Dallas
The pen was empty.
I didn't need to hear Sadie's sharp inhale to know what that meant. The dust at the gate was disturbed, the latch marks fresh. Someone had been here recently.
Sadie's fingers tightened around the top rail. “Who the hell—”
“Sadie.”
She spun on me. “Don't tell me to calm down.”
I wasn't going to. I nodded toward the drag mark beside the gate. “Just telling you he went that way.”
Her jaw set, but she followed my gaze. Saw the scuffed dirt, the uneven track where something heavy had been pulled. Those weren’t the signs of an animal who’d gotten loose. Someone had led it, or worse, maybe dragged it out of the pen.
She exhaled through her nose. “Son of a bitch.”
I stepped past her, scanning the ground. The rodeo was alive around us. Kids laughed, speakers crackled, and the scent of fried dough and kettle corn hung thick in the air. But all I heard was the pulse in my ears. All I saw was the story the dirt told me.
The steer hadn't broken free. Someone had taken him. Who moved a lame animal through a crowd this size without a single person noticing? And based on the signs, whoever had moved him hadn't been gentle about it.
We moved fast, cutting behind the pens where the crowd thinned. Sadie kept pace beside me, her boots kicking up dust, her vet bag slung over one shoulder. She wasn't asking questions. She didn't need to. She read the ground the same way I did.
We'd always worked like this. Same stride, same instincts, no wasted words. Somewhere along the way, she’d stopped feeling like a friend I cared about and started feeling like the center of every choice I made.
We passed a torn strip of feed sack snagged on a fence post, then fresh boot prints near the service road. Then walked through a side gate that had been left unlatched when it should've been closed.
Someone had moved that steer on purpose. And they'd done it while we were distracted.
Sadie's phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it.
“You should answer that,” I said.
“No.”
“Could be about the steer.”
“Then they can leave a damn message.”
Her voice was tight. Not with fear. With fury.
I recognized that look. Knew the way her shoulders locked up when she was holding too much. Knew the way she'd rather chew glass than admit she was in over her head. And I hated that she had to carry it alone.
Even more than that, I hated that I wanted to be the one she could lean into. And I’d spent years making sure she never knew it.
A couple of volunteers lowered their voices as we passed, but not before I heard them mention Hollister and pulled stock. Sadie cut them a look, and both of them suddenly found the dirt at their boots fascinating. She didn't slow down. Neither did I.
We found him in the loading alley behind the chutes.
The brindle steer stood in the far corner, his head low, favoring that front leg. His sides were lathered, his breath too fast. Someone had moved him, all right. And they hadn't cared about stressing an already injured animal.
Sadie was through the gate before I could reach for the latch.
I followed, shutting us in. The space was tight—just enough room for the steer, Sadie, and me. The animal shifted, uneasy, and I braced a shoulder against the panel to keep him from crowding her.
She didn't even glance back. Just dropped her bag and crouched, her hands already moving over the steer's leg.
“Easy, boy,” she murmured. “I've got you.”
I watched her work. Watched the way her fingers pressed into the joint, the way her brow furrowed when the steer flinched. She was all focus now. All vet. The anger and worry were still there, but she'd pushed it down where it wouldn't get in the way.
I knew that trick. I also knew what it cost her.
The alley was close enough that I could smell her under the dust and animal sweat—something clean, something that had been undoing me at this range for years. I kept my eyes on the steer and tried to ignore it.
Her arm brushed mine as she reached for her bag. Just a graze, but heat shot through me so fast I forgot what I’d been about to say. I didn't move. Didn't pull back. Just stood there, holding the panel, holding my breath, while she rummaged for supplies.
She didn't apologize for the contact. Hell, she didn't even seem to notice. That was worse because it meant she trusted me that much. And I was standing there like a damn statue, afraid to touch her back.
Ten minutes later, the steer was stabilized.
Sadie sat back on her heels and wiped her hands on her jeans. “He's overheated and stressed, but at least the leg's not worse.”
I nodded. “You caught it.”
She shot me a look. “We caught it.”
Two little letters. That was all. But they knocked something loose in my chest. We. Not her. Not me. We. I’d spent years wanting to be part of a we with Sadie, wanting it so quietly I’d almost mistaken the ache for friendship. I turned away before she could see what that did to me.
That was when I saw it. A torn corner of paper had been caught under the latch.
CEDAR DRAW.
Sadie saw it the same time I did. Her fingers stilled. Then she reached out, plucked it free, and tucked it into her pocket without a word.
She wasn’t shocked or surprised. Just stood there with quiet rage simmering through her.
We both knew what it meant. Someone was still moving pieces. Still covering tracks. And they'd used an injured animal to do it.
The adrenaline dropped fast after that.
One minute, Sadie was all sharp edges and fire. The next, her hands were shaking just enough to notice.
I reached for her. Then stopped. Because I always stopped. How many times had I done this exact thing? Lifted a hand and talked myself out of it before it landed?
Her eyes flicked to my hand, then back to my face. “Why do you keep doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“Stopping.”
I should've made something up. Should've said the gate needed a check or that my phone had buzzed with an incoming text. But I was tired of lying to myself about Sadie Hollister.
“Because if I touch you,” I said, “I'm not sure I'll stop when I'm supposed to.”
Her breath hitched. Then she closed the distance between us. Her hand fisted my shirt, and she rose up on her tiptoes and kissed me.
I froze.
One second.
Two.
Then I kissed her back.
And fuck. It wasn't gentle. Wasn't careful. It was years of wanting and waiting all burning away in the press of her mouth against mine. She tasted like salt and sun and something sweet underneath, and I was done pretending I could resist her.
My hands found her thick hips and pulled her against me like I could absorb her into my skin. She made a sound that was low and hungry, then her fingers were in my hair, her body arching into mine, and I was ruined.
This wasn't just want. This was need. And I'd been starving for it.
The alley wall was rough against my back as Sadie pressed me into it, her mouth never leaving mine. Her hands were everywhere from my shoulders, to my chest, and then to my belt, like she couldn’t decide what to grab first.
I groaned into the kiss, my fingers digging into her hips, pulling her flush against me. The heat of her, the weight of her, it was too much and not enough all at once.
She broke away just long enough to gasp, “We shouldn’t—”
“I know.”
Then her lips were on mine again, and I didn’t give a damn about shouldn’t.
The rodeo noise blurred into static. The scent of hay and leather and her—something floral, sweet and warm—filled my head until there wasn’t room for anything but Sadie.
I filed away every moment: the way her breath hitched when my thumb brushed the hem of her shirt and the way her nails scraped my scalp when I tangled a hand in her hair.
I turned us, reversing our positions, pinning her against the wall instead. Her back arched, her chest rising fast, and I dropped my mouth to her throat. When I bit down just enough to make her gasp, her fingers clenched in my hair like she was holding on for dear life.
“Dallas—”
“Tell me to stop.”
She didn’t.
Instead, her legs parted, her thigh hiking up against my hip, and I lost what little control I had left. My hand slid under her shirt, my palm finding bare skin, hot and smooth. She shuddered, her head falling back against the wood with a thud.
“Fuck,” she breathed.
“Yeah.”
I kissed her again, deeper this time, my tongue sweeping into her mouth like I’d never get enough.
She met me stroke for stroke, her hips rolling against mine.
I was hard as hell, aching, but I didn’t rush.
Not when she was making sounds like that.
Not when her fingers were fumbling with my belt buckle, her breath coming in sharp little gasps every time I dragged my teeth over her collarbone.
The first button of her jeans gave way under my fingers. Then the zipper. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
My vision went white.
“Sadie.” Her name came out rough. I slid my hand into her jeans, my fingers finding her wet and ready, and she moaned, her nails digging into my shoulders.
“More,” she demanded.
I gave her more.
I slid two fingers inside her, my thumb circling just where she needed it most. She came apart with a broken cry, her body clenching around me. I swallowed the sound with my mouth, my free hand gripping her hip to keep her steady as she trembled.
Before she could catch her breath, I had her jeans down her thighs, her boots kicked aside. I dropped to my knees in the dirt, my hands on her ass, and buried my face between her legs.
She tasted like heaven.
Her fingers tangled in my hair, her thighs trembling around my ears as I worked her with my tongue, slow and deep. She was still sensitive, still riding the edge, and when I slid a finger back inside her, she cursed, her hips jerking against my mouth.
“Dallas, I can’t—”
“You can.”
Her second orgasm hit harder, her whole body locking up before she sagged against the wall, her chest heaving. I didn’t stop, not until her hands went limp in my hair, not until she was boneless and breathless and begging me to stop.
Then I stood, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. She watched me through heavy-lidded eyes, her lips swollen, her skin flushed.
“Your turn,” she murmured.
I didn’t argue.
She had me against the wall before I could blink, her hand wrapping around my swollen cock through my open jeans. I hissed, my head falling back as she stroked me, her thumb swiping over the tip.
“Sadie—”
“Shut up.”
Then her mouth was on me, hot and wet, and I lost the ability to form words. Her tongue was relentless, her hand working the base of me, and I was gone, my fingers tangled in her hair, my hips jerking into the heat of her mouth.
I tried to warn her, but I didn’t get the chance. I came with a groan, my body locking up as pleasure ripped through me. She took everything I gave her, her nails digging into my thighs, her name a ragged sound on my lips.
When I could breathe again, I hauled her up, crushing her against me. Her heart pounded against my chest, her skin damp with sweat.
“That was—”
“Yeah.” She kissed me again, slow this time, her lips soft against mine. Then she pulled back just enough to meet my eyes.
The second I had room to think again, every careful instinct I’d spent years living by came rushing back. I buttoned her shirt with hands that weren't steady. Smoothed her hair back from her face. Found her hat where it had fallen and set it on her head like she was something breakable.
She let me. But her eyes were too bright when she looked at me.
“Tell me that was only the adrenaline,” she said.
I could've lied. Could've handed her the easy answer and let us both pretend.
But I’d spent years lying to myself about Sadie Hollister, and I didn’t have another one left in me.