Chapter 16
KAI
The smoke from the big metal BBQ pits drifts across the patio, thick and rich with the smell of brisket and burnt ends and something sweet—probably the honey glaze they use on the ribs here.
My stomach has been growling since we pulled into the parking lot, and now that I’ve got a plate piled high with meat, I’m a happy man.
Well. Mostly happy.
June is sitting across from me at one of the long wooden tables, wedged between Carter and some barrel racer from Wyoming who won’t stop talking about her horse.
The sunset paints everything gold and amber, catches the red highlights in June’s hair, makes her freckles stand out against her flushed cheeks.
She’s laughing at something Carter said, head tipped back, and the sound cuts through the noise of the crowd and the twang of country music playing from the speakers mounted on the patio posts.
I want to be the one making her laugh like that.
Down, boy. You’ll get your turn.
The place is packed tonight—half the rodeo circuit crammed onto these benches, mixing with locals who came out for the food and the spectacle.
It’s the kind of scene I usually love: loud, chaotic, everyone a little drunk and a lot competitive.
But my attention keeps drifting back to the woman with the hazel eyes and the mating mark on her neck that isn’t mine.
Not yet, anyway.
“You gonna eat that or just stare at it, Kai?” Seth’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
He’s working on a rack of ribs, sauce smeared across his fingers and lips, looking more relaxed than I’ve seen him in weeks.
Probably because our Omega is sitting close, safe and claimed, even if technically she’s got Carter’s mark on her skin.
Pack, I remind myself. We’re a pack. What’s his is ours.
Doesn’t make the hunger any less sharp.
“Just pacing myself,” I say, tearing into a chunk of brisket. The meat falls apart on my tongue, smoky and perfect. “Unlike some people, I don’t need to inhale everything in front of me.”
“Big words from the guy who ate an entire pizza by himself last Tuesday,” Carter pipes in.
“That was different. That was strategic carb-loading.”
“For what? Sitting on the couch watching TV?”
I laugh out loud, and June catches my eye from across the table, grinning. Fuck me, she’s beautiful.
The barrel racer finally takes a breath, and June uses the opening to lean forward, elbows on the table. “So I’ve been thinking about the attendance today. Despite a bunch of empty seats, I noticed the stadium was reasonably full.”
Seth nods, reaching for his beer. “My father mentioned a few days back that ticket sales are down, especially the multiday passes. But you wouldn’t think that by today’s turnout. Unless the next few days sell fewer tickets?”
June’s brow furrows in that way she does when she’s working through a problem. “The town is booked solid. I handled most of the rentals myself. Why is your dad being told sales are down?”
“Maybe the tourists are here for something else,” Carter suggests. “The scenery?” He gestures vaguely at the Montana landscape beyond the patio. “Fresh air? The dubious pleasure of small-town charm?”
“Doubt it,” she answers.
“You’d be surprised what people do,” Carter adds.
I tune out their speculation and let my gaze wander across the patio. Past the crowded tables and the waitresses weaving through with trays of food, past the big smokers billowing their fragrant clouds, to the corner where something catches my eye.
A mechanical bull.
It’s set up under a covered area, surrounded by thick padded mats for landing.
The thing is built like a tank, all chrome and leather and mechanical joints designed to throw riders on their asses.
A small crowd has gathered around it, watching some guy in a too-tight shirt try to hang on.
He lasts maybe three seconds before he’s eating mat.
But that’s not what interests me.
It’s the name painted on the bull’s side in bold red letters: brUTUS.
“Hey.” I nod toward the corner. “Why’s the mechanical bull called Brutus? That mean something around here?”
June follows my gaze and laughs. “Oh, that. It’s named after a real bull in town. Total legend.”
“You don’t say?”
“Brutus.” She says the name like it’s a curse and a blessing all at once.
“He belongs to old Farmer Crawford, but ‘belongs’ is a strong word. That black bull does whatever he wants. He’s escaped his enclosure more times than anyone can count.
Just shows up in people’s yards, on the main street, wherever he feels like.
Terrorizes the locals on a regular basis. ”
Carter and I exchange looks.
“No fucking way,” I say slowly, thinking back to the night we both swore we were going to die.
“I bet it was him,” Carter adds.
June’s eyes go wide. “Wait—you’ve seen him?”
“The bastard chased us down in the pickup.” The memory surfaces, vivid and visceral. That massive black shape appearing out of nowhere, hooves pounding the dirt road, those murderous eyes locked on our truck. “We thought he was a demonic bull sent straight from hell to murder us.”
“It was fucking terrifying,” Carter confirms with a chuckle.
June is laughing so hard she’s wiping tears from her eyes.
“Oh God, everyone in town has a Brutus story. He’s part of the local experience.
Farmer Crawford believes in letting him have his freedom, which is a nice way of saying he can’t keep the damn thing contained.
Brutus knows how to break through gates, fences, anything.
He’s basically a four-legged escape artist with anger issues. ”
Seth chuckles around a mouthful of ribs, sauce glistening on his lips. June is watching him with that look—the one where her eyes go soft and hungry at the same time, like she wants to devour him but also maybe climb into his lap and never leave.
I know the feeling. I’m pretty sure we all have that look when we watch her.
She catches herself and looks away, a blush creeping up her cheeks. Reining it in. Always reining it in.
“So why put his name on that?” I jerk my chin toward the mechanical bull. “Closest anyone can get to him without dying?”
June takes a sip of her drink. “Brutus used to be a champion rodeo bull. Retired now, obviously, but back in the day, he was legendary on the circuit. Not many people know that part. Most of the stories around here are about him showing up at the elementary school during a fire drill or crashing the Fourth of July parade. There’s even one about him breaking into the mayor’s house and eating his prize-winning rose bushes. ”
“You’re joking.”
“I wish.” She grins. “Small-town life, baby. Never a dull moment.”
Carter nudges her with his shoulder, and she leans into him automatically, like gravity. The jealousy that spikes through me is irrational—I know she’s ours, know we’re building something together—but my instincts don’t give a damn about logic.
I want her leaning into me like that.
“Dad’s been grumbling about pulling the circuit from smaller towns if the numbers don’t improve,” Seth says, dragging the conversation back to serious territory.
“He can’t do that.” June sits up straighter, alarm flickering across her face. “So many businesses here depend on the rodeo. The restaurants, the hotels, the shops, this is their biggest month of the year. If the circuit stops coming…”
“Then they lose a major revenue stream.” Seth’s jaw tightens. “I know. He knows. But at the end of the day, it’s a business decision.”
“That’s bullshit,” I say flatly. “The circuit was built on towns like this. Real rural communities with actual farms and ranches, people who live this life every day. Not those bougie fake-country towns full of rich people playing cowboy.”
Seth nods. “I’ve said as much. He’s… considering his options.”
The worry in June’s eyes concerns me. This town matters to her, not just as a business opportunity or a place to live, but really matters—the kind of deep-rooted connection that becomes part of your identity.
I get it. The circuit is like that for me. The only home I’ve ever had that didn’t hurt, but I know at the core, it’s my pack with Seth and Carter that keep me grounded.
“I’ll talk to him more,” Seth says, reaching across the table to squeeze June’s hand. “See what’s really going on with the numbers. There might be something we can do.”
She gives him a grateful smile, but I can see the tension she’s carrying in her shoulders. The fear she’s trying to hide.
We eat for a while in comfortable silence, the conversation around us ebbing and flowing. The mechanical bull keeps drawing my attention, my brain turning over possibilities. A champion rodeo bull. Retired. Legendary. And currently terrorizing the locals for fun.
I nod toward it with my fork. “You ever wonder if people think they’re riding the real Brutus when they climb onto that thing? Like it’s some kind of tribute.”
Carter snorts into his beer. “If you’re so obsessed with Brutus, why don’t you go ride him yourself and get it out of your system?”
I shoot him a look. “He wouldn’t stand a chance with me.”
June makes a small sound that might be a laugh, and when I glance over, she’s smiling like she’s trying not to. “You’re way too good for Brutus,” she says, then reaches across the table and brushes her fingers over my hand.
Just that. Bare skin to skin.
My whole body lights up. I turn my hand slightly so our fingers fit together, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and the way she watches me while I do it ruins me.
I hold her gaze, letting my voice drop. “For you, I’d do anything.”
Her lashes flutter, and her mouth parts like she’s about to say something she shouldn’t. The heat in her eyes is quiet but real, and I mean every word.
Carter clears his throat like he’s not listening, even though he absolutely is. He finishes his beer and stands. “Anyone need a refill? I’m heading to the bar.”