Chapter 5
Sawyer
Present Day, one month later
There’s a beautiful woman bouncing on my cock and for some reason I’m about two seconds away from asking her to stop.
I must be out of my mind, except, I’m not—the problem is that I’m so damn far inside my head, I can’t enjoy it.
Usually, I’d be slapping this woman’s ass and calling her a good girl for riding me so well, but each enthusiastic roll of her hips jolts my broken leg, and it’s taking all my strength to try and ignore the pain shooting up my shin.
That’s not the worst part, though. I’ve had plenty of sex with bull-riding injuries, albeit not as severe—the problem now is that every time I close my eyes to focus on enjoying myself, my mind drifts off to how Honey stormed out of the hospital room because I decided to be a dick, which, shockingly, is pretty un-arousing.
I haven’t been able to get that day out of my head for the past four weeks—a symptom of being caged up in my empty childhood home due to my no weight on your leg for six weeks rule from the doctor.
I’ve never had so much time with just me and my thoughts as I try to get to grips with using my crutches for longer periods of time, as well as gruelling my way through intense physiotherapy sessions.
So, my solution to righting such has been going out to Duke’s bar every night this past week, hoping that a couple of beers and drowning myself between some pretty woman’s thighs might take my mind off everything. Including how much I miss bull riding.
But I must have been a shitty person in a past life—or maybe it’s karma from this life—because apparently the world doesn’t just want to take bull riding away from me, but also my other favourite activity—fucking. It’s been like this every time I’ve brought a woman back to the ranch.
I thought calling up Briar—a woman I went to high school with who isn’t interested in anything more than just sex and is one of my only repeat hook-ups in Willow Ridge—might break the cycle.
We know each other well enough that I wouldn’t feel embarrassed about not being able to perform the same way, and she knows what I like in the bedroom.
Except, if anything, it’s worse.
Her long red hair spills over her breasts, which she’s caressing herself, and her eyes roll as she slides up and down my cock eagerly, chasing her third orgasm as I rub my thumb against her clit.
It’s a glorious sight, really, but I’m too distracted—especially since Briar’s got pretty blue eyes, and every time she looks down at me, I just remember the pain that flashed in Honey’s eyes that night.
Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with me?
I managed to keep Honey out of my mind for nine years yet I have a couple of strained conversations with her and the dam holding back all my memories comes crashing down.
‘Hey.’ I still Briar’s hips.
She tips her head down to me, breath shuddering out. ‘Everything okay, Nash?’
‘Yeah, look, you’re great—believe me.’ My eyes rake over her body, and I mentally berate myself for doing this, for giving up. ‘It’s just my leg fucking kills.’
‘Shit, sorry.’ Briar climbs off, and she sits beside me in bed as I hoist myself up, silently enjoying the relief for my leg. ‘Is there a position that’ll hurt less?’
‘No, I—’ Fuck. I let out a sigh and smother my face with my hand. Slowly, I pull the empty condom off and deposit it on the nightstand. ‘Think it’s probably best if we just stop. How ’bout you lie down, and I’ll finish you off again?’
Patting my shoulder, Briar chuckles, then leans back onto the pillows next to me, stretching out like a cat. ‘Sawyer, it’s cool. You did plenty already. That’ll keep me going until next time you’re in town.’
‘Right,’ is all I can respond.
She says it like I’m going to be gone by tomorrow, which would be the usual way things worked—in town to hook up then off on the road again as quickly as possible.
She says it like she doesn’t know I’ve been holed up here for the past month, relegated to the bottom floor of the large cabin-like house I’ve been forced to live in, as opposed to my apartment in town I lease out to Wolfman and usually crash at because there’s too many stairs up to reach it.
I haven’t a clue when the next time I won’t be in town is now.
Five months.
That’s how long the doctor said I need to stay off the bulls for. Five months—that’s the next time I’ll be able to leave.
Until then, I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future, nothing but goddamn resting and patience-testing physiotherapy to fill my time, as opposed to all the rodeos my agent’s been trying to get me to attend to keep up appearances.
To show people I’m still standing. To give my sponsors some hope too, I guess.
Honestly, the idea of parading my broken leg about, letting everyone see the weakness plaguing me when they’ve always known me as a champion, as the cowboy with no fear, makes me sick.
Besides, I’ve got a massive ranch to try to figure out what to do with, now my father’s been gone for two months. No chance I can run away from that burden.
Fuck my life.
‘You doing alright, Nash?’ Briar sits up again, angling her head at me. ‘You’re kinda freaking me out being all quiet. Usually, I’m trying to get you to stop chatting so much shit for once.’
I snort, knowing she’s not wrong. ‘I’m just tired, Bri. Haven’t been sleeping much ’cause of my leg.’ It’s not a lie, but it doesn’t feel like the full truth either. Not that I’d want to dissect that with Briar—feelings aren’t part of our arrangement. Or part of my life.
‘That’s fair. Well,’ she starts, pivoting off the bed to grab her clothes that are scattered across the floor of my downstairs bedroom—what was once a guest room, ‘I had fun, anyway. Hopefully I’ve tired you out enough that you’ll sleep better tonight.’
I wish.
As she gets dressed, I pull my underwear up from where it was around my knees—I didn’t bother trying to drag it over my cast when we started, eager not to have to go through that struggle in front of Briar.
I pick my T-shirt off the floor, throwing it on, before grabbing my crutches and lifting myself up.
Thank God I’ve got good upper body strength to manage with these damn things.
I see Briar out the house, watching her drive away. Once I’m back in my room, I collapse on my bed and brace myself for another night of interrupted sleep and dreams of the one woman I never thought I’d see again.
The next morning, I take my pain meds with a strong as fuck coffee—needed since I barely slept again. I’ve always struggled to quieten my head, but bull riding gave me something to focus on and helped somewhat. Now it’s just me and my damn restless mind.
I sit out on the front porch of the house with my dad’s old retriever, Trixie, at my feet, ready for another day of wondering what I’m going to do with my day. My life.
One of the few good things about being back in my childhood home is the views.
Lucky Star Ranch is one of the biggest cattle ranches in Willow Ridge, surrounded by swathes of never-ending pastures that bloom rich green and gold grasses throughout the year.
Mountains shoot up in the distance, dusted with snow that somehow perseveres even through the hot summers.
Sunshine breaks through the clouds, leaving patches of golden light across the mountain faces.
Aspen trees line the trails that bisect the land, alongside thick clusters of pine that provide shelter from rain.
When night falls and the sky is clear, wherever you are in Willow Ridge, you can always find Lucky Star Ranch situated under the brightest of stars in the sky—hence the name.
Like a beacon of life for the town, especially for the forty-or-so employees that work here, and the other ranches we lease land out to.
Dotted throughout are a few buildings, all mimicking the same cabin-like appearance of the main house—bunkhouses and private residences for the workers that stay on the land, as well as the mess hall, where Bertha, the ranch’s sixty-something in-house cook, works.
She moved here before I was born with her husband, who used to be a rancher until he passed away about twenty years ago, but she stayed and is one of only a few employees left from my childhood.
The main house was always far away from the working ranch, keeping our lives relatively separate when my dad wasn’t working—my dad used to blame it on my mom, not wanting to be a part of everything, but I always guessed he was the one who desired the privacy.
Can’t hear the cries of a beaten up wife or kid then.
Made damn sure I didn’t go running to any of the workers for help too since I hardly got the chance to know them.
Not until I was older and a few of them taught me how to ride bulls and got me involved with some of the travelling rodeos.
By then, though, I’d come to the realisation no one would ever help me.
As I try and psyche myself up for the physiotherapy session I have later today, I notice a figure heading towards me.
I half-expect it to be Bertha coming to encourage me down to the mess hall for some food, but it’s Beau Hensley, the foreman at Lucky Star, and my best friend Wyatt’s dad.
Beau’s worked for my dad since I can remember and has been running the place ever since he died.
‘Sawyer,’ he calls out to me, tipping his cowboy hat up in greeting when he reaches the bottom of the stairs. Trixie runs to him, lapping up as many head scratches as she can.
‘Old man.’ I raise my mug of coffee at him.
Beau climbs the stairs with Trixie and settles into the seat next to me with an audible sigh that I know means he’s not about to spend a few pointless minutes exchanging niceties. Beau’s always been business first.
‘Son, it’s time to really start doing somethin’ about this place. I know you and your dad had a lot of shit to sort out between the two of you that ain’t my business.’
I clamp my teeth together, holding in the need to bite back and tell him that it’s that kind of attitude that let years of my dad’s abuse go under the radar.
Too many of the town turning blind eyes.
Still, I appreciate that he’s not telling me off for not attending the funeral or whatever the rest of the town likes to say.
‘But the fact of the matter is that Jack’s dead and he ain’t coming back to run Lucky Star.’ There’s little emotion in Beau’s voice.
I’ve never quite understood his relationship with my dad—they were friends, I think, but only at work.
Jack Nash was a womanizer, gambler, and hot-headed alcoholic, but Willow Ridge always needed him and Lucky Star Ranch.
The prosperity the ranch brought to the town let a lot of his behaviour slide, though I’m sure he had plenty of silent enemies, even if they pretended to respect him.
‘It belongs to you now, and you need to start thinking about what you’re gonna do, before you let it run into the ground.’
Uncomfortable, I shift in my seat. ‘I’ll sell it. You want it?’
Beau removes his hat with a chuckle, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his arm. ‘You think I’d still be working here if I had the money for that?’
I shrug. ‘You can have it for free.’
‘Sawyer.’ He levels a look at me, his thick moustache twitching.
‘I’m planning on retiring in the next couple of years.
If you wanna sell the place, sell it. But find someone who’ll care.
Too many people rely on Lucky Star for it to be just given to anyone, including Wyatt and Rory—they need this land for their cattle to graze on during the summer. ’
Would it be a great fuck you to the father who barely raised me to let his business burn to the ground? Sure. But the mention of my best friend and his fiancée suffering sours the sweet revenge. Plus, amongst the dark memories growing up here, it is where I first learnt to ride bulls.
Beau continues, ‘Or maybe you wanna keep it so you can raise some kids here yourself one day—’
‘Yeah, that’s not for me, Beau,’ I interject without hesitation.
‘Regardless, use this time while you’re down to learn how it all works. Get involved. And quit moping about in your underwear.’
‘Alright, alright,’ I say, holding my hands up, just about done with being told what to do and what to wear in my own house. Getting pants over my cast is hard, goddammit.
Slapping his thighs first, Beau pushes up out of the chair. Shadows cast over his face as he dons his hat again, ready to continue working on the land. ‘How long you out of bull riding for?’
‘Five more months, sir.’ I give him an overly animated thumbs up, sarcasm drowning my fake excitement.
For a second, he just nods, contemplating.
‘Y’know, my wife has always had this saying when times get tough—that all flowers grow out of the darkness first. That they start buried deep in the dirt, no light or nothing.
I know you gotta lot of dark memories here, Sawyer.
’ Beau doesn’t look at me as descends the steps slowly, before adding on when his feet hit the ground, ‘But I bet you could grow a hell of a lot of flowers in them in five months.’
I watch him as he walks off back to work on the ranch, considering his words. While growing up on this ranch left me with plenty of dark memories, those aren’t the ones that have been keeping me up at night for the past month.
If I’m stuck in this town, I guess I might as well make something of it. So, I whip out my phone, and shoot a text off to Wolfman, hoping to gather some information to plant the first seed.
Sawyer: Hey, what kind of car does Honey drive?