Chapter 16
Beau
“Over there, past the fence line, is the start of my property,” I said, pointing past the pastures.
“Oh shit. So you really are everywhere,” she muttered, shaking her head.
I stuffed my hands in my pockets, guilt creeping in.
I’d screwed up this morning, barging in on her like that.
I wasn’t thinking, but when she didn’t answer, I panicked.
Thought maybe something had happened. If we were going to be friends, I couldn’t pull that crap again.
It wasn’t something I’d ever do to Dalton, and she’d have to be like Dalton.
Except . . . the way her jeans clung to her, hugging every curve like they were made just for her, made it impossible to think of her like just a friend.
Snap out of it. Snap the fuck out of it.
“Guess so,” I said, forcing a casual tone as we walked toward the wooden fence.
The pastures stretched wide, a patchwork of green even in the heart of winter, dotted with scattered trees that stood against the cold breeze. The bulls moved slowly, their heavy forms blending into the expanse of the land.
“These are Kline’s retired bulls out here,” I said, nodding toward the pasture. “They’re mostly who I practice with.”
“Do you own bulls?” she asked, walking up to the fence line.
“I’ve got one cow, but I want more,” I said, leaning up against the fence. “And I’ve got two horses.”
Her eyes snapped to mine. “Horses?”
“Yeah,” I said with a nod. “Do you ride?”
She shook her head, her gaze dropping for a moment like she didn’t want to admit it. “Once, a long time ago, I wanted to. But I never got around to it.”
“You can ride my horse anytime you want,” I said, the smirk coming easily as the words slipped out.
She laughed, rolling her eyes in that way that somehow made her look even prettier. “I thought we weren’t doing that anymore.”
I chuckled, leaning a little closer just because I could. “Couldn’t help myself.”
Stepping back, I gestured to the fence, trying to rein in the grin tugging at my lips. “Come here. If I sit you up there, you can see the entire property—all of mine and Kline’s.”
She shook her head, drawing her mouth into a tight line as her teeth caught her bottom lip. “No. I’m fine right here.”
My eyebrows furrowed, then released. “Are you—”
She took a step back, cutting me off with a sharp shake of her head.
“Anywho,” she said quickly, the shift so obvious it made me want to press her even more. “Who takes care of the animals when you’re gone on the weekends?”
My mouth twitched like it wanted to betray me, but I ignored it and leaned against the fence. “I’ve got a ranch hand who helps out,” I said, watching her closely.
She was trying hard to change the subject, but the flush on her cheeks told me I’d already gotten under her skin.
“And what do you, like, do all day long? When you’re not at events?” she asked, tilting her head as we walked, her eyes lingering on mine longer than necessary.
“Are you calling me lazy, Cowgirl?” My tone was mock offended as I widened my eyes in exaggerated shock.
Her mouth twitched before she giggled, a sound so sweet, soft, and full of life it made me pause for half a second.
“No,” she said with a playful lilt. “Well . . .” She bit her lip as if considering.
“Careful now.”
She grinned.
“I work the ranch, train with the bulls, check on the animals. There’s always something that needs fixing or tending to.”
Her gaze flicked to the pastures, then back to me. “So, cowboy stuff.”
I chuckled. “Pretty much. It’s not all eight-second rides and belt buckles, you know. A lot of it is hauling feed and fixing fences.”
She raised an eyebrow. “So glamorous.”
“Very,” I deadpanned, though the grin tugging at my mouth probably ruined the effect. “You should try it sometime. Might suit you.”
She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth quirked up. “I think I’ll stick to watching.”
“Though I don’t see myself as a cowboy. I’m a bull rider, through and through. Maybe one day, when I retire, I’ll be a cowboy and actually tend to the ranch full-time.”
I gestured for her to keep walking, and we made our way along the fence, the bulls grazing lazily on the other side. Her sneakers kicked up dirt as we trudged through the grass.
“You’re kind of old to be a bull rider. I looked up your stats.”
I bumped her hip lightly with mine, making her laugh as she stumbled slightly.
She tucked her hands deeper into her jacket pockets, her nose turning pink from the wind. But her shoulders were loose, her posture relaxed, so I kept walking with her, matching her easy pace.
“I’m serious,” she said, laughing again. “I was doing research and listening to podcasts on the way down. A lot of bull riders don’t make it past their thirties. Most of them retire much younger and move on to something else.”
I grinned at her curiosity, but there was a pang of truth in her words. “Yeah, well, I guess I’ve always been a little stubborn. Still feels like I’ve got a few good years left.”
“Stubborn?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “I never would’ve guessed.”
The sarcasm in her voice was hard to miss, and I laughed as we kept walking.
“My dad is my coach. He works with Dalton and me.”
“Is Dalton your brother?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Not even close. Although, there’ve been plenty of times he probably wished he was.
” My eyes followed a bull grazing lazily near the fence as I explained.
“Dalton’s about ten years younger than me.
We’ve known each other for years. He was just this scrappy little kid always trying to keep up with the older ones.
” We continued to walk along the perimeter, heading in the direction of my ranch, though we were still a ways away.
“His family never supported it. They don’t see it as a real career, just some reckless hobby. ”
“Poor Dalton. That sucks.”
“It does,” I admitted, my voice lower, thinking about how much Dalton had fought for this. “My dad stepped up. The moment Dalton showed real interest, my dad made sure he had what he needed—gear, advice, a place to practice. It’s all my dad knows. He used to ride bulls himself back in the day.”
Her expression shifted to curiosity. “Oh wow. So it runs in the family.”
“Yeah,” I said with a nod, the memories coming back vividly.
“Growing up, it was everything. My dad taught me how to handle the bulls, how to read their movements, how to respect them. It wasn’t just about holding on for eight seconds; it was about understanding the animals, the rhythm of it all.
He pushed me hard, but it wasn’t just for the competition—it was because he wanted me to respect what I was doing. ”
I glanced at her, and her soft expression caught me off guard. Her green eyes held mine longer than I expected. There was something about the way she was looking at me—not just listening, but really hearing me—that made it feel easier to open up.
She was all fire and quick comebacks, but this was different. The tension between us wasn’t crackling; it was pulling me in.
I hadn’t opened up about any of this with anyone in a long time. Standing here with her, sharing pieces of my past, it felt . . . natural. Comfortable in a way that made my chest ache, even though I shouldn’t let it.
Her gaze flicked to mine, and for a second, I forgot about the bulls grazing behind us, the cold bite of the wind, or the fact that I shouldn’t be feeling this way about her. The way her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how, made me hold my breath.
“What happened to your dad?”
I felt the weight of the question settle, and for a moment, I wasn’t standing in the pasture anymore. I was back in that arena, the sounds of cheers turning into gasps, my heart pounding as I watched him fall.
It was the month after Mom died. He got on a bull, even though my uncles told him not to. His friends told him not to. We all told him not to. His head wasn’t in it, but he wouldn’t listen. Looking back, I wonder if it was to prove something to himself.
He drew Becky Buckles, the nastiest bull in the circuit.
He had those long, stretched-out strides, the kind that could whip a rider clear across the arena if you didn’t stick tight.
You don’t want a bull like that. The good ones buck in a tight circle.
Becky Buckles didn’t do clean or predictable.
He was chaos and he’d throw you harder and faster than you could blink.
I coughed, snapping myself back to the present, aware of Fable watching me.
“I, uh, he got in a wreck.” My voice strained to get the words out.
“Fell off the bull around five or six seconds in. Her back legs came down right on his femurs.” I swallowed hard, the memory still sharp after all these years.
“He was in the hospital for a long time, getting it all fixed up. He can walk okay, but sometimes he has to use a cane. Not that he’ll admit it—he’s a stubborn motherfucker. ”
I stopped, and so did Fable, her eyes searching mine as she gave me an understanding nod.
“He’s fine now,” I added, forcing a shrug. “That was it. His bull riding days were over.” I hesitated, the next words sticking in my throat. “It was only a, uh, a month after my mom passed,” I whispered, my voice cracking against my will.
Her eyes widened, and she fumbled over her words. “Y-Your mom passed away?”
“Yeah. I was just a kid. High school.”
The pause between us stretched. She looked down at her sneakers, kicking lightly at the dirt, and wrung her hands, brushing her fingers over the chafed red skin.
They were dry and scratched up, almost like she’d been scrubbing them too hard. I wondered if it was just the dry air down here, the kind that cracked even the toughest hands. Maybe I should stop by the store on my way back home and grab her some lotion—
“My parents are both gone too,” she whispered suddenly, her voice so soft it blended with the breeze.
For a second, I thought I might’ve imagined it, but the way she continued looking at the ground told me I hadn’t.
She didn’t look up, still fidgeting with her hands, and for once, I didn’t know what to say. I had no comeback or quirky remark. I knew the pain of losing one parent and couldn’t imagine that times two.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly, leaning a little closer. “For both of them. That . . . that kind of loss? It stays with you.”
I wasn’t sure if my words helped or just added weight to the moment, but I meant them. I really did.
She lifted her glossy eyes to mine, and all I wanted was to pull her close and make it better.
But we’d just set a boundary—barely an hour ago—and I couldn’t go breaking that already.
I had to stick to it, keep things friendly, because nothing about our situation had changed.
We were still neighbors, and this would get messy fast if I crossed a line.
So, I did what any sensible man would do in my situation: I awkwardly stuck my hands out, keeping my hips as far back as possible to avoid . . . well, touching anything I shouldn’t. Leaning in so I was bent at a sharp ninety degrees, I slowly wrapped my arms around her.
Her eyes widened, and she stood completely frozen. My hands circled her back in the most nonthreatening way possible—one landing stiffly on the top of her shoulder, the other on her upper back, far, far away from her plump little ass in those tight jeans.
Dammit. Even thinking about her jeans made my dick twitch, and I couldn’t have her see me getting a damn hard-on while I was trying to console her, so I pushed my hips backward a bit more.
The moment passed agonizingly awkwardly as I patted her like she was a baby I was trying to burp, and then she shook.
Her laughter erupted first as a small giggle, then turned into full-on wheezing.
“The fuck are you doing?” she managed between gasps for air, doubling over with laughter.
“I, uh, I’m consoling you, dammit,” I said, pulling back like I’d just been burned.
She was gone, clutching her stomach and dropping to the cold ground as her laughter echoed around us.
“That was painfully awkward to experience,” she gasped, kicking her feet in the air as if to emphasize just how ridiculous I’d looked. “I’m going to pee myself from laughing so hard.”
“God dammit,” I grumbled, straightening and brushing myself off. “Get up, Cowgirl. I’m done with this.”
She was still laughing, her shoulders shaking as I reached down and hauled her to her feet. “Now I’m freezing.”
“That’s what you get,” I muttered, but her laughter still echoed, the sound trailing behind us as I pointed toward where we’d rounded the fence and my house came into view.
“Come on,” I said, nodding in that direction. “I’ll let you warm up—and maybe even give you a beer.”
“After that bizarre little show you just put on, I think I deserve something stronger.” She teased me, a grin still tugging at her lips.
“Good. Because I think I need it too.”