Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
Salem
Another cowboy gets launched like a rag doll, making everyone scream.
I wince as he hits the ground hard, kicking up a cloud of dirt.
The bull he was riding bucks wildly in the ring while rodeo clowns rush in to distract it.
Dust hangs in the air, the scent of sweat, leather, and testosterone clinging to everything.
My camera stays glued to my face, snapping shot after shot, heart hammering in time with the announcer's voice blaring overhead.
This isn’t my scene, not by a long shot, but there’s something mesmerizing about watching men try to conquer the unconquerable.
Eight seconds. That’s all they get to stay on the bull. It’s kind of beautiful and... really fucking hot to watch if I’m being honest. Shit, maybe I should open up my resume.
I lower the camera for a second, brushing hair from my face as I glance at the lineup behind the chutes when Taylor whines in my ear for the umpteenth time.
“Please, Sally Mal? Please.”
“No, fuck off.”
There are a lot of things I’m willing to do for this tour—for these men.
Coordinate last-minute venue changes when rodeos pick up our show?
Sure. Sleep in a truck bed under bug-infested weather conditions?
Absolutely. Patch up road rash with duct tape?
Done it so many times for these boys I’ve lost count.
But I need to draw the line somewhere.
“Come on, Salem,” Taylor pleads, leading a chestnut colored horse toward me. “We're in Kentucky! It’s basically sacrilege if you don’t ride a horse.”
I take a step back and side-eye the animal like it might bite me. “I’m not getting on that thing.”
Tay gasps dramatically, blue-green eyes comically wide. “That thing? His name is Rusty Ranger. He’s a sweetheart.”
“He’s three times my size and has a judgmental face.”
“You let me throw you on the back of a dirt bike going eighty, but this is where your survival instincts kick in?”
“Yes,” I snap. “A dirt bike doesn’t think for itself.”
After our show earlier, I'd let the boys convince me to stay and watch the rodeo. Honestly, it’s been fun. What can I say? Watching muscled cowboys get manhandled makes my blood hot. But this was not something I agreed to.
“Just one lap,” Taylor begs, raising a finger as his lips twitch. “For the aesthetic. I’ll walk beside you the entire time.”
“Taylor, I am not falling off that thing and dying in front of all these hot cowboys.”
An unfamiliar voice interrupts our argument. “Oh, I wouldn't worry about that.” We turn to see one of the bull riders from the show grinning in our direction. “Rus here is gentle as a lamb. He won't hurt ya.”
His southern accent rolls over me smoothly, blond hair curling around his ears from beneath the Stetson on his head. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his skin-tight Wranglers, drawing my gaze to a big-ass buckle above his crotch—the quintessential cowboy in the flesh.
“Mind if I try?” he asks, gesturing for the reins.
Taylor's brows jump before he hands them over. “Uh, sure. But beware, man, this one's stubborn.”
I scowl at Tay because I know he’s not talking about the horse.
Mystery cowboy lets out a low hum that rumbles deep in his chest. “Not my first time breaking in something wild.”
Now that catches my attention, and he winks before offering me his hand. “Name's Harper.”
“Harper, huh?” Slipping my palm into his, I stifle a pathetic sound when he raises my hand to his lips. “I'm Salem.”
“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” Harper brushes a kiss over my knuckles like we’re in some western romance novel, and I bite the inside of my cheek, equal parts flattered and very aware of how warm my face just got.
Taylor mutters something along the lines of “maneater” under his breath as he wanders off, probably to go make fun of me. I shoot daggers at the back of his head, but Harper just chuckles and offers me the reins again.
“Now, how ‘bout that riding lesson?”
Someone else cuts him off before he can even finish. “She’s already got someone for that.”
I can't even hold in the agonized groan that leaves my throat.
Fuck. Like this moment can't get any worse.
I rotate on the spot and glare at Logan standing next to me with his arms crossed. The floodlights glint off his ruddy hair, golden eyes fixed on the cowboy holding my hand.
“Oh?” Harper’s voice is still smooth, but there’s a note of challenge hidden beneath the surface. “Didn’t realize someone called dibs.”
Logan takes a slow step forward. “I’m her husband. I’ll teach her.”
“Logan.” The heat crawling up my neck flares into annoyance.
“That right?” Harper raises a brow but doesn’t look away from me. “Well, that’s up to the lady, isn't it?”
Oh, goddamn.
Logan tenses beside me as if the words alone put him on edge.
My gaze darts between them—Harper, cocky and grinning like the devil in denim.
And Logan, in a wrinkled polo with a shoelace untied.
One gives me a choice, while the other demands my attention.
I don’t know what angers me more—how good it felt to be flirted with or how Logan stepped in like he had any right to.
Clearing my throat, I snatch the hair tie from my wrist and pull my hair up into a bun. “I'll do one lap.”
Harper flashes a panty-melting smile but before he can move, Logan jumps forward and takes the reins from his hands.
“I’ll help her.”
This time, he doesn’t even so much as glance at Harper. No, that intense, golden stare is reserved for me and me alone.
And despite every reason I should tell him to back off, I find myself nodding. “Fine,” I mutter. “Whatever.”
Harper tips his hat and backs away, easy as pie. “Your loss, darlin’. I’ll be around if you want a better teacher.”
Logan scowls at the cowboy sauntering away from us. “What a prick.”
I can only stare at him in disbelief. “Really?”
“What?”
“You don’t even like horses.”
“I like you not getting hurt,” he replies, softly stroking the animal’s neck. “And Harper’s not the kind of guy who sticks around to catch you fall.”
“How the fuck would you know?”
He exhales a heavy sigh before surprising the hell out of me by hooking his foot into the stirrup and swinging his other leg over the saddle. “That asshole only wanted you to ride one thing, and it wasn’t a horse.”
“No shit,” I nearly snarl. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe I wanted that?”
Logan freezes, the tips of his ears turning red. When he glances down at me, his face tightens, eyes darkening beneath the lights. “Just get over here, Salem.”
I don’t move. Not at first. Logan telling me what to do still sparks my temper, and part of me wants to see how far I can push before he snaps.
But then he looks down at me again, and there’s nothing smug or commanding in his expression.
Just… strained control. He’s barely holding back the desperate desire etched onto his features.
My body moves before my pride can even argue.
I step up to the horse's side, and Logan shifts immediately, offering his arm for balance.
“Put your left foot in the stirrup,” he says with a certain roughness to his voice that I try to ignore. “I’ll lift you the rest of the way.”
“I can get on a horse by myself.”
And I do. Gripping the front thingy of the saddle, I haul myself up awkwardly, very aware of the way my ass lands right between his thighs.
“What the hell?” he starts.
“You said get on. I'm on. What now?”
There’s a beat of silence as his hands settle on my hips. He leans in, warm breath brushing the back of my neck. “This wasn’t what I meant. You're supposed to be behind me.”
Well, shit. And now I’m sitting in front of him, practically in his lap, surrounded by the scent of his sweat.
Fuck me.
“Too bad.” My voice is sharper than I intend, too defensive for how fast my heart’s hammering against my ribcage. “You offered to teach me. I accepted. Suck it up.”
He exhales slowly like he’s trying to remember how to breathe. His hands don’t move from my hips.
“I should’ve let Harper do it,” I mutter, and Logan goes rigid.
“Would you have really fucked him if he asked?”
There's an accusatory tone to his voice that has a flame of anger igniting in my chest, but I tamp it down and force a nonchalant shrug. “Why not? He's hot and interested. I'm single. Maybe a roll in the hay is exactly what I need.”
Logan taps his heels against the horse’s side. Rusty Ranger jolts forward, causing me to scrabble for purchase.
“Reins,” he says suddenly, reaching around me. His hand brushes mine, placing the leather straps into my grip. “Loosen your elbows. Let your arms move with him. He’ll respond better if you’re not holding on like you’re about to fall off.”
“I am about to fall off.”
“You’re fine. I’ve got you.”
Those three words make something sharp twist in my chest. I shift in the saddle, trying to distract myself with the horse's rhythm instead of the fact that Logan’s body is flush against mine, that ring on his finger like a brand to my skin.
He helps me steer for a moment before letting his fingers slide away, up from my wrists to my ribs. The tender touch raises goosebumps on my skin, but I grit my teeth and ignore it as we ride silently for a few minutes.
Eventually, Logan speaks again in my ear. "You don't actually want the cowboy.”
“Don’t tell me what I want.”
The horse trots steadily beneath us, Ranger’s hooves crunching softly over dirt as we move in a slow circle. Logan keeps us guided with subtle shifts of pressure behind me, his posture stiff. “Our marriage means nothing to you then?”
Twisting around, I glare into his honeyed eyes. “What marriage, Logan? We got drunk and signed a paper in Vegas. That's all this is.”
“Not to me,” he husks, tightening his grip on my waist.
With a scoff, I face forward again. “I don't give a shit. It was an accident. I don't even remember my vows, and neither do you.”
And you fucking left me.
The silence that follows isn’t quiet. It’s packed and loaded with all the things we’ve never said—and the ones we can’t take back.
“Maybe I don’t remember the exact words,” he responds, mouth against my jaw. “But I remember how you looked at me when you said them.”
My throat constricts painfully. I hate him for that, for remembering something that I’ve tried so hard to forget.
Logan shifts behind me, and I inhale sharply when I feel the stiff length of his cock pressing into my lower back.
His lips brush the side of my neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he peppers kisses across my heated skin.
“There were stars in your eyes, and it made me feel like I hung the moon.”
I clench the reins—and my thighs, fingers digging into the worn leather. “I was drunk. We were both drunk.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “But I meant it.”
The horse keeps moving, entirely at ease. I wish I could say the same for myself. My pulse thuds in my ears, every inch of my body aware of him—of the way his voice shakes, the way his palm rubs my sternum, arm brushing the underside of my tits. Heat pools in my lower stomach.
“You left,” I whisper, feeling breathless and irritably turned on by the way he's touching me.
Logan doesn’t answer right away. Seconds pass as we start another lap around the corral. Then quietly, too quietly, he says, “You wanted me to.”
Those words are like a bucket of ice down my back, snapping me out of whatever lust-fueled daze he’d entranced me with. I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood.
He’s not wrong. I did want him out of my life. At least, I thought I did.
But it doesn’t make his abandonment hurt any less.