45
W e haven’t taken the rings off. No discussion. Every rule out the window. Every emotion sideswiped. Every stupid love thing I’ve been trying to avoid, I’ve failed miserably.
The gall of the man to make me fall in love with him.
I should pack my bags, hop in my truck, and haul ass out of town.
But it doesn’t hold the luster it did. Nowhere I’d rather be than a rodeo with Wyatt, a road trip down the coast. He drives me crazy in the best possible way.
But is it selfish of me to ask him to go?
Neither of us have said the words. But we’re wearing rings. My heart’s there. What about his?
These thoughts swirl in my head as I stomp down the aisles of Zeke’s Hardware. Wyatt and I are in town to stock up on supplies for the ranch and my cottage. Though we haven’t been given the go-ahead by Davis to go home yet, my horses still need to be fed.
Wyatt rounds the corner, a half-eaten Hershey bar in his hands. “Got it?”
I try not to stare. His blue T-shirt stretches deliciously tight across his broad chest. His calf-colored Stetson casts shadows over his angular face.
Handsome. Mine.
I hope.
I nudge a boot against the bags on the floor. “Got alfalfa cubes for Lawless and flax seed for Lovely.”
He snorts. “Those horses are damn spoiled.”
I arch a brow. “Spoil you, too, you take me home.”
Eyes darkening with lust, he stomps forward, hauling me to his chest. Heats sears between us. “Playin’ dirty, Trouble.”
“Shouldn’t be nothin’ new.” I slide a hand down his chest. “Not to you.”
“As soon as Davis gives the okay, we can go back to your cottage.”
“Ugh. I want to go now.”
He kisses my lips. “I know you do. Sit tight a few more days.”
I scowl over Wyatt’s shoulder at Tim Crane, who’s gawking at us from aisle three. “Take a fucking picture,” I snarl.
He drops his eyes and turns around so fast he crashes into a battery stand.
I smirk. “Nosy ass town.”
“Listen, I was thinkin’,” Wyatt begins, running his hands down my arms. “When PT’s over, why don’t we take off? Get outta here.”
“Where?”
His silver-blue eyes search my face. “Don’t matter. Up in the mountains or down by the ocean. Chase the rodeo. Hell, go see those wild horses you love. Wherever you want.”
I stare at him. Are we really doing this? Deciding our future at Zeke’s Hardware?
It’s chaotic. Rash. Wild. Just like us. Suddenly, I love it. Love this man so damn much, the air seizes in my lungs.
He’s right. It doesn’t matter where we go. It’s all the same to me. Home is where he is.
Grinning, I fling my arms around his neck. “Let’s do it.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “You got it, baby.”
Wyatt releases me and bends, hefting the bags like they’re made of air. “C’mon. Let’s get back to the ranch.”
We head for the exit. I lift a hand to Tripp at the register, my gold ring glinting in the sunlight, as we push out the front door.
“I’ll back the truck up,” Wyatt says. “I don’t want you carryin’ this.” He kisses my temple then hustles down the block for his truck.
I watch in amusement as he disappears. If the man could wrap me in bubble wrap, he would.
A brisk September wind skates over my arms, and I shiver, turning my gaze to Meadow Mountain. It looms ominously over the town like a harbinger of doom. I always felt like it cut us off from the rest of the world, but now I feel protected. At peace.
A sudden lightness comes over me. Tell Wyatt the truth. About my upcoming ride. About my heart. When he returns, I’ll do just that. Get it all out even if it hurts. Even if—
Behind me, large, clomping bootsteps.
A hand grabs my shoulder.
Gripping my cane, I whirl around.
Cole Weston stands there. Beneath the brim of his black cowboy hat, his rugged expression is unreadable. “You’re a hard cowgirl to track down.”
I recoil, my heart beating fast. “What the hell are you doing in Resurrection?”
A muscle twitches in his jaw. “I need to talk to you.”
A prickle of fear chills my spine. My eyes drop. Clenched fists. Dust clings to his jeans. And his boots—
The familiar curls of copper, WW embroidered on the toes. I’ve seen them before.
My head jerks up.
“You,” I say, rage rising like a tidal wave. I retreat another step. “It was you that day. You were at my cottage.”
Weston lifts a massive hand. “Look—”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Wyatt’s voice, at my back, has my knees going weak.
“Wy.” I turn to him. Voice shaking, I say, “It was him. The day of the gas leak. The boots.”
Storms swirl in Wyatt’s eyes. Pushing me behind him, he takes a step closer to Cole, growls, “You want to tell me what the fuck you were doin’ in Fallon’s house?”
“Wasn’t in her house.” Weston stares him down. “And if you shut the fuck up and listen to me, I’ll tell you why I’m here.” His dark eyes move to me. “Somewhere we can go?” he grunts. “Talk.”
My gaze moves to The Huckleberry. “Coffee?”
“Something stronger,” Weston says with a bitter chuckle. “You’re gonna need it.”
Whiskey bottle in his hands, Nowhere’s floorboards shaking, Weston stomps his way back to the booth. A mountain of a man, he reminds me of a Belgian Warmblood barreling his way across the range.
He sinks into the booth then pours each of us a shot. Sets the bottle of Weston Whiskey down.
We all shoot back our shots as one.
“Well?” Weston asks, expression smug. He means the whiskey. His whiskey.
I cross my arms. “It’s fine.” Best I ever had, to be truthful, but he’ll live without hearing it.
Unamused, he looks at Wyatt. “You got your hands full.”
Wyatt doesn’t smile. Pissed off and murderous, he’s never looked hotter.
Weston refills our glasses.
In another world, I’d be throwing the drink in his face.
He’s been my nemesis for the last two years. I’ve dreamed of beating him. Wiping that arrogant smirk off his face. I also admire him. He’s the wonder of the bull riding world, only competing in a handful of rodeos and winning them all.
I shoot back my shot, breathe out, lean in. “Okay, asshole. I wish I could say the small talk’s been swell, but get to the point. Why are we here?”
Wyatt glares at Weston. “Tell me why you’re followin’ Fallon.”
“Not following her.” Cole sits back, rubs his jaw, and sizes up Wyatt. To me, he says, “I was in the neighborhood that day.”
Wyatt’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Pretty fucking convenient.”
“It is pretty fucking convenient I happened to be there,” he shoots back. “Saved her ass, and judging by the look on your face, I saved yours as well.”
“You barely saved my ass,” I cut in before Wyatt can say anything. “I was halfway out that window.”
“Listen,” Weston growls, shutting us both up.
“I went to your house that day, but I wasn’t in it.
” He snorts. “Hell, I was surprised as fuck to find you crawling out of your basement window. When you passed out, I called for an ambulance, disappeared.” He takes his shot.
“What I came to tell you then is what I need to tell you now.” He leans in, resting his corded forearms on the sticky table. “It’s about Pappy.”
I stiffen. “What about Pappy?”
Pity creases Weston’s rugged face. “He’s responsible for your accident.” His words are a bullet tearing into me. Blunt. Hard.
I sit there, frozen, feeling Wyatt’s worried gaze on me, when Weston says lowly, “I told you not to ride.”
Understanding dawns. “You’ve been sending me the articles.”
A nod. Another shot of whiskey poured.
All his bluster, his arrogance was to scare me away.
“Goddamn, man,” Wyatt chastises. “Could have been a little lest cryptic with those fuckin’ messages.”
“I got a rep to uphold.” Weston’s stare burns. “How’d it look fraternizing with my competitor? Besides, except for some rumbling in the circuit, I had no concrete proof.” Guilt creases his rugged face. “Until it happened.”
I bare my teeth. “Tell me what you know.”
“Pappy rigged your ride,” Weston says grimly. “He struck a deal with the owner of Goliath Jim that if you rode his bull, he’d make fifty grand. Whether or not you stayed on.”
The newsflash hits like an 800-pound bull. Breath whooshing out of me, I bang the table with a closed fist. “I fucking knew it.”
Knew there was something wrong with my ride. The gift of fear. The gift of the niggling voice in the back of my mind telling me something was off. Maybe it was a migraine. Regardless, Pappy rigged my ride. That and the bull created the perfect storm to fuck up my ride.
“That rat-faced fuck,” Wyatt swears. “I’m gonna kill him.”
“I go first,” I tell Wyatt. Rage flashes through me like a lightning bolt. “That piece of shit Benedict Arnold.”
Weston flexes a big hand. “I tried to tell you that night in Arizona, but I couldn’t get you alone.”
I chuckle. “I wouldn’t have believed you anyway.”
“Stubborn.”
“You have no idea,” Wyatt says.
I frown at Weston’s scowl. “I didn’t fall because of the bull. I got dizzy…a migraine…”
Weston makes a noise in the back of his throat. “You drink anything he gave you? Before your ride?”
My eyes widen at the memory. Beside me, Wyatt sucks in a breath.
“How do you know?” I shake my head, not wanting to believe it. “Why should I believe you?”
“I never lie,” Weston rasps. “I may kill, but I don’t lie.”
A chill dances across my skin. I glance at Wyatt, unsure if it’s a joke or not.
“Here.” Weston reaches in his back pocket and pulls out some rumpled papers.
“Receipts,” he explains, sliding them my way.
“These transcripts from the audio recorded that day. All those fuckin’ cameras on the circuit were a goddamn goldmine.
I had a hunch, and I followed it. Paid off some pimple-faced mic operators for the recordings then sent these to the PbrA.
They got wise and opened an investigation into Pappy.
They’re fixin’ to release their report next month.
But I wanted to tell you before the news got out. ”
I stare at the transcripts. The reveal brings hot tears—relief, rage—to my eyes. Pappy planned this, maybe from the beginning, or maybe simply weeks before the ride.
Fuck. How could I have been so stupid to not see it?
“Don’t blame yourself. You trusted him,” Weston says, as if reading my thoughts.
I scrutinize Weston. “Why are you helping me?”
“My older brother died because of Pappy’s bullshit.” A soft expression crosses Weston’s rugged face. He stares into his glass. “The worst thing about that man is he doesn’t care. He’d sell anyone out to get ahead.”
I swallow the fire in my throat. “I’m sorry.”
“After I learned what happened, I waited. Ten damn years I played the long game. I knew he’d fuck up again. And I vowed when he did, I’d be there.”
I arch a brow. “Impressive grudge.”
Weston raises his gaze. A black cloud shifts across his face. “You know what happens to people who hurt your family.”
Wyatt sobers. “Foot on neck.”
“Until they stop breathing.” Looking at Wyatt, Weston says, “It’s the most important thing in the world. Protecting the ones you love.”
Protective gaze cresting over me, Wyatt rests a hand on my thigh. My hand moves over it.
We sit in silence, processing everything. It all makes sense. Almost everything.
“Have you been leaving me flowers?” I ask.
“No.” He chuckles. “I got no time for a woman. No offense.”
“Ever think they ain’t got time for you?”
“She’s mean,” Weston remarks to Wyatt.
Wyatt grins. “She’s mine.”
The chime of Wyatt’s phone has him swearing. “Shit. I gotta take this.” He hops out of the booth and exits the bar to escape the blare of the jukebox.
Weston nods at my cane. “How are you getting on with that?”
“Better.”
Weston runs a hand over his stubbled jaw.
“Let me ask you something. Cowboy to cowboy. When you started riding bulls, what were you searching for?” The question catches me off guard.
His dark brows draw together. “Don’t tell me you weren’t looking for something.
Everyone who gets on those man killer’s either searching for death or life. ”
“To ride.”
“Not that. Deeper. Dig, girl.”
I run a hand over the tattoo on my arm. A rose-colored Annie Oakley stares back at me. My hero.
Deep. Deep. Why I ran. Why I’ve held myself back. From my sister. Wyatt. My heart.
“To not feel so alone.”
“And now? What’d you find?” His lips curve at my silence. “Close, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” I breathe shakily. “I am.”
He nods his head. “Suppose I’ll see you at the Round-Up.”
At the wicked grin on his face, I put it together. I laugh. “You pulled the strings to get me that invite.”
“Thought you deserved another shot,” he grunts. “You ride like a beast. And you would have beat me that day if Pappy hadn’t rigged your ride.”
My heart pounds hard at the compliment.
Weston clears his throat, tosses a wad of bills on the table. “Glad you’ll be there. It’s my last ride.”
“But you…” I drop the pretense. “But you’re so damn good.”
He arches a brow. “Think I could get that in writing?”
I grin. “Not a fucking chance.”
Weston’s gaze flicks to the window. Wyatt, paces, phone still to his ear. “He doesn’t know you’re riding, does he?”
Guilt sears. “No.”
Thankfully, all I get is an idiot girl look, not a lecture. Weston stands. His eyes land on the ring on my hand. “You two ever need a place to crash up north, talk to me. I got you covered.”
Before I can say anything, he tilts his black Stetson and stomps out of the bar.
I sit back and exhale, taking it all in. Who’d have ever thought Cole Weston would have my back? But maybe that’s what makes the bullshit of this mean, old world worth it. Counting on someone you never imagined.
At the chime of the door, I look up. Wyatt slides across from me in the booth. His face is pale.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He swallows. “Younger’s scheduled to be at the ranch next week.”
“Shit.” I reach out to squeeze his hand. “What can I do?”
His eyes clear. “Nothin’. We got more important things to worry about.”
“Like what?”
A muscle twitches in his jaw, and he pins me with a hard, murderous stare. “Like finding Pappy.”