vesper loves him more than I—more than she loves me.”
Travis levels me an assessing look, like he knows exactly what I was about to say. I hold his gaze, unable to withhold a subtle chin raise in challenge. I receive a small nod in return, and I’m satisfied that my slip-up will be kept between us. It’s not that I’m ashamed to admit that I love Wilder McCoy. Far from it. I just haven’t mustered the courage to say it to the man himself yet.
We’ve been inseparable since July, traveling together and staying at his property in Idaho during breaks. He went with me when I visited Ace High’s corporate office for my first promotional photoshoot. He smiled off camera, cheering me on and chasing away any possible insecurities before they could pop up. Wilder brought light and laughter and magic to the experience.
“So, if he’s on the black beauty, does that mean your boy is ready to go tonight?” Travis asks, referring to Rooney. Wilder is giving a wave, heading down the exit path to set up for another ride. Teaching him to barrel race has been another activity in our down time. Vesper needed the extra practice, and Wilder was desperate to learn. Despite the chastising comments, he’s actually pretty good for someone who doesn’t do it for a living. He has an affinity for horses, even if he gets paid to piss them off, and he wanted to experience what I feel when I race. His interest and support in something I love means everything. It’s more than the automatic deposits I get in my bank account from my parents. It’s the real, tangible proof that it matters to someone. That I matter to someone, and that sign of commitment and care is indescribable.
“Absolutely,” I tell Travis. Rooney was officially discharged from his rehab at the beginning of the month. He only missed two rodeos in my schedule, and while my times were slower on Vesper, I still won both events. The vet assures me that he has no lingering effects from the snake bite, and his leg has healed beautifully under their watchful care and ahead of schedule. “He’s back in the stable, probably pissed that I wouldn’t bring him out this morning.”
I had no idea what it would be like to reunite with my horse after such a long absence, but Wilder held my hand when we drove up to the facility, staying by my side until we reached the barn. Rooney’s vet sang his praises, and every tech who worked with him fell more and more in love with his playful and responsive personality. But he also told me Rooney needed to be discharged because none of the employees could give him the stimulation and work they knew he was ready for. My competitive boy stole hearts and had nowhere to escape with them.
When I walked up to Rooney’s stall, he thrust his head over the half door and nuzzled into my neck, velvet lips nibbling at my hair. I cried in a way I never had before; relief and happiness and love pouring out of me when I wrapped my arms around his neck. When I finally pulled away to look anywhere else but the warm chocolate eyes of my boy, Wilder stood against the barn wall, wiping away a tear of his own. He gifted me a smile full of every emotion I had just sobbed into a shiny red mane, and I knew I couldn’t deny loving him anymore.
“Glad to know he’s mended up. I was sorry to hear about what happened.” Travis hollers at Wilder to ride faster before turning back to me. “Even more sorry our schedules haven’t lined up so we can get to know each other better. I’ve been curious about the cowgirl who finally ‘roped the Wild.’”
I feel a blush start to creep under my skin, but the absurd way Travis talks has me laughing it off. Wilder’s popularity hasn’t waned, and his sex symbol status among the fans at every rodeo has only become more voracious since he stopped playing into their desperate antics. Everyone in the circuits are aware we’ve hit it off, but I see the way our fellow competitors’ looks have gone from understanding and amused to curious and interested the longer we’re together.
“Wild talks about you,” I say after offering a non-committal hum. “Says the pair of you have been riding together for a few years, and you’ve got a belt buckle waiting for you in Vegas. You’re a hell of a cowboy.”
Travis exhales a long breath, hooking a hand behind his head to rub his neck at the mention of the National Finals Rodeo in December. It’s three months away, but there are only a few weeks left in the season to qualify. Everyone is working to keep themselves at the top of the leaderboard and in the hearts and minds of the public. The NFR sells out over its ten-day run in Las Vegas, promising prestige and paychecks to those lucky enough to compete.
“I think we all believe that buckle has our name on it, right?” Travis nudges his hat with a finger as Wilder crosses the finish line again with a shout. “Otherwise, what the hell are we doing?”
Before I can answer, Wilder rides over, Vesper trotting proudly under him. I pat her shoulder before climbing the fence to get to my cowboy. I lean forward to give him a kiss, but he grips me under the arms and pulls me so I’m siding astride his lap, the saddle horn digging into my back. I yelp at the same time as Vesper whinnies. It doesn’t last before Wilder smacks a kiss to my lips, a quick press in greeting, but it still warms me through.
“Hey, baby,” Wilder says, his arms wrapped firmly around me, pressing us close together.
“Hey, handsome. Missed you, pretty boy,” Travis calls back in jest. I can’t stop the giggle that bubbles up at their exchange.
“Damn right, I’m pretty. Don’t you ever forget that,” Wilder tells him before kicking his heels, encouraging Vesper out of the arena. He waves goodbye to his friend and urges Vesper into a trot that has me awkwardly trying to find a rhythm backward in the saddle. I give up quickly, settling for wrapping myself around him as tight as I can be, laughing as we ride.
In the shadow of the stable, Wilder dismounts, reaching up to help me slide off the saddle. He gazes down at me warmly, hands finding the natural dip of my hips as he holds me in the cradle of his arms. He leans toward me, and I rise onto my toes, eager to meet him halfway.
“Well, if it isn’t the queen of the rodeo,” a deep voice says from inside the building. “No sparkly crown around that Stetson, but everyone sure does fall at her feet.” Boot falls echo behind Vesper, and her ears twitch before lying flat as the owner of the voice comes into view.
“Brett.” I can’t keep the surprise from my voice. Salt Lake’s rodeo isn’t operated by my uncle’s company, but after Tim fired Brett two months ago, no one has seen the man. I had hoped he either found a new occupation or was trying to dry out somewhere to get a handle on his life. “What are you doing here?”
My stomach churns with unease. I’m not afraid of Brett. But being near him is like being in a room of people you know hate you. It’s uncomfortable and triggers uncertainty and insecurity that don’t quite make sense but come up anyway. I can’t quite keep them at bay as I question if he blames me for how this season has gone for him. That, in my uncle’s absence, I’ll become the target of the vitriol I can clearly see rolling off him.
“Working, your majesty,” Brett snarls. His ruddy complexion twists, failing to hide his dislike of me. He’s sweaty and heavy on his feet as he moves around Vesper. He lifts a hand to touch her, but Wilder’s reflexes are faster than the possibly intoxicated recovery rider. Gripping Brett’s wrist firmly, Wilder walks the man forcibly back a few steps.
“Hands off,” Wilder tells him. I secure Vesper’s leads in my hand, reaching up to give her a reassuring touch. Her ears twitch warily as she shuffles around as if trying to hide behind my smaller body.
Brett lurches to pull his hand free, spitting at Wilder’s feet in response. I curl my lip in distaste as he levels me with a glare. Wilder moves to stand next to me.
“You really going to hitch your wagon to this cunt?” Brett crudely launches at Wilder. He wipes the back of his hand against his chin, where a sparkle of remaining spit hangs. I suck a sharp breath as I automatically reach to hold Wilder’s arm. It won’t keep him from attacking the other man, but I squeeze it hard enough to make my feelings about the matter clear: Brett Fox is not worth our time.
Wilder is tense, anger nearly pulsing against my hand. The corner of his eye twitches, and I know he’s warring with himself. But before he can make a decision, there’s sounds of more people approaching the stables. Wilder lets out a long breath, silent but edged with the unfulfilled promise of retribution, and I will him to relax. It takes one more deep breath before I can slide my hand down his arm to lace my fingers with his own, and then we watch, amazed, as the sloppy man before us smiles with satisfaction and straightens his spine. He runs a hand over his face and paints on an easygoing mask, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans. The rodeo professional locking back into place.
Travis and a few other cowboys approach from the walkway to the practice arena, laughter and conversation floating around them.
“Hey, fellas,” Brett greets, voice smooth and slippery as oil. The incoming group looks at him, tipping their hats or nodding. All except Travis, who looks warily at the man. “Sure going to be a good night for a rodeo.”
With ease, Brett embeds himself in the group’s conversation, walking off beyond the stable, leaving a stony Travis in their wake. He ambles over to where we stand, irritation on his face.
“Please tell me he’s not working this circuit.”
“All right,” Wilder says solemnly. “I won’t tell you.”
* * *
“I’m thrilled to have qualified. These next few weeks will be focused on training, recovery, and getting ready for the finals.”
I stand off to the side as Wilder finishes up some social media interviews. He’s a natural on camera. The charming smiles are back, and the cockiness that comes off more endearing than arrogant keeps the interviewer engaged. The blonde is looking up at him with stars in her eyes and one too many buttons undone on her shirt. I roll my eyes when she lands a playful hand on his arm as she asks about his lifting regimen. Wilder’s eyes widen for a split second at her unwelcome touch, but he quickly deflects by pulling said arm across his body in an exaggerated stretch, praising yoga over weights, and shaking her free.
“That effort clearly shows during your rides. You must have excellent hip flexors. Tell me, how do you practice moving like that?” Blondie steps closer, the interview clearly going off-script with her forwardness.
“I had an excellent coach.” Wilder steps back, bumping into the barrel behind him. It cuts him off at the knee, forcing him to plop down awkwardly on his ass. It puts him at eye level with her chest.
“Had?” The innocent question is coupled with a smile so saccharine and cloying that I nearly gag at its poorly veiled proposition. Lucky for me, I watch as she doubles down on her efforts. “Does that mean the position is open? I have a few ideas that might help.”
The woman isn’t even pretending to record anything at this point. She just pushes her tits a little closer to his face. Wilder, for his part, is looking anywhere but directly in front of him, all confidence drained. Having my fill of her desperate attempt to flirt with my cowboy, I take pity on both of them, stepping forward from my perch.
“The position you’re angling for is filled, sweetheart,” I say, squeezing myself between them, securing a spot on Wilder’s lap. The tension in his shoulders immediately disappears, and he wraps his arms around me.
“Oh,” she says, stepping back, looking embarrassed. She clears her throat, tucking away her phone. “Thanks, Wilder. Bye.”
Then, with a curt nod, she turns on her new boot heel and walks away.
“Did you ask to see her identification?” I tease Wilder as he holds me tighter. He presses a kiss to my shoulder, and I twist to lift an eyebrow at him.
“Was I supposed to? She said she was with Horizon.” Wilder seems genuinely baffled. I tap his cheek twice, standing before offering my hand back to him. He laces our fingers together as we weave through the crowd.
“I would bet my winnings that tonight is the first time that woman has ever been near a horse, much less knows anything about a rodeo. Her boots still had a tag hanging on them.” I scoff.
“Wasn’t looking at her boots, baby,” Wilder says, smirking. I grip his hand. Hard. He laughs. “I was looking at her face. One of her fake eyelashes was drooping. It was horribly distracting.”
I look over my shoulder, as if I can catch a glance of the woman again, and look back at Wilder. He holds up a finger of his other hand, angling it down at the corner of his eye, wiggling it back and forth. His crude approximation of a poorly attached fake eyelash has me laughing until my sides hurt.
“I thought it was a spider at first.” Wilder laughs with me. “Then, it became something to focus on when she got all…handsy.”
The most pronounced blush I’ve ever seen on him paints his whole face bright pink, and he shivers at the recollection. We turn into the back parking lot where his truck is parked. It’s in the last row; the surrounding spots empty as competitors and employees have left for the night.
“As if you’re some wilting wallflower under the attention of a pretty woman.” I poke his side as I round the tailgate of the black Ford, shaking my head as I make for the passenger side. Familiar, strong arms wrap around my middle, tipping me off-balance and making it easier for Wilder to spin me and press me against the chilled metal of the truck. His arms cage me in, but I don’t feel trapped. If anything, being kept in his embrace makes me feel safe. Happy. Loved.
“If I hadn’t made it clear, Charlie, let me say it now so there’s no confusion.” Wilder takes his hat off, throwing it into the open bed behind me, shaggy hair falling around his face. I can’t resist reaching up and pushing it back, away from blocking his beautiful eyes. They bore into mine, open and honest, the vulnerability he only allows me to see on display. I keep one hand buried in his hair, stroking behind his ear softly while hooking a finger of the other into a belt loop of his jeans, anchoring him to me. “You, Charlotte Stryker, are the only woman I want attention from.”
The simplicity of his statement, but the weight of his stare, makes the breath catch in my throat. He rids me of my hat, discarding it to find his in the back of the truck, a single finger wrapping around a chunk of hair that has strayed from the ponytail I wore tonight. He toys with the strands, trailing the calloused pad along my cheek until he reaches my lips, tracing the fullness there. His eyes follow each movement. I take in every minuscule change in his pupils, the way they expand and contract based on what he touches or thinks. It’s achingly intimate to have him caress and cradle me with little more than a finger and a few words.
“These are the only lips I want to kiss.” He follows through, pressing a sweet, gentle kiss before pulling away. I lean forward, chasing more of what he can give. It makes him quirk a smile at me and exhale a small laugh. Wilder’s finger is traveling again, down my throat, over the swell of my breasts to the apex of my thighs and back. “This is the only body I want pressing against mine every night.” He steps closer so our hips press against each other. I can barely enjoy the heat of him, the outline of his hardening cock, when his finger taps at the space above my heart. He swipes aside the unbuttoned collar of my shirt, putting his hand inside. Skin on skin, he flattens his wide palm, undoubtedly feeling how the rhythm increases as he stays there. “And this is the only heart I can trust my own with.”
Wilder slides his other arm behind my back, holding me as close as he can as my heartbeat skyrockets from the way he looks at me. Like I’m something new and precious. I grip the back of his neck tighter and wait when his lips part again.
“I love you, Charlotte,” he tells me, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s really that simple: I love you. I don’t want to be with anyone else.”
I don’t realize there are tears on my cheeks until Wilder begins to collect them with his thumb, flicking them aside, taking all the rest of my cowardice and excuses with them. In the salty residue they leave behind, I feel my skin crinkle with the intensity of my smile. It must look a little crazy, but Wilder’s answering one is nearly blinding. I giggle and press onto my toes, kissing him fiercely. Before he can react, I pull back to look up through my lashes at him. He just drops his forehead against my own.
“I’m in love with you, too,” I finally tell him, and suddenly I feel weightless. The confession I’ve secretly carried within for months is out, and every breath I take feels like a brand-new life. I feel the need to say it again, emphasizing just how much I mean it. “I love you, Wilder.”