Chapter 12
Beau
“Beaudreau Banks,” Gatlin hollered from across the bar.
He strode over, his signature grin already in place. Gatlin was a bull rider who worked the rodeo circuit, which was a whole different world from the professional world Dalton and I were in.
“What the hell are you doing here, man?” I asked, shaking his hand firmly.
Dalton had already wandered off toward the bar, muttering under his breath about how I’d roped him into buying the first round.
He’d been in a foul mood since Idaho, where he didn’t place and ended up going home empty-handed.
The lack of a paycheck had him grumbling about money every chance he got, but he’d still come back with the beers.
“Got injured so I’m taking the week to rest,” Gatlin said casually, but I pulled back, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Get fucked, man. I am actually injured.” He burst into laughter before I could even open my mouth.
I shook my head, chuckling. “Didn’t say a word.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waved me off. “Decided to come check out your little town for a bit. Your dad’s been helping me out with a few things, and he mentioned you were out here tonight.”
“No shit,” I said with a laugh, shaking my head. Gatlin always had a way of showing up unannounced, but somehow, it was never unwelcome.
Like Dalton, he was about ten years younger than me, but Gatlin’s life on the road with the rodeo gave him a certain kind of grit.
While he dealt with the unpredictable chaos of the rodeo circuit, we worked on the bull riding tour, where the stakes were different, but the bulls were a little more unforgiving.
The stakes might’ve been different, but at the end of the day, we were both chasing the same thing.
Even if we gave each other shit about which side was better, it was always good to see him.
It reminded me that, no matter the circuit, we were all cut from the same cloth.
“Big crowd here tonight,” Gatlin said, gesturing around the bar with a nod.
Dalton returned and handed me a beer. “Pool?”
I nodded, and the three of us made our way toward the pool table.
“I’m horny as fuck. There better be some new pussy tonight. I need to get laid,” Dalton announced, completely unbothered by his lack of subtlety.
“Sure don’t change, do you, Dalt?” Gatlin said, shaking his head and laughing as he grabbed a pool stick.
Gatlin racked up the balls while Dalton chalked his cue, still grinning like he hadn’t announced his personal business to the whole bar. I took a sip of my beer, leaning against the edge of the table as Gatlin broke, the crack of the balls echoing through the room.
“So, what’s next for you guys after this?” Gatlin asked, watching as a solid rolled neatly into a corner pocket.
“Oklahoma,” I said.
“World Championship’s creeping up fast,” Gatlin said, lining up his next shot. “You feeling ready?”
“Not like I have a choice,” I muttered.
“He’s third in the standing,” Dalton said, taking his turn and missing his shot entirely. He cursed under his breath. “Don’t let him tell you shit.”
Gatlin chuckled, sinking another ball with practiced precision. “Not bad.”
“Yeah, heard you’re doing well down South,” I said, eyeing him as I took a sip of my beer.
He nodded, leaning on his cue stick. “Ready for the season to shift, though. I’m getting tired of all the driving through the Southern states.”
“The grind never stops,” Dalton added with an exaggerated sigh, lining up his next shot.
Gatlin smirked, a hint of fatigue in his expression. “Ain’t that the truth.”
The door swung open, letting in a blast of cold air that swept through the bar.
For a split second, everything went quiet—the kind of hush that always made you turn and look, even if you didn’t want to.
I continued leaning back, sipping my beer, not paying it much mind, until Dalton gasped. Loudly and obnoxiously.
“The fuck?” I muttered, raising an eyebrow at him.
“The Ball Chopper,” he murmured, his eyes wide and glued to the door.
Gatlin shot me a look, half curious, half amused. We both looked in the direction Dalton was staring.
My beer froze halfway to my lips as my gaze shifted, slowly taking in the two girls who had walked in. One of them I recognized, but the other . . .
“Holy shit,” I murmured under my breath.
She was wearing black-and-white checkered plaid pants that flared out at the ankles, hugging her hips enough to make you stare longer than you should. Her shirt—hell, her nipples were hard and right there on display, like she didn’t give a damn who noticed.
“It’s her,” I muttered, the words slipping out as I thought them.
Gatlin, sensing something was up, walked over and followed my line of sight. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I think I fucking did.”
I stood up, the world around me fading as I took a slow step toward them, blinking like I needed to clear my vision. There was no way this was real. No way she was standing there in front of me in little ole Lindley.
“Oh shit,” Dalton whispered loudly behind me. “Is that the girl who’s got your balls all twisted?”
“Shut the fuck up,” I hissed, elbowing him hard in the ribs. “Seriously.”
I froze, caught between wanting them to notice us and praying they wouldn’t. My heart was racing, and my head was spinning, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Every nerve in my body was on edge, strung tight with the tension of the moment.
I couldn’t tell if I wanted to face her or run like hell.
“Ball buster,” Dalton shouted.
“Is murder legal here?” I murmured to Gatlin, who was standing next to me, stifling a laugh.
The dark-haired woman turned her head sharply, her hair swinging over one shoulder as her eyes landed right on us. She leaned in, nudging her friend. The other girl glanced our way briefly and quickly looked away, her posture stiffening.
“What did you do to her?” Gatlin whispered.
“Fucked her,” Dalton said, loud enough to make me whip my head around.
I yanked off my hat and threw it at him, hitting him square in the chest. He caught it with a grin, clearly proud of himself.
“Come on. We’re going to say hi. Gotta be friendly neighbors.”
I grabbed his arm before he could take another step. “Friendly neighbors, my ass. Don’t start shit, Dalt.”
But he was already moving, my hat still in his hand, dragging me headfirst in.
We made our way through the crowded bar area, where the girl who haunted my dreams and my damn right hand was.
“Hey, Cowgirl,” I said and slid up next to her.
She looked good. Damn, she looked so good, and I inhaled, the familiar smell of strawberries and vanilla strong.
“You said he didn’t live here,” she whined to her friend.
She had to know. She had to know that the feistier she got, the harder my dick got.
“I didn’t think he did,” her friend said, turning toward me. I immediately recognized her—Harleigh Harris. She gave me a pointed look. “Why are you here?”
“We live here.” Dalton cut in before I could answer, stepping up beside me like he belonged in this mess. “Also, I knew I recognized you when I met you—”
“I know who you are, Dalton. Obviously,” Harleigh snapped, cutting him off. “You too, Gatlin.”
Gatlin laughed and reached his hand out. “Good to see you, Harls. It’s been a damn while since high school.”
Harleigh completely ignored his hand. “This is my best friend—”
“Fable.” I interrupted her, my voice a little rougher than I intended. Her name felt heavy in my throat, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her.
Fable still wouldn’t look at me. She extended her hand toward Gatlin instead.
“Nice to meet you,” she said with a polite smile.
The tension between us was thick enough to cut with a knife, but Fable seemed determined to pretend I wasn’t there. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t stop staring, no matter how hard I tried.
“What’re you guys doing here?” Dalton said. “You don’t live here.”
“Do now,” Harleigh huffed, hands on her hips.
“Unfortunately,” Fable muttered under her breath.
Live here? They . . . live here? The woman of my fucking dreams was in this town, and I was supposed to avoid her Monday through Wednesday?
“Sure do. We’re working for Kline and Maribel to help with the bull auctions.”
No fucking way.
If she was working with the bulls, that meant she’d be there when I practiced. I’d run into her—not because Lindley was small, but because she was in my world.
Wait—if she was working for Kline, did that mean I’d even see her on the road? At events? My stomach twisted at the thought. This wasn’t a casual run-in. She was tangled up in the very thing I lived for.
“What do you say, Beau? The girl you fuc—”
“Shut up,” Fable and I snapped in unison.
She threw her hands up, exasperated, and turned to Harleigh. “I gotta get air. This, being around him”—she jabbed a finger in my direction—“is suffocating.”
With one final huff, she stormed toward the door.
Harleigh’s glare could have burned a hole through me.
Dalton nudged me, grinning. “Told you she’s scary.”
“Fix this,” Harleigh spat.
I pointed to myself, incredulous. “Me? Fix it? I didn’t do shit. She’s the one who walked out on me.”
“Go,” Harleigh said, shoving me forward.
I grumbled under my breath, but followed the streak of blonde hair outside into the biting cold.
“We’re meeting again in the cold?” I muttered, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets.
Fable spun around, her eyes sharp. “No. Please, go back inside with your friends. I’m fine.”
I stopped a few steps away, watching as she paced across the gravel in front of the bar. Her boots crunched with each step, the sound somehow louder in the quiet night.
“You don’t look fine, Cowgirl,” I said, leaning back on my boot heel as I studied her.
“Seriously,” she snapped, holding her hands up like a shield. “I’m fine.”
The tiny tear slipping down the side of her face told me everything I needed to know. Fine wasn’t pacing in the cold with wet cheeks and trembling hands. Fine wasn’t whatever this was.