29
“C hrist,” I swear, hustling into the Bullshit Box. “Can we get some air conditioner in here? I’m sweatin’ my balls off.”
Ford swivels in his chair. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
I scowl, steeling myself for the brotherly harassment. Between work and living at Fallon’s cottage, it’s been weeks since I’ve been able to catch up with my brothers.
“Been busy,” I drawl, snatching up one of Dakota’s chocolate croissants from a picked-over pastry box.
Charlie smears a hand down his dark beard. A smile tugs at his lips. “You and Fallon been livin’ on an island.”
I grin. He’s right. “Best damn island around.”
Ever since Fallon’s hot tub confession, everything is different now. We’ve spent the last week cooped up in her cottage having sex. When I’m working, Fallon’s at PT. When we’re home together, we’re either fucking or training. Best damn week of my life.
“You look too happy,” Davis observes, crossing his arms to assess me.
Charlie snorts. “And that’s a problem?”
I drop into my desk chair. Davis thins his lips. “Have you and Fallon—”
“Oh Jesus, man.” I bury my face in my hands. “Dad already gave me the birds and the bees talk when I was eight. I know about women, D.”
My big brother’s voice is a boom. “But do you know about Fallon?”
Yeah, I know about Fallon. I know the way she screams when I eat her out like my last fucking meal.
How she takes her coffee—black as her heart.
How her name looks on the sole of my boot—fucking perfect.
And the way she secretly likes to cuddle after sex even though she’d rather die than admit it.
I know she’s my fucking wife and I plan to keep it that way.
But I keep my face placid and my mouth shut. A cowboy doesn’t kiss and tell. Especially not when he’s got a woman at home who’ll rip his head off. Or a big brother who’ll bust his balls to hell and back.
“Of course, they have,” Ford says to Davis. “They’ve been playin’ house for the last month. What do you think they’ve been doin’? Playin’ checkers?”
“Christ,” I snap, punching on my computer. “Y’all leave it alone.”
Charlie and Ford snicker.
I scrape a hand through my hair, decide to change the subject. “Someone’s leaving flowers for Fallon.” There’s been two more flower deliveries this week. Both with cards.
Ford hoots. “Bet she loves that.”
Davis frowns and straightens up. “Who?”
“Ain’t sure. Maybe a fan, maybe some creepy fucker.”
I click into my email, debating whether or not to tell Davis about the DMs, when my eyes land on his ulcer medication.
“Wy?” Davis prods, dark brows drawing together.
Fallon’s right. He doesn’t need the stress. One whiff of danger, and Davis will be on it like a bloodhound.
Whatever’s going on, I can handle it myself.
So I shrug, giving him a semi-truth. “She doesn’t think it was a migraine that knocked her out.”
Davis sighs.
Ford’s brows pull together. “So what was it?”
“Ain’t sure. Whatever it is, I believe her.”
Davis squeezes the back of his neck. “You can’t do that. You can’t—”
I turn in my chair to glare at him. “What? Give her hope?” I exhale a breath. “That’s fucked up, man.”
Davis and Dakota want to protect her, and I do, too. But they don’t know she needs to ride to be okay. Fallon’s down, but not out. Whatever she needs to get back to herself, I’ll be there.
I scrub a hand over my jaw. “She’ll ride again.” If it was up to Fallon, sooner rather than later.
“Damn right,” Charlie agrees.
“Speakin’ of horses,” Ford says. “Might wanna check your email, little brother.”
I grunt. “Mail theft’s a felony.”
“Went to the main email, dumbass.”
I roll my eyes and scan the long list of emails I’ve ignored. I open one from the Younger School. Fuck.
I lick my suddenly dry lips. “Younger’s comin’ here?”
Just the thought has my blood pressure spiking.
“He’s gonna review the school,” Charlie says, shuffling through a stack of bills. “Decide if you get the position next year.”
Fuck the position. And fuck Younger.
“Be good to see him,” Davis says, and I grit my teeth. “He was a good trainer.”
“What do you know?” I snap, causing Davis to jerk his head up in surprise. “You didn’t even give a damn about anything that happened on the ranch back then.”
My brothers stare at me like I’ve lost it.
Davis’s eyes widen, and he gapes at me. “Wyatt—”
But I’m already rising from my chair and storming out of the Bullshit Box.
Outside, I scrub a hand down my face, breathe heavily. Over the mountains, the July sun sets.
Fuck. That email fucked me up. I lost it with my brothers, took it out on Davis because he fucking thinks he knows everything. He doesn’t. Not by a long shot.
My heart pounds as memory ripples. That day so long ago. Back in Georgia.
Charlie enters the barn. “Wy? You okay?”
I try to speak, try to tell him what happened. Younger. His fist. The horses.
Instead, I groan.
Charlie gets closer. He stares and shakes his head as if to throw the image of me—busted, battered, bleeding, lying on the floor of the barn—out of his head.
Then he shouts. For our parents, our brothers. The hay shifts as he kneels beside me, places a shaking hand on my shoulder. “What happened, Wyatt? What happened?” His voice breaks.
I want to tell him it wasn’t an accident, wasn’t my fault, but I can’t answer him. My tongue has turned to mush.
My brothers’ concerned voices fill the barn. My parents are there. My head hurts. The world fades in and out.
When I wake next, I’m in the hospital. When my parents ask, I try to tell the truth. But I can’t. It sticks in my mouth. They don’t need to worry about me. What if they don’t believe me?
What if it was all my fault?
The slam of a door has me blinking, shaking my head to clear the reverie.
Ford stands there, a frown on his face. “Hey. What was that about?”
I shake my head, watch a tractor putter over the field. “Nothin’.”
Ford scrubs a hand over his stubbled jaw as his eyes narrow on me. “You’re actin’ shifty. With this job.”
Anger burns in my gut. “Yeah, well, it’s just a job.”
Ford stares at me for a long second then swears darkly under his breath. “Damn it. Knew you takin’ it was a bad idea.”
He’s right. It was a bad fuckin’ idea. I had some idiot notion that by takin’ it I could prove I could do it. I could protect those kids from that sonofabitch.
“If you hate it,” Ford says, clapping a hand on my shoulder, “quit.”
Bitterness rises inside of me. Old words that still sting. “And what? Then I’m a fuckup, right? I let y’all down?”
Ford gives me a strange look. “Nah, kid. You ain’t a fuckup.” He reaches out and cuffs my ear. “I don’t know why you think that.”
“Because—” I cut off, stopping myself.
Because of him . Younger. He drilled it in me. Made me feel like fucking shit. That’s why I never told my brothers or my parents. I was worried they’d think it was my fault. And maybe it was. Maybe I should have minded my own fucking business.
Ford peers at me. “Wy?”
“Never mind,” I mutter.
“We talked you into this job.” Ford says, his expression regretful. “That’s on us, too.”
I shrug. “Whatever, man.” Not wanting another lecture from my brother, I take off across the field, heading for the Edens.
Nerves on edge from the news about Younger’s visit, I stalk up the steps of Dakota’s farmhouse. When I walk in, she pokes her head out of the study.
“Fallon’s playing with Lainie and Duke in the playroom.” From a nearby room come the sounds of little giggles and a menacing growl. Dakota tilts her dark head. “C’mon. I’ll box up some pastries for you two.”
She leads me down the hallway into the kitchen. The island’s covered with flour and broken egg shells. On the counter, there’s a framed photo of Davis and Dakota at their wedding. One of Dakota and Fallon as girls, hugging baby lambs at their ranch.
I pick it up, my gaze studying Fallon, who looks as mischievous then as she does now.
“She shaved the lamb not long after that,” Dakota offers.
I chuckle and set the frame in its place. “Hellraiser even then.”
As she boxes up her famous cinnamon rolls, Dakota says, “It’s nice having her home.”
“Yeah. It is.”
She slides the box of pastries my way. “Stay for dinner?”
“Can’t.” I hitch my thumbs through my belt loops. “Gonna grill out, have some beers, and watch Housewives .” Damn. I sound too eager. But hell, if I don’t love our nights together.
Dakota arches a brow. “ Housewives ?”
I clear my throat. Try to play it cool. “Fallon likes all those shitty TV shows, ya know? She says they take her mind off the real world, and I don’t blame her…” I trail off.
Dakota stares like I’ve grown two heads. Then she smiles and says, “You love my sister.”
My head jerks back in surprise. Shit. Clearly, I haven’t hid it as well as I thought.
Amusement twinkles in Dakota’s dark eyes. “You don’t expect me to believe you married her, you’re taking care of her, all because you’re just friends , do you?”
My jaw works. I debate whether to lie or not, but I’ve already been there done that.
“Living without her killed me,” I admit hoarsely.
“Same.” Face creased in sympathy, Dakota pours me a whiskey. “You’re doing fine.”
I grin. “I was gone for her the day she slapped me in the face at the Whitefish Rodeo.”
Dakota’s lips twitch. Folding her arms, she leans down low on the island. “So? Now what?” When I’m silent, she shakes her head. “Tell me you’ll tell her. You two can’t keep doing this.”
I gulp down my whiskey. “Hell, that’s why I went to Arizona.”
Understanding paints Dakota’s pretty face. Two months ago, I was all in on telling Fallon how I fucking feel. “You planned to tell her then.”
“I did, but now…”
Now it’s Koty’s turn to nod. “Now she needs to heal.” On a groan, she rubs her face in her hands then looks at me. “I don’t know how this bodes, Wyatt. You two are both proud. Stubborn. Stupid.”
“Tell me how you really feel, Koty,” I say dryly.
A sly arch of her brow. “Maybe you should tell her how you really feel.”
I finally got her to open up, finally got somewhere. What if I drop an I love you and it freaks her out? Worse, what if she runs again? Christ, I just barely got her back.
“I’m tryin’.” I shake my head. “Somehow, I got this insane idea I can convince her over the summer that we’re better off married.”
She studies me for a moment. “You need to talk to our daddy. Do it right this time, Wyatt.”
“I will.”
Dakota straightens. “Whatever you do, don’t let Fallon scare you off.
She’s icy on the outside, but deep down, she’s all black heart.
” She takes a step toward me, her face turning venomous.
“You better keep making our girl happy, or there will be millions of people dedicated to your downfall. No pressure.”
“No pressure about what?”
We both turn to see Fallon standing there with her walker. In her hair, a sparkly pink tiara. Duke toddles beside her, one hand on the rail of her walker.
Koty and I exchange a look.
“About returning the pastry container,” Dakota says easily.
Duke flies at me. “Wy-Wy!”
I haul him up into my arms. “Hey, kid, you makin’ sure your Aunt Fallon behaves?”
His face scrunches. “Oh, yes, she’s a princess now.”
A scoff from Fallon. But her lips are curled in a soft smile. “Only man I’ll ever take orders from.” She plucks the tiara from her hair, hands it to Duke. “Make sure your Dad gets the royal treatment, kid.”
I kiss Duke and set him on the ground, turning to take Fallon’s arm. “You ready to go?”
We say goodbye to Dakota and grab the pastries. In a matter of minutes, we’re on the highway back to town.
That night, after dinner, I step outside onto the front porch of Fallon’s cottage. Crickets chirp in the brisk night air. Stars shine brightly above. Nights in Montana never fail to steal your breath.
But even in the peace of the country night, it feels like there’s a heavy weight settled on my shoulders. Those fucking roses. An I love you I still need to give Fallon.
Younger.
No amount of time will make me forget it.
“Beer?” Fallon’s husky voice cuts through the quiet.
“Yeah.” I turn, fully taking her in. Her beauty’s staggering. Messy bun, gray sweats, and a tiny T-shirt. She’s the cowgirl of my dreams. “The show on?”
“Not yet.” She steps to my side, those hazel eyes glittering as she looks up at me. “You okay? You’re quiet for someone with such a big mouth.”
I chuckle. “Long day.” Then, remembering the promise she made to me to let me in, I amend. “Rand Younger’s coming to the ranch at the end of the summer. See if he wants to renew my grant or some shit like that.”
“You sound bitter.”
“I hate that guy.”
“Really? Why?” A curious expression crosses her face. “Thought he was hot shit in the rodeo world.”
I stare at the trees shifting in the wind. The silhouette of Meadow Mountain in the dark.
“Not feeling it?” Fallon asks. “Talking about it?”
I swallow hard, pushing away the memories. “Not really, no.” The anger burns too much. Not ready to lay it all on Fallon. Not right now.
But when I say that, she doesn’t poke or prod.
Instead, she takes my hand and leads me to the rocker on her front porch.
She curls up against me, resting her head on my shoulder.
Slowly, I rock the rocker with my boot. Rhythmic movements sound, the squeak of the chain.
We sit there in a comfortable silence like two people who share a life.
No family. No drama. Just us.
After a long hard day, it means everything that the one person here for me is Fallon.
Glancing up at the stars, their changed places in the sky, I kiss the crown of her head. “We’ll miss our show.”
“It’s okay. You know, Wy…” She clears her throat, looks up at me. Her hand lifts to my stubbled cheek. “You take care of me, but I can take care of you, too.”
My throat, my heart, feels too tight. “Thanks, Trouble,” I say hoarsely.
My girl. My fucking girl who pushes more times than she pulls, can soothe my broken soul with just one touch.
Fallon gives me one last curious glance and says, “I’m here. When you need me.” Then she slips her hand into mine and hangs on.
She just hangs on.