18. Winnie
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
winnie
One big hand catches my wrist, and I halt mid-step. He doesn’t say a word at first—just tugs me closer, eyes scanning the stands.
I didn’t expect to see him before warm-ups. Then he drops a shirt in my hand.
It’s too big, it’s black and soft. STETSON is stamped across the back in white letters.
“Wear that,” he demands. “And stand where I can see you when I’m up.”
I laugh. “You boss all your fake girlfriends around like this?”
He grins. “Only the ones I ride for.”
Then—like it’s nothing—he tips the brim of his hat toward the dirt before turning for the arena, climbing the rail with that easy, annoying confidence that makes the crowd lose its damn mind.
And god help me, I let myself believe it means something.
When he’s up, Danger swings up onto the bull like he’s climbing into a familiar chair. No rush. No nerves. Just a steady, unbothered calm that doesn’t feel right for a man about to tempt death.
He settles in, adjusts his grip, nods once. Then, like he feels me watching, his gaze finds mine. It drifts to the shirt swallowing me, and one corner of his mouth lifts. Then he winks.
My stomach flips so hard I swear I feel it in my toes.
The gate snaps open. The bull explodes out from under him, all muscle and fury, and Danger goes with it like he belongs there—like gravity is optional and fear isn’t something he knows anything about. The crowd is roaring, but I barely hear it over my own pulse.
Seconds stretch. Eight feels like eighty.
I’m on my feet without realizing it, screaming his name, my hands locked together so tight they ache. The buzzer sounds and the stands erupt.
Still, he rides. Like he’s pushing his limit. Finally—finally—he rolls free, hits the dirt clean, and comes up grinning.
Then he finds me again. The shirt. That dark, claiming smile catches on me and doesn’t let go. And only once he’s out of the arena—once I know he’s safe, walking, alive—do I realize I haven’t let myself breathe the entire time.
I sink back onto the bench, lungs burning, heart still somewhere in the dirt with him. Sawyer looks down at me in disappointment.
“Okay, nope—absolutely not,” she says, already hauling me to my feet. “They both just rode well, which means we’re legally required to go claim them before the buckle bunnies do.”
“I—Sawyer?—”
“Interviews are boring, the crowd’s feral, and my fiancé is sweaty and all worked up.” She grins. “Move your legs.”
I barely have time to argue before she’s pulling me through the chaos, weaving us behind the pens like she’s done this a hundred times.
Boots, dust, voices—everything blurs. Sawyer spots Trouble first and squeals, launching herself straight into his arms. There’s a cluster of riders gathered beside the bucking chutes.
They're facing the arena, backs mostly to us.
I look around for Danger, but I hear his voice first.
"...don't read into it," Danger says. "She doesn't mean anything.”
I stop. The Kennedy’s ranch hand, Copper—the same one who nearly lost a leg because of Danger—lets out a low laugh. “Funny way to talk about your girl.”
Danger exhales. Casually. “She’s a convenience,” he says. “That’s it.”
Then he adds, almost bored, “Something to keep me busy until something better comes along.”
Something inside me caves in.
A convenience.
I don’t wait to hear the rest. I rip the rodeo bracelet off my wrist before I even get ten steps from the gate.
A stampede of boots and giggles surges past me.
I let it swallow me, let the echo of the crowd become white noise.
Don’t look back, don’t let him see you break. That’s a rule I was raised on.
I almost make it to the parking lot before Sawyer catches up. She moves fast for someone in wedges.
“Winnie!” she calls. “Where are you going?”
I keep my back to her, counting my own inhales. Two. Three. Four. If I turn now, she’ll know how upset I am.
She jogs the last few steps and plants herself in front of me, arms folded tight.
“What’s going on?” She squints at me. “Who upset you?”
I shake my head. “No one. It’s nothing.” I can’t even look her in the eye. There’s still a splinter of Danger’s voice somewhere in my mind, and I don’t trust myself to speak without vomiting it up.
Sawyer isn’t buying it. She’s got this way of staring so hard it’s like she’s peeling back your skull to see what’s inside.
“Was it Rylee?” she asks. “Because if she was there and said something, I’ll go handle her right now.” She starts to move past me, murder in her eyes.
I stop her with a hand on her arm. “It’s not Rylee.”
Sawyer’s mouth twists. “Then what? who?”
I take a breath. “It’s Danger.”
She stills. “Danger?”
I nod, then force the words out fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid.
“I overheard him saying awful things about me.” My throat tightens. “I thought things were… going somewhere.” I clamp my mouth shut. “Doesn’t matter.”
Why am I even hurt? None of this is real. I’ve known that from the start.
Sawyer exhales hard through her nose, already offended on my behalf. “Okay. First of all—rude.” She plants a hand on her hip. “Second of all, men are trash until proven otherwise.”
I let out a weak laugh.
“Third,” she adds, warming up now, “Danger Stetson is emotionally unavailable, possibly feral, and absolutely not allowed to decide your worth. Maybe he’s spiraling. Maybe he’s got a murder charge. Maybe he’s hiding a body.” She shrugs. “Unclear. But not your problem.”
Despite myself, I snort. “Why are all of those things probably true?”
She shrugs. “Ranch math. It adds up.”
“What would I do without you?” I ask quietly.
Sawyer flicks my forehead. “Perish. Tragically. The sun would dim. I mean, no one could go on.”
That finally gets a real laugh out of me.
“I just need some air,” I say. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Say the word,” she says instantly. “I will come find you.”
I nod, and she squeezes my arm once, gentle, before turning back.
Once I leave the area, I spot a barn with a few horses wandering nearby. I peek inside and no one’s around. The quiet out here is brutal. No traffic. No noise. Just me, the horses, and a sky big enough to make me feel like a tiny little bug.
I stop walking and blow out a breath. I’m tired of pretending tonight. Of being the fake girlfriend. Of wanting him and not being wanted back. Of how, even though I’m in a fake relationship, I’m still letting a man walk all over me.
So, I do what I always do when I start to feel invisible.
I open my dating app.
It panics at my location, like I’ve fallen off the map. So, I drag the pin to the nearest real town and wait for the universe to send me a sign. The first guy who pops up is named Frank. His bio says: Half turtle. Half boyfriend material.
I stare at his blurry bathroom mirror selfie until I snort, because he really does look like a turtle. A full-on, neck-tucked, haunted-eyed turtle.
The laugh breaks out of me before I can stop it, loud and wild in the empty pasture, echoing like I’ve officially lost my mind.
Yeah. This is it. This is my romantic destiny. Me, falling for another Stetson—who happens to be the older brother of the last Stetson I fell for—another cowboy who absolutely does not want me…
And a reptile named Frank.
I’ve really outdone myself this time.
I’m still giggling when I duck behind the main barn.
There’s an empty horse stall back here, and I park myself on a bale of hay, phone still open to Frank’s tragic little smirk.
He likes murder documentaries, pigeons, and puzzles.
I should message him something savage—maybe recommend a good reptile specialist, or an exorcist—but I just sigh and let my head tip back against the wood.
I’m contemplating if I already hit my peak in romantic prospects when the phone vanishes clean out of my hand.
“What the fuck?”
I jerk forward, but it’s already too late. Danger’s holding it, thumb scrolling like he’s not currently invading my personal property. He towers over me, broad and solid, his jaw set in a line that would make a lesser girl beg for forgiveness.
“You cheating on me already, Winnie?”
His hand makes my phone look like a toy.
“Give it back,” I demand, scrambling to my feet, instantly defensive. But he just raises it higher, out of reach.
“You wanna keep playin’ this game and see how I answer?” He raises my phone higher, eyes burning.
“Me playing a game? That’s rich coming from you.”
“Tell me, Winnie—am I dealin’ with this now… or later?”
I’ve never wanted to slap someone so bad in my life.
I’ve also never wanted to be dealt with so bad in my life.
“Give it back,” I snap, reaching for my phone. “Now.”
He doesn’t. Just studies the screen, then me, then the screen again. “Frank,” he says, all smug. “Half-turtle. This your type?”
My face goes hot. “You made it clear this is a fake relationship, Danger. I get it now. What do you care if I check the app for someone who actually?—”
He sets my phone on the top edge of the stall. There’s a thousand ways I could slip free at this moment. I don’t use any of them.
His mouth curves. Slow. Infuriating.
“Someone who what?” he asks. “You think he’s gonna treat you well?”
“Maybe.”
He laughs, like this is a game. Like other men are a joke.
I lift my hand to slap him. Not hard. More instinct than intent.
He catches my wrist midair.
The second his hand closes around me, everything changes.
In one smooth motion, he steps into my space, forcing me back until my shoulders hit the stall wall behind us. Wood at my back. Him everywhere else. His grip isn’t rough—but he’s immovable. Staring at me like he’s holding back something worse.
I wet my lips before I can stop myself. His eyes follow the movement.
“Go ahead,” he says quietly, leaning in until I feel his breath along my cheek. “See how that goes.”
“And if any man shows up,” he continues, dark and lethal, “he’s gonna wish he hadn’t.”
I believe him. Every word. His hand is still wrapped around my wrist. His other arm braces beside my head, boxing me in. I’m trapped, but I don’t want to be rescued.