52
T he fairgrounds are packed. Every last local, every tourist determined to soak in the nice weather and catch a glimpse of thrashing two-ton beasts. It’s what the rodeo is all about. Dirt. Death. Defiance.
I move through the crowd. There are cameras everywhere. The smell of hot dogs and peanuts lingers in the air. A Weston Whiskey banner hangs on the galvanized fence.
Coming to a stop near the livestock exit, I watch Cole Weston spin on his huge bull, Whiskey Business, known for stomping many-a cowboy’s head in.
The arena explodes into applause at the buzz of the eight-second timer. Perfect scores. Against my better judgment, I smile. Cocky bastard. Still, it’s his last ride. I suppose he can go out in a blaze of glory.
I scan the stands where my friends, Dakota, and my father sit. My gaze drifts. A group of little girls wave signs with my name. FALLON MCGRAW IS BACK.
My stomach flips over.
I don’t feel back. I don’t feel ready at all.
My head’s not in the game. It’s with Wyatt, wherever the hell he is.
Out of the corner of my eye, a flash of white. I bristle, turning, and watch Pappy’s fat ass stomp through the crowd.
So he is here.
But I don’t feel like hunting him down and setting him straight with my boot on his throat. Which means my heart is not in it today.
Hollow. It all feels hollow without Wyatt.
“You okay?”
I look at Tripp. His cowboy hat’s crooked, and he’s loaded down with at least five duffel bags. “You look like you want to murder someone.”
I run a hand over my vest. “I do. Pappy.”
His eyebrows rise.
I sigh. “That asshole set me up.” I give Tripp a brief rundown of the deal he made with Goliath Jim’s manager.
He gapes at me. “He did that? What a fuckin’ prick.”
“Yeah, Grade A asshole.” I think of Weston’s report coming out later today and smirk. “But like any man, he’ll get what he deserves.”
“You need anything? Water? Energy gel?” He glares in Pappy’s direction. “A knife?”
I think of the cane Wyatt bought me. I fucking wish.
I shake my head. “No. I just need a second.”
“You got it,” Tripp says. “Good luck.”
We fist bump, then he flashes me a grin and lopes off.
I have time before my ride, so I pace restlessly beneath the stands. Clear my mind. Calm before the storm. Rodeo. The love of my fucking life and the bane of my existence.
I look down at my leg, smoothing a hand over the thigh of my blue jeans, my scar. “You ready?” I ask my hip. “Because I’m sure as hell not.”
I’m not a coward, but suddenly, I feel like one.
The last four months made me stronger, but what if I can’t do this? What if my hip gives out?
My lungs collapse. My heart stops.
Oh my god, I thought I could, but I can’t.
For a long moment, I’m four years old on top of my first horse, Fern. What if I fall again? What if no one’s there to catch me?
I always have nerves, but never like this. My brain’s scrambling for a way out of this. A way to chicken out at the last minute.
The glow of the afternoon sun backlights the stands. I drink in its warmth but still shake.
Scared.
I’m fucking petrified.
I close my eyes. Focus on stilling my trembling hands and not losing my shit.
“What’s wrong with me?” I whisper to no one.
A large hand clamps down on my shoulder, and a voice lowers to whisper in my ear. “Sounds like you need a cowboy.”
Relief melts through me.
I smell him—evergreen and ice. Feel him—muscled and hot. Everything inside me is fireworks, combustion.
I spin around. Wyatt stands there, tall and tan in his fawn-colored Stetson. He grins. “Losin’ your nerve, Trouble?”
At the sound of his deep, rugged voice, calm settles over me.
Here. He’s here.
Then I hit him in the arm. “You asshole.”
He chuckles. “What kind of thanks is that for comin’ to your rescue?”
“Thought you couldn’t watch?” I demand, glaring up at him.
He grips my chin, those bright-blue eyes searing my face. “Stop this bullshit and shut up.” His lips twitch. “I know you. You needed me.”
I did. I needed him, and he came. That’s a man. That’s a cowboy.
Tears fill my eyes. “Wy…”
His big hand sweeps into my hair, grips the back of my neck. “What’s wrong? I’ve never seen you pace before a ride.”
Guard dropped, I say, “I’m scared.”
“You’re never scared.”
“I am.” I stare up at Wyatt’s handsome face, and my heart slams into my ribs. “What if I can’t do this?”
“You can.”
I close my eyes at the firm certainty in his voice. Open them. “What if I get hurt?”
For a brief second, pain and panic flash across his face, but he steadies his breath and says, “If you get hurt, I get you better.” He steps into me, catching me in his arms. “If you fall, I catch you. If you win, I fucking cheer. If you fight me, I fight you back.” His silver-blue eyes never let me out of his intense gaze. “That’s how it works with us.”
“Us?” Regret twists my insides. All the ugly, mean things I said to him, how can he forgive me? “There’s still an us?”
He nods, his throat working.
I shake my head, a tear slipping down my cheek. “I don’t take a second of you for granted. I’m so sorry, Wyatt. I’m sorry I was scared. I’m sorry I fought. I’m sorry I lied.” I shudder out the words.
“Don’t be sorry. Listen to me. I gotta tell you somethin’ before you go into that ring.” Stern and serious, eyes glassy, he clears his throat. “Fallon, I—”
“No,” I cut in sharply and his eyes widen. “I go first.” I lean into him, press up on my boots. No more missing my chance. I open that place inside myself, open my heart. Slide my palm over his scruffy cheek, and his entire body hitches. “I love you. I fucking love you, Wyatt Montgomery.”
I loved him when I was young. When I thought I didn’t deserve him. Loved him even when I hated him. Because it was easier to hold my heart close than let it belong to someone else.
He exhales a long breath then yanks me into him and crushes his mouth on mine.
His kiss is intoxicating, and I yield to him. Arching my body to his and winding my arms around his waist. His lips ravage mine, a fiery heat licking between us. And then we’re pulling back, gasping for air.
We stand there, trembling together.
“I know,” he rasps, touching his forehead to mine. I dig my nails into his shoulders, not wanting to let him go. “I found your letter.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
From his back pocket he pulls a dusty piece of paper. “My brothers found it when they were clearing away the rubble of my Airstream. It must’ve got lost in the slats of the screen door.”
I stare at it, stunned. “Fuck. Guess my cover’s blown.”
Brows lifting, he grins. “I’m gonna frame the shit out of this.”
“Such a romantic,” I tease as he refolds the paper and puts it protectively in his pocket.
“Fuck yeah, I am.” He tugs my belt loops, pulling me closer. His hands go to my face, and he looks me in the eyes. “I love you back, Fallon.” His words burrow in my chest, bloom.
I shake my head, trying to ward off the tears. I’ve never cried at the rodeo. I guess there’s a first time for everything.
“Cowgirl, I love you.” His voice shakes. “I’ve never loved anyone but you.”
I sob-laugh. “Take it back before you ruin both our lives.”
“Too late, baby.” He grins. “We got damn good lives to be lived. Together.”
I slide a hand over his cheek. “Me, you, and a life on the road.”
“Anything,” Wyatt husks. “Anything you want. My life is yours. My love is yours.”
There’s so much love in his eyes, so much emotion in his voice. I bite my lip. Hard. But the blush flooding my cheeks can’t be stopped. Neither can my love for this man.
“I am not made to be still,” I tell him. “But I am made for you, Wyatt. I am made to be your wife.”
“Stay married to me?” he asks.
“Yes. For good this time.” Grinning, I hold up my hand. He goes still when he sees the tattooed wedding band on my ring finger. Pride, joy, disbelief light his eyes.
“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, grabbing me to him. “You’re wreckin’ me. Means so fuckin’ much,” he murmurs, dropping his mouth to mine.
I drink him in, grip those broad shoulders and hold on tight.
I’m going to love Wyatt like he deserves. My man. My husband. Getting permanent ink proves to him I want to do this, do us, forever.
At the announcement of the barrel racing segment, we pull back. It’s time.
“You got this, Trouble.” Wyatt’s hands go to my vest. Cinch it tighter. His firm grip settles me. “They ain’t gonna miss you, Fallon. All your hard work, they’re gonna see you.”
“You see me,” I tell him tearfully. “That’s all that matters.”
A tear slips down his cheek. Voice husky, he says, “When you’re done, I’ll be here, and we’ll go home.”
Love settles in my heart. I nod. “Yes. Home.”
It’s all I want.
“I love you.” I make my voice, soft, steady, and see my own words reflected in his eyes.
“Ride the sky, baby.” He kisses my lips, adjusts my Stetson, and then ducks beneath the stands to disappear into the crowd of people.
I close my eyes. And breathe. Just breathe.
Ride the sky.