15. Laramie
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
laramie
I rarely wish ill on people. Karma and all that. But Warren Phillips Sr .—as he so warmly signed the card to his son—is someone I wish a lifetime of tooth loss and irreversible genital shrinkage on.
I’ve always known how lucky I am to have my dad, but reading that note… Some people shouldn’t be parents.
Daddio
Game plan?
I glance at War, but his eyes are closed, so I text with one hand and stroke his head with the other.
Unsure. Some crap went down with War’s dad.
That man is a piece of shit. Makes me want to take Biscuit from him.
I don’t think he’s exactly hands on with his horse.
Anything I can do?
Nope. I’m gonna ask War to come to Pueblo and maybe on to Denver. I don’t know if he’s interested, and that’s a lot of time together with someone I just met.
I chew on the inside of my cheek and wonder what Dad will think of what I say next.
I’m falling hard, and I’m not ready to let him go.
Then you know what you should do. Be smart, be safe, Mimi. But also be brave.
Smiling at Dad’s last bit of advice, I scoot closer to War and tuck his face into my neck. He’s been quiet since he hung up with Tuesday, only apologizing to me for losing his cool and making a mess—as if the random springs and gears were my concern.
I dig my fingers into his hair, rubbing his scalp and nape. I put light pressure on the shoulder he was rehabbing, and he lets out a muffled moan.
Keeping his face buried, he says, “You deserve better than me.”
Strike two-hundred and forty-seven Warren Phillips Sr.
I slip my thumb under War’s chin and guide his face to mine. My lips skate over his mouth, cheeks, and eyes until I rest my forehead against his. “How about you let me decide what I deserve?”
This earns me a smirk and a kiss before those burdens he’s carried for so long weigh his mouth down to a flat line. The scent of honeyed bourbon lingers on his breath, and anger, resentment, and sadness ooze from him. He pulls away, slouching into the couch cushions.
I don’t push, just go back to carding my fingers through his hair and waiting. I take advantage of his eyes being shut to study him. Each day we’ve been here, he’s trimmed his beard a little more. Now, it’s neat and short, highlighting his handsome features. I’m torn on which version of War is the most handsome. Business War with short hair and a clean-shaven face? Rugged War with long hair and an overgrown beard? Or this new version of War, Laramie’s War, who’s a mixture of both. Yes, this one is my favorite.
An annoyed huff rumbles through me. He thinks I deserve better than him? This man who saw that what he was doing was wrong and worked to make it right with his sister. Turned down money and what most would call an ideal life because once those blinders were off, he could never go back. Walked away from his toxic parents, job, and hometown to start fresh.
Say what you will, but change like that takes real determination and grit.
Did he make mistakes? Yes. If I were Tuesday, would I want to stuff a sea salt croissant up his nose? Also yes. But I have no doubts about who this man is and will be.
And I want him for more than these four days.
A rush of nerves floods my system, sending too much adrenaline to my heart. It’s pounding so loud he has to hear it. Asking him to go with me is a huge risk. What would he do while I compete? A man like War needs purpose. What if I can’t ride with him there? My track record knowing he’s in the audience is oh-for-one. And he definitely didn’t seem impressed by the nomadic lifestyle I lead. How would he survive when I hitch my house to my truck and haul it to the next town?
I roll my lips to stop the giggle trying to escape when I think of how he’d react to some of the rest stops I visit on the road.
But these past four days have been game-changers. I worried being in such close proximity would overwhelm me. That we’d bicker or annoy each other to the point that when Pueblo came around, he’d be pushing me out the door. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time a guy dropped me as soon as he got to know me, but if anything, all this time has done is confirm how right War is for me.
Any time I offered to give him space, he held me closer. He likes my bossy side and is the only man I’ve ever felt safe enough with to surrender.
I trust him.
Swallowing my pride, my fear, my doubts, I say, “War, this probably isn’t the right time?—”
The door slams open, and Tuesday and Bond rush in, silencing the question on the tip of my tongue. Tuesday throws her arms around War and catches sight of his bandaged bare feet.
“What did you do?”
When he doesn’t answer, I do. “He showed that expensive timepiece who’s boss.” When all three heads in the room turn and look at me, I grimace. “Sorry. Ill-timed joke.”
War cracks a grin and shakes his head. “I sure did.”
I nudge him, encouraging him off the couch. Then I jerk my head toward the bar. “The note and, um, watch are up there.”
There’s a hushed gasp, and I meet Tuesday’s tear-filled eyes as she holds the mangled remnants of War’s watch. Bond, meanwhile, is a cloud of fury. He holds the thick linen paper like it’s a filthy rag, his handsome face twisted in anger.
Tuesday pries the note from Bond’s hand and what little color remaining in her cheeks bleeds away. “How could he… that bastard…” She paces back and forth in front of the bar, muttering.
Clearing my throat to get everyone’s attention, I stand. “Why don’t I let you guys talk about this in private.” War goes to protest, but I give him a quick hug and kiss. “I’ll go grab some breakfast. It’s early, and I’m starving.”
Bond nods. “That’s a good idea. I’ll call Clairy and give her a heads up.”
I snag War’s keys from the small hook by the door, but his hand on mine stops me.
“You don’t have to leave.”
“I’m not leaving, at least not yet.” He frowns at that. Cupping his cheek, I whisper, “You and your sister need time to talk. For now, I’m not leaving, but I am getting us a boatload of carbs and caffeine.”
It’s odd being in War’s Bronco without him and weirder still driving around the streets of Trail Creek alone. Thankfully, the town is small enough that the handful of trips we’ve taken downtown from War’s rental are enough for me to navigate to the bakery/cafe.
Clairy, bless her soul, waits for me outside The Bee and The Bean, three large white bags in hand. She sidles up to my window, smiling as she passes the bags to me.
“How are they?”
I hum and say, “In shock, I think.”
“I’ve interacted with that awful man once, and that is one more than I’d wish on my worst enemy.”
“On that, we can agree,” I say as she passes me a drink carrier full of coffee.
When I return to War’s, the mood is heavy, but not with despair; no, it’s an air of determination. And I know from the set of War’s jaw he won’t be joining me in Pueblo.
My heart aches, but I stay busy unpacking the bags and passing out the coffee. Once they start eating, I slip from the living room.
Think Jake can swing through Trail Creek and pick me up today?
Daddio
…
I watch the dots bounce on my screen. Jake works for Dad and is hauling Xpresso up for the rodeo.
Turns out Jake wasn’t able to make the drive. X and I will be there in two hours.
Before I can call him, my phone buzzes in my hands again.
We stayed the night in Dalhart and got an early start.
Want to talk about what happened?
Thank you There’ll be plenty of time on the ride.
I flop on War’s bed with a sigh and stare at the ceiling, willing my eyes to stay dry. This is the right thing to do. War needs time with Tuesday to figure this mess out. Even if they decide the answer is to do nothing, he should make that decision with her. Not over the phone or text because he’s two hundred miles away with me.
A soft knock interrupts my mini pity party. War leans against the frame, his amber eyes searching over me. I crook a finger and pat the mattress. When he lays down next to me, I curl my body over his.
“I was going to ask you to come with me, but?—”
“I was going to ask to go with you, but?—”
His smile matches mine until our mouths are too busy for anything besides tasting each other. I savor these kisses. They’ll have to last me a few days at least, possibly longer.
“How long do you have?” War asks, his large hands sliding under the hem of my tank top .
“Two hours. Is your sister still here?”
“No, she and Bond wanted to give us time to work out our next steps.” His thumb grazes my nipple, and when it puckers under my shirt, War climbs on top of me and sucks it through the material.
“Mm, next steps?”
His teeth tug at the hardened peak, and my whimper spills into the room. “Yeah, sweetheart. Next steps. I need a couple of days to square this mess up, but there’s no way I’m letting you go to Pueblo without branding each inch of your body, all your delicious noises, into my brain. Or without a promise that I’ll see you in the finals.”
“Then I guess I’ll let you do your worst, Pretty Boy.”
Pleasure pulses between my legs at the teasing touch of War’s fingers. With each kiss, each stroke, each thrust, the worry in my chest melts away, replaced with warm certainty.
We’re going to be alright.
Cheyenne, Wyoming
April
X and I are on fire.
The Cheyenne Rodeo isn’t as big of an event as Denver, but the pot tonight is nothing to blink at. Not to mention, a win here earns a heap of points. The big Boss and I are getting ready to warm up, and if all goes to plan, we’re walking away as the queens tonight.
Night one was perfect, and night two followed suit. So long as I stay focused—and don’t think about the silent phone I tucked away in my trailer—there’s no doubt how things will play out.
War promised he’d be in Pueblo for the finals, but things didn’t go as planned. He didn’t make it to Denver either. When he and Tuesday turned down their father’s offer—shocking—they found several additional assets tied to family accounts they needed to clear out. He explained it all to me during one of the multi-hour video calls we shared during our time apart.
Morning chats are for sharing how we slept, what we have planned for the day. Mid-day is to check in on his and Tuesday’s progress. Nights are for updates on how I raced, taking off our clothes, and pressing the boundaries of mutual masturbation.
Today, though, I only got my morning call. I’m trying not to pout, and I refrained from calling him after the first three went unanswered. I’m guessing something big is happening with the last holdings he and Tuesday are looking to liquidate.
Xpresso stamps her hoof, a prancy little move on her part to get my attention. Cooing to her, I take her lead and walk to the warm-up space. “We’re winning tonight.”
She tosses her glossy mane and nickers in agreement.
From behind me, a familiar voice chimes in. “Yep. You two are about to earn a big win. I can feel it.”
“Hey, Dad, what are you doing back here?” I wave my arm, spurring him to catch up.
“Just checking on you.” He flicks the brim of my hat.
I swat his hand away and straighten my Stetson. “We’re good, and you’re hovering. What’s wrong?”
Dad holds his hands up in surrender. “Hovering? That makes me sound like your Memaw. You’re breaking this old man’s heart.” At my smile and eye roll, he squeezes my shoulder. “Have a good run, Mimi. I’ll be waiting for you after your victory lap.”
X nudges me on, antsy to move. “I’ve got ya, girl. I’m ready to run, too.”
There’s no more time to think about War, Dad’s weird behavior, or anything else. By the time I work X through her warm-ups, they’re calling me to the alley. Like always, I take a beat to center myself. All my favorite scents—minus War’s body wash and skin—fill my nose. The mixture of hay, dirt, and horse soothes any remaining nerves, and with a pat to Xpresso’s neck, we approach the gate.
The countdown clock flashes.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
A toothy smile stretches across my face.
One.
And here we go.
Some people wait to change into a buckle they’ve won. Some never wear them at all. And some, the really cool ones, strip off their old buckle and slide the new one on the minute they jump off their horse.
I’m fiddling with my new hardware when a big hand settles on my lower back. Instantly, I know who it is. The bugs crawling up my spine are all the indication I need.
“Cyrus, get your goddamn hands off me.”
“Easy, Lucky.” His breath reeks, a mix of stale beer and gingivitis. The paw on my back shifts forward, sliding toward my hip. “Since you’ve already got your belt undone, why don’t we?—”
The words cut off, followed by a grunt and the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Shit. I spin, expecting to find my dad getting his butt kicked by Cyrus. Dad’s a tough guy, but Cyrus is a scrapper with a lifetime of stupidity on his side.
My mouth drops when, instead of my fifty-year-old father, I see a handsome man with russet hair, a clean-shaven face, and the shoulders of a swimmer .
War pins Cyrus to the ground, his phone to his ear, as he grins at me. “Hey, sweetheart. I know you can handle yourself, but I’ve had enough of this guy.”
I move to hug him, ready to lay him out in a full-body tackle but decide at the last second to drop my weight onto Cyrus’ legs instead. Hugging War from behind, I ask, “What are you doing?”
“Here? Or right now?”
I stifle a laugh and bury my face in the soft flannel of his shirt. “Both.”
War grunts and shifts, fighting to keep Cy on the ground. “Right now, I’m keeping this asshole from running off before security can get here. In general, I’m here to celebrate with the woman I lo—really like.”
I’m about to correct him, to encourage him to say the rest of that first word. Love. Because I feel it, too. The last three weeks have been challenging, but it’s also given us time to get to know each other. Fast? Sure. But also achingly slow.
A familiar pair of boots and two sets of dark combat-style shoes drift into my peripheral. I look up to find Dad and two security guards watching us. Dad quirks an eyebrow. “Should have known following these guys would lead me to you, Mimi.”
I extend an arm and Dad pulls me to standing while the large uniformed men separate War and Cyrus. Pointing at the cowboy who once again attempted to ruin my night, I say, “He has a history of harassment. I have a complaint on file.”
The security guard mumbles something into the radio on his shoulder before nodding at me. They grip Cyrus’ arms and lead him away; all the while, he’s cussing and swearing and making an even bigger ass of himself.
As soon as they’re out of sight, War has me in his arms. This touch is welcome. So, so welcome.
He presses a sweet kiss to my lips. “You kicked ass, Laramie. You and X were a well-oiled machine.”
My cheeks heat with his compliment. “You saw me? I was worried you might be bad luck. The one race I knew you were there for was a disaster.”
War throws back his head and laughs. The way I want to lick this man’s Adam’s apple…
“No way I’m bad luck. I watched you race live all three nights at Pueblo and Denver and for rounds one and two here.”
“What?”
He tilts his head toward my dad, who shrugs and tucks his hands into his pockets. “You aren’t the only one who knows how to video chat.”
Every cell inside me combusts into a pile of goo. “You watched all my races?”
“Yep. Cheered for you, alongside Tuesday, Bond, and the rest. You’ve got a pretty big fan club in Trail Creek.” He nuzzles his nose against mine until a cough from Dad pulls us apart.
“I’m flying to North Texas in the morning.” He pats War on the back. “You’re in good hands, Mimi.”
“The best,” I agree. “But you don’t have to go. I’ve got a break before I have to be in Lincoln.”
“I do have to get back. I’ve been gone for a longer stretch than usual, and the business and books are a mess.”
War clears his throat. “About that… Would you want to spend your break at home?”
“Why would you want to go to Pilot Point? Isn’t that a little close to Dallas for you? ”
Dad smiles and shakes War’s hand. “You two talk. See you soon, partner.”
“Partner?” If I thought the biggest shock of the night was War’s arrival in Wyoming, I’m sorely mistaken.
“Turns out Tuesday and I have some money to invest, and I’ve heard good things about the horses from Prairie Sky Equine and the owner.” He gives me a salacious wink. “And the owner’s daughter.”
“You’re investing in Dad’s horses? Why?”
“It’s a family business, isn’t it?”
I nod.
“Well, I’m investing in my family.”
Moving without thinking, I jump into War’s arms. “I love you.”
His eyes widen before fluttering shut, and his fingers tighten their grip. “I love you, too, Laramie.”
“We’ve got a lot to?—”
“We still have a lot to?—”
We smile at each other. We have so much to learn, but we also have the rest of our lives to do it. I plop my hat onto his head and capture his mouth with mine because, really, what more is there to say?