11. Laramie
CHAPTER ELEVEN
laramie
I step into my trailer and fling myself onto the small sofa next to my dad.
“You’re back earlier than I expected.” He raises one graying eyebrow at me.
“Want to tell me what all you and the man I spent the last three months mooning over talked about?” I playfully scold him for blindsiding me.
Dad takes a draw from his long neck and huffs. “Nope.”
“No?” I repeat, my mouth dropping open.
“You two need to talk things out. I did my part in getting him back to see you.”
I slump against the cushions and cross my arms over my chest. “Fine. At least tell me how he was during my run.”
“Mesmerized, Mimi. Absolutely mesmerized.”
Something bright and fizzy rises from my stomach before settling in my heart. It reminds me of my first sip of champagne, filling all the empty places inside me, swelling and welling until I burst.
A line of tears trickle down my cheeks, and I hasten to scrub them away. Scoffing, I say, “Of course he was. I’m awesome.” My voice cracks on the last word, belying my bravado.
The warm comfort of my father’s hug wraps around me. “Damn straight.”
“Ugh, okay, okay. Enough sniveling.” I fan my face and laugh while snagging Dad’s beer to finish it off. After a beat, I murmur, “He’s taking me to breakfast in the morning.”
When my dad doesn’t respond, I glance at him and catch him staring at me with a soft, goofy smile.
“What?”
“Nothing, Mimi. Just like seeing you like this.”
“A crying mess? You didn’t get enough of that back in December? And January? And?—”
“These tears are different. You’ve got that gleam in your eyes, your spark.”
I shrug. “I’m a nervous wreck. What if I mess up again?”
“Then you apologize again.” Dad chucks my chin. “Nothing’s permanent until you’re six feet under. If you want this to work with him, you’ll make it happen.”
Whispering, I ask what’s been on my mind since I saw War. “Can we make it work? I travel so much. We’re so different…”
Dad is the only one who sees this side of me. The world gets the brash, bold, wild parts. Kit Larson gets the rest.
He weighs his words before answering. “If there’s one thing that’s always been true about you, you go after and get what you want. If War is it, it'll work out. I have no doubts about that. But, Mimi, you have to be all in. No relationship can survive if you have a foot out the door or are looking for a reason to run.”
“How’d you get to be so smart?”
“Well, I’ve been around the sun a few times. I traded my good looks for all the experience that comes with age. Plus, I had your mom. She taught me everything I know.”
“I miss her.” Though Mom’s been gone over ten years, I still wish she was here. For moments like this, to watch me race, for my dad.
He squeezes my shoulder. “Me too. She’d like War.”
I arch an eyebrow. “How do you know that? Did you two bond while I was racing?”
“Only over you. But she’d like him because you do.” Dad’s knees creak as he rises off the tiny loveseat. “You take the bed; you need your beauty sleep.”
A snort pulls from my lips. “Ha! Good one, old man. I heard every bone in your body crack when you got up. I’ll pull out the sofa.”
He hesitates like he’s ready to argue, but when I jut out my chin, he knows I won’t bend.
Waving a hand, Dad says, “Alright, you stubborn mule. I’ll take the big bed tonight, but tomorrow I’ll get a hotel. In case you, um, need privacy.”
I cover my face with my hands. “Oh my god, Dad. Stop. Right now. Before I die and never get to go to breakfast with War or win a title.”
“Interesting order you put those in.”
It takes me a second to process what he means. Then it hits me: I put a date with War before winning the NRF, and it bothers me way less than I expect.
It’s five till eight, and War isn’t here. I pace back and forth in front of the arena entrance, self-soothing with the fact he’s not late. Not yet, anyway.
I scan the parking lot, searching for a flashy sports car. I have no idea what he drives, but I’m sure it’s high end. A horrible thought grips me as I make my tenth circuit from one end of the entry gate to the other. What if this is payback for leaving him alone in Mel’s motel?
He wouldn’t plan all this just to stand me up. Right? I mean, I wouldn’t blame him… No. I shake all those doubts from my head. He’s coming. He wants to see me. To get to know me.
At eight on the dot, a slate gray Bronco pulls up to the curb, and War hops out.
“You ready to go?” he asks as he opens the passenger door for me.
Like an idiot, I stand on the sidewalk, looking from him to the expensive SUV and back. He groomed his beard and styled his hair away from his face. He’s casually dressed but already looks more like the man I met in Dallas.
Not that he wasn’t delicious as a rumpled mountain man.
I blurt, “You trimmed your beard.”
War rubs his hand over his chin. “Yeah, it was getting out of hand. I hadn’t done anything to it in, um, well, since…” He trails off then gives me a sheepish grin. “My sister says I look like a yeti. She’ll be thrilled I pared it back.”
Stepping into his space, I run my fingers over the soft hair. “I like it. You look rugged.”
“So, not your Pretty Boy anymore?”
The use of your isn’t lost on me, and my heart skips a beat. “You’ll always be my Pretty Boy.” I breathe the words against his lips. When did we get so close?
A sound—half moan, half growl—rumbles up from War’s chest, and then his hands are on my hips, anchoring me to him. The kiss is all-consuming. Fervent. He savors my lips as if I hold every truth he’s ever searched for.
I don’t care that it’s eight in the morning. That we’re standing in the parking lot of a rodeo arena in Lubbock. That we have so much to figure out. All I know is this man is mine, and I’m not letting him go.
War breaks the kiss with a curse. “Shit, sweetheart.” He rests his forehead against mine. “I wasn’t planning to do that.”
“Kiss me?”
“At least not until I fed you.”
My fingers trace up his nape and grasp the hair at his collar. “Then let’s get me fed.” With a wink, I hop into the passenger seat and raise my eyebrows at him. “Coming?”
He barks out a loud laugh. “Such a smart ass.” The door shuts, and I appreciate the way he jogs around the car. Those extra pounds look good on him.
We get about a mile down the road, both of us making silly, meaningless chit-chat. It’s nice—less awkward standing around the pool and more dipping a toe in the water.
Then War dives into the deep end. “So, what’s the sleeping situation?”
I put a teasing lilt to my voice and shift closer. “Trying to get lucky already? I thought we agreed to eat first.”
“You don’t have to swing at every pitch, you know.”
Grinning, I reach out and squeeze his thigh. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“You mispronounced incredible.” This earns me a choked laugh that has him beating on his chest to clear his lungs.
Once he’s breathing, he laces his fingers with mine. “Okay, really, though. Where do you sleep when you’re competing?”
“My trailer has living quarters. It’s small but functional. Sometimes, Dad stays with me; sometimes, he gets a hotel. He, uh, made sure to tell me he’d be getting one tonight.” I fight the blush trying to spread over my cheeks.
War stares at me a beat then shakes his head. “And you travel, what’d you say, two hundred days a year?”
“Give or take. It depends on how many big events are happening and how the season’s going. If I bank enough points early on and the purses are small, then it’s less. If I’m straggling or want the money, then it’s more.”
War’s jaw tightens, and his hand flexes around mine. “I see.”
Before I can unpack those two words, we pull into Lulu’s. I don’t wait for War to come around and open my door, which is apparently the wrong thing to do.
“Laramie, I swear. Can’t you let me be a gentleman?”
I freeze, half out of the Bronco. “Want me to climb back in?”
He sighs. “No. Can I at least get the door to the restaurant for you?”
“Yes. And I promise I won’t fight you for the bill. How’s that?”
“A start.” He’s adorably grumpy. Happy War, annoyed War, just came inside me War. How can I pick a favorite?
His lips twitch when we step into Lulu’s, but he doesn’t say anything about the uneven floors, rough-hewn walls, or twangy Texas country piping over the speakers.
The waitress leads us to a small table near the window, but I wave her off when she offers menus. “We’ll take…” As soon as I start to order, I pause. “Actually, could we have a few minutes?”
War studies me. “Were you about to order for us?”
I duck, inhale, and straighten. “Is my independence a problem for you? I’m not used to being a passenger princess. ”
He swallows, and for a heartbeat, I fear the worst. I’m too much. He can’t give up control any more than I can.
“If we’re moving forward, we both have to give.” He leans toward me, crooking his finger. When our faces are mere inches apart, he says, “It’s hot as hell when you take charge, but sometimes, I need to take care of you.”
A piece of me melts. Could I handle that? Giving up power, letting War lead the way? I wait for my twin devils to chime in, to scream for me to cut and run, but they’re silent.
Maybe it’s time to let someone other than my dad see the fragile parts of me.
“And taking care of me entails what?” I ask. This is all new territory for me.
Warm fingers feather over my lips and down my neck. “Little things like opening doors, paying.” I go to argue, but he shushes me. “Paying when I ask you out; being there when you’re scared or sad.” His honey eyes darken. “Worshipping you in bed.”
Closing the space between us, I kiss him, grinning when his eyes widen in surprise. “I think we can work something out.”
The waitress clears her throat, breaking the tension between us. War lays the menu on the table and gestures to me. “She’s the one you want.”
Like a fuzzy blanket on a chilly day, his small offering warms me inside and out. And when the chocolate chip and pecan pancakes arrive, he agrees they’re the best he’s ever had.
Belly full, I rest on my elbows and watch War eat. “So you have a sister?”
“Yes. She’s my twin.”
“Oh, that’s so cool! I always wanted siblings, but it wasn’t in the cards. You guys must be close.”
Pain flickers across War’s face. “We’ve gotten closer in the past few months.”
I cock my head, giving him wait time. He pushes the last few bites of his breakfast around his plate, looking everywhere but at me.
“Is this more of a third-date conversation?” I ask, giving him an out if he wants it.
He rewards me with a half-smile. “No. It’s just, well, it doesn’t paint me in the best light.”
Reaching across the table, I wrap my fingers around his bare wrist. “Does it have anything to do with your missing watch? Or how the heck you ended up in Lubbock? Or why you sold your apart—” I snap my mouth shut.
War hums and lifts his eyebrows. “We’ll circle back to how you know I sold my apartment.” The teasing tone fades as he goes on. “There’s a lot to it; some of it isn’t mine to share, but my family is…”
“Complicated?”
“Shitty.”
His wry reply pulls an unexpected laugh from me that I try to stifle as I signal for the check. I catch his scowl and put my hands up in surrender. “Not paying, just thought maybe you’d want to have this conversation somewhere else? You can hang out with Xpresso and me while I get her ready.”
“Won’t I be in the way?”
“Not if you listen to me.” Butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth; I’m so sweet.
“T-r-o-u-b-l-e. With a capital T.” There’s no heat in his words, and he’s pressing his lips together, concealing his smile. “Alright. You win.”
He makes quick work of the check and great time back to the arena. I flash my credentials and hook my arm with War’s, leading him to the staging area. It’s my favorite kind of chaos back here. Riders, handlers, event officials, vets, and staff mingle, weaving around rough stock and thoroughbred horses that cost as much as a car.
It feeds my energy and my nerves.
Together, we pick our way toward the stalls where Xpresso waits. Her ears prick, and she lets out a nicker when she senses me.
“Hey, X. I brought a friend.”
As if sizing him up, X sniffs War’s extended arm. Then she gives a soft snort and nuzzles against him.
“Oh, she likes you.”
“She does?” War sounds years younger.
“Yep. There’s this asshole rider, Cyrus McClain, the first time he met Xpresso—uninvited, by the way—she nipped him good and then let out this squeal that I swear could’ve busted windows.”
I guide War’s hand to her withers and mirror how to stroke her. It isn’t long before her eyes drift closed, and she leans into his touch. Yeah, I feel ya, girl.
With War enraptured by Xpresso, I work on prepping her for the day, leaving him to talk.
“So, you were saying things with your family are complicated?”
War chuffs. “I said shitty. But yeah. We aren’t winning Family of the Year anytime soon.” He pauses. “Though my mom would be all about that if it existed.”
I quirk a brow, encouraging him to go on. X nudges him as well.
“Tuesday—my sister—and I… I’m sure you know the kind of family we grew up in.”
“Yeah, one that can afford one of my dad’s horses.”
“With that came a lot of trappings and expectations. Impossible ones for Tuesday and almost impossible for me.”
Squatting, I check X’s hooves. “What do you mean?”
He goes to touch his wrist, but when he finds it bare, he runs his free hand through his hair. “My parents held us both to ridiculous standards, but no matter what Tuesday did, it was never good enough. I, um, I got caught up in ambition and the desire to be better. And I hurt the one person I should’ve been there for.”
“Hurt her how?”
His shoulders curl forward, and, while War Phillips isn’t a small man, he seems to have shrunk. “Not standing up for her. Watching my father and mother bully and berate her over every fucking thing. I put the business before her when she needed me.” His voice catches. “I helped them send her away.”
Xpresso stiffens, picking up on the tension radiating from War, so I step away from her flank and put myself where she can see me. I offer her an apple slice and soothe her muzzle. Once she’s settled, I press myself to War’s back, wrapping my arms around him.
My voice is soft when I say, “But you’re growing closer now? Tell me about that.”
He turns, hugging me closer. “Around the time you and I met, I finally did the right thing. I backed Tuesday’s play, and we screwed my dad over.” He smiles into my hair. “I won’t ever forget the look on his face when he realized he lost.” There’s a pause, but as I’m about to break away, War tightens his grip. “The day you and I went out, I told my parents I was done with them. I was done letting them push me around. Done listening to them bad-mouth Tuesday. Just done. ”
“That’s why you were late?”
“Yep.” He chuckles. “Then I had the best date of my life.”
My heart sinks. “And I left you.”
War lets out a heavy sigh, and his voice drops. “And you left me.”
It’s my turn to cling to him—a desperate barnacle, cleaving myself to a mooring. “I’m so sorry, War. I never should have run.”
“In a way, I owe you a thanks.”
I peer up at him, trying to parse out what he’s saying.
“If you hadn’t ditched me…” Ouch. “I never would have sold my apartment and run to Trail Creek. Which means I wouldn’t have met my father in Lubbock and ended up at a rodeo.”
My thoughts tumble, and I fidget against War’s hold. “So, I’m the reason we’re together now?”
A smirk tugs at his full lips. “That’s one way to look at it.” He presses his forehead to mine. “I would love to have those three months spent without you back, but I’m so fucking glad I’m here now.”
X whinnies and stamps as we wait for our turn. After War left, his parting words played like a record stuck on repeat. A flurry of nerves came to life in X’s stall this morning, and the bastards refuse to settle. Instead, they swoop and dive and belly-flop their way through my system, searching out any ounce of calm and mutating it until all I’m made of is jitters.
He’s glad he’s here. He actually is here. He wishes we could’ve had those three months .
My twin devils are at a loss. If he shouted or ended things, they’d be ablaze. That’s territory they thrive in. But here, in this new place—where a man like War kisses the tip of my nose, hugs me, forgives me—they have nothing to say.
And it’s incredibly disquieting.
X takes two steps before I get her back in the lane. She’s feeding off the wonky energy I’m putting out. I breathe in for five and hold it for six. Then do it again. I’ve got to get myself under control.
Don’t think about War being in the audience, sitting with Dad, watching me ride. Wanting more.
Focus, Laramie! I’m last tonight, and the posted times are respectable. Not great, but good. I’m better. If X and I run clean, we’ll make it to tomorrow night and a chance for the purse.
Like a shot, the timer starts, and X races through the gate. We come in to turn one a wide but quickly adjust. Turn two goes smoothly, but at turn three, it all falls apart. My shoulder locks, and I jerk the reins in response, pulling X too close to the barrel. Her flank catches it, and I know without looking, we just earned a five-second penalty. The silence of the audience confirms it. We sprint through the straightaway, but the damage is done.
I blew it.
Again.