Chapter 22
Beau
“Damn, it’s pouring out there.” Roger pointed out.
I was at the sink helping Roger finish up the dishes while the girls sat in the front room, finishing up their drinks.
“Yeah, probably why Gat and Dalton left early,” I added.
“You ready for the event this weekend?”
I scrubbed a dish a little too long, eyes drifting toward the girl in the corner of the room.
Honey-blonde hair, skirt riding high on her thigh.
My grip on the sponge tightened as my mind betrayed me, dragging me back to that night at the hotel—her skin against mine, the way she felt, the way she moved her tight little ass—
“You good there?” Roger’s voice snapped me back.
I blinked, looking up at him, nodding and shaking my head at the same time. “Yeah, yeah. This weekend’s my first shot at placing for the world championship in the spring. It’ll be tight, but I think I’ve got it handled.”
“Wisconsin, right?”
“Yeah, Milwaukee.”
Roger cocked his head in the direction of the girls. “Fancy Fable?”
“No. Definitely not. We’re just friends,” I said, though the words felt somewhat like sandpaper coming out.
“Harleigh said she’d gotten out of a shitty relationship before this. Treat her right.”
Curiosity got the best of me. “Was it serious?”
He shrugged. “Don’t think it was serious, more so a long relationship.”
That was better. I could handle a shitty relationship in her past, but I couldn’t deal with an ex coming back into the picture.
Wait . . .
Fuck.
I couldn’t do any of it because we were just friends.
I dropped the sponge onto the counter and gave Roger a pat on the shoulder. “We should head back before things get worse out there.”
“You sure you don’t want to wait out the storm?”
I shook my head, already crossing into the living room. “You ready?”
I kept my gaze anywhere but on her, because if I let myself look too long, those big green eyes would pull me in again. Why was it so damn hard to just be friends with her?
Maybe if I got another taste, I could get her out of my system. Maybe that was all it was—proximity, temptation, the way she was close enough to touch, yet forbidden.
I never stayed friends with the girls I hooked up with before.
Maybe that was the problem.
“Are you sure you guys don’t want to bunker down here? It’s thundering pretty bad,” Harleigh asked, but I was already reaching for my hat.
“Nope,” I said, settling it on my head. “Besides, isn’t it y’all’s first day of work tomorrow?”
“It is. Maribel’s going to walk us through how the stock auctions work and what exactly they want from us,” Harleigh said, grabbing Fable’s bag.
Fable nodded. “Beau’s right. I should get home. It’s not that far, and I’m sure it’ll let up.”
“It’s a straight shot down the road.” I smiled, reaching for an umbrella from the holder near the front door. “We’ll be borrowing this, though.”
“No problem,” Roger chuckled from behind us as he pulled Fable into a quick hug.
“Nice to see you, kid.”
“You too.”
“Don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t.”
She turned, her hair catching in the dim porch light as I pushed open the door, the storm still rumbling in the distance.
I stepped out first, popping open the umbrella as the rain pattered against the porch steps. Fable hesitated for a second, then moved under it, close enough that I could smell the faint hint of vanilla and strawberries.
Keeping the umbrella tilted to cover her more than myself, I walked her to the truck, the gravel slick beneath our boots. I pulled open the door, shielding her from the worst of the downpour as she climbed in.
“You sure it’s okay to drive?” She glanced out at the sheets of rain blurring the road.
I shook off some of the droplets clinging to my sleeve. “I’ve got precious cargo. I’ll make sure to go slow.”
The corners of her lips curled into a soft smile, but I didn’t linger. Just shut her door and made my way to the driver’s side, ready to get us the hell out of here.
The truck rumbled to life, headlights cutting through the dense curtain of rain as I eased us onto the main road.
The downpour instantly intensified, sheets of water hammering against the windshield.
The wipers flew back and forth in a desperate attempt to keep up, but it was useless.
Visibility shrank to almost nothing, the road ahead blurred by relentless waves of rain.
My grip tightened on the wheel.
Everything outside was chaotic—the wind howling, rain lashing against the truck, the tires kicking up water from the flooded asphalt.
The storm had turned violent in an instant, and my pulse pounded in my throat.
This was bad. Worse than I’d expected. I wasn’t about to admit it out loud, but I sure as hell felt it, the unease clawing its way up my spine.
And then—
A blinding strike of lightning split the sky, hitting the open field beside us with a deafening crack.
Fable shrieked, hands flying to her face.
On instinct, I yanked the wheel, pulling the truck into the nearest driveway, gravel skidding beneath the tires as we came to a jerking stop. I kept us far enough away from any trees but close enough to the highway so that we could pull out quickly when the storm passed.
My breath was heavy, pulse hammering, but my first thought wasn’t the storm. It was her.
“Hey now,” I whispered, reaching over without thinking, my fingers finding her arm. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay.” She gestured wildly outside. “It’s a fucking tsunami.”
I chuckled. “It’s just a big downpour.”
She shot me a sharp look. “We almost got struck by lightning.”
“We didn’t.”
Eh. We were close.
Her big green eyes stayed wide, her hands trembling in her lap. “What’re we gonna do now?”
“We’re gonna sit here and wait for the storm to pass before we drive the rest of the way home.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Safest place to be in a lightning storm is a car. Besides, no one else is dumb enough to be driving right now, so we’re better off waiting.”
She huffed, glancing out into the darkness. “What if the owner of this place comes out with a shotgun or some shit?”
I gestured toward the relentless sheets of rain pelting the truck. “In this storm?”
“Ugh,” she groaned, sinking deeper into her seat, crossing her arms. Her knee bumped mine, a small touch, but I felt it everywhere.
I leaned back, reaching into the back of the truck and pulling out a large, well-worn blanket.
“Can’t say it’s the cleanest. Usually I store my rope on it, but you look cold.”
She hesitated a moment before nodding.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, taking it from me and pulling it up to her chest.
I leaned over, reaching for the lever on the side of her seat. Before she could react, I pulled it, sending her seat back with a sudden jerk.
She gasped, hands gripping the blanket tighter, legs shifting beneath the hem of that damn denim skirt that was already riding too high on her thighs.
My fingers brushed against the bare skin above her knee.
I was a goner.
My jaw tightened, breath hitching as I forced myself back into my seat, propping my legs up on the dashboard like I wasn’t coming apart inside.
“Want to play a game?” I was desperate to distract myself from the way her skin felt against mine again.
Her head rolled toward me, green eyes flickering with curiosity. “What do you have in mind, bull rider?”
I laughed. “Two truths and a lie.”
“That’s the best you’ve got? Thought a bull rider like you would know how to take bigger risks.”
“You trying to call me boring?”
She stretched her legs out, her foot under the blanket nudging mine. “I’m just saying, if we’re stuck in this truck all night, I was expecting a little more excitement. Maybe you’ve lost your edge.”
My jaw ticked as I watched her, heat curling low in my stomach. “Careful, Cowgirl.” My voice dipped. “You keep pushing, you might find out how sharp that edge still is.”
Her smile deepened. “Fine,” she said, tilting her head. “Let’s play. You go first.”
I stretched out a little more, letting my fingers drum lazily against my knee. “Alright. One—I’ve broken three ribs riding. Two—I once got kicked out of a bar for fighting. And three—I hate thunderstorms.”
Her lips pressed together as she studied me, dragging her eyes over my face.
“Hmm,” she murmured, shifting again, the hem of her skirt along with her blanket creeping another inch up her thigh.
This game might kill me.
“Well, considering you’re a bull rider, the broken ribs are definitely true. And you don’t seem like the type to back down from a fight, so that one’s probably true, too.”
I chuckled. “Once or twice.”
“So, that means you don’t actually hate thunderstorms. Which makes sense, because you’re too stubborn to be scared of anything.”
“Cocky answer.”
She shrugged. “Confident answer.”
I swiped my tongue over my bottom lip as I watched her, that damn smirk still playing at the edges of her mouth.
“Am I right?”
“Yeah, yeah. Go on and gloat.” I leaned back while I listened to her giggle. “Your turn, Cowgirl.”
She tapped her fingers against her thigh, considering for a moment before meeting my gaze. “Alright. One—the bulls terrify me. Two—I’ve danced in the rain before. Three—I wasn’t actually scared of leaving Chicago.”
I shook my head. “Easy. Number three. You were terrified.”
She leaned back, grinning like she was enjoying this. “Nope,” she said, stretching out and watching the rain streak down the windshield. “I wasn’t scared. Sure, maybe at first I was nervous, but scared? No. I needed a change.”
She lifted a hand, gesturing toward the storm outside, the darkness stretching beyond the fields. “This? This is a change. I needed to live a little recklessly.”
Live recklessly.
Recklessness wasn’t something I’d ever had to force—it was part of my blood, woven into my bones. I rode wild animals for a living. I took risks, put my body on the line every damn day.
“And not in the way that you’re reckless,” she added.
“Yeah?”
She nodded, her gaze drifting back to the rain. “Your kind of reckless is all risk, no safety net. You throw yourself into things knowing you might get hurt. Mine . . . mine is different. It’s stepping into something new and hoping I don’t lose myself in the process.”
Her words sank deep, pressing into something I wasn’t ready to name.
Because she wasn’t wrong. I didn’t do calculated risks. I took the hit. I hit back harder.
Living recklessly meant something different for her.
She was taking a different kind of risk. One that had nothing to do with bulls or adrenaline and everything to do with trust.
And damn if that wasn’t the bravest thing I’d ever seen.
I coughed, trying to ignore the itch clawing up my throat, the desperate urge to grab her, pull her onto my lap—anything to cross the fraying friendship line.
I had to change the subject, so I cleared my throat. “That must mean you haven’t danced in the rain.”
She shook her head, tucking the blanket tighter around herself. “No. Never. I’ve got a thing for being clean,” she admitted awkwardly.
I glanced up at the sky, at the heavy sheets of water pouring down. “Rain’s coming from above. Not touching anything first. Seems clean enough to me.”
Her lips parted slightly.
I grinned, tilting my head toward the door.
“You ready to be reckless, Cowgirl?”