11. Carter
Carter
C atalina walks into the kitchen, hair messy from sleep, still barefoot.
She is a vision in the morning, and I’ll never get tired of looking at her.
She squints at me with her groggy eyes.
“Get ready, darlin’,” I tell her, leaning against the counter. “Takin’ you somewhere today.”
Her eyes narrow. “Somewhere? I hope it’s shoppingggg.”
“Trust me,” I say, sipping slowly to hide the grin tugging at my mouth. “You’ll like it.”
Thirty minutes later, I’ve lost all ability to breathe.
She steps out of the bedroom looking like a fucking angel, my angel.
Her legs are bare in Daisy Duke shorts, with her bedazzled boots catching the light with every step.
A white, skin-tight tee hugs her curves, the words cowboy pillows stamped in bold red across her chest as loose waves spill down her back, and her wedding ring gleams gold.
No makeup. Just her. Fresh-faced and glowing.
Mine.
“Jesus Christ,” I rasp, setting my mug down before I drop it.
Her grin is wicked. “What? Too much?”
“Not nearly enough.” My voice comes out rough, honest. “You’re killin’ me, baby.”
She laughs, dramatically, grabbing her bag. “Clearly you’re still breathing. Where are you dragging me, babe?”
“Opal Springs,” I tell her, snagging my hat and keys.
Her brows lift. “What’s in Opal Springs?”
“Rodeo.” I push the screen door open, guiding my hand at the small of her back. “Figured my wife oughta see one.”
She lights up, excitement flashing across her face. “A real rodeo? With bulls and everything?”
“Bulls, broncs, the works,” I say, holding the passenger door open.
Her head tilts. “Oooooo, can I ride one?”
“No, darlin’.” I chuckle against her lips.
Her laugh bursts out. “Sooo lame, can I ride you instead?”
I grunt, choosing not to answer her because if I do, we’ll never leave. Climbing into my truck, my eyes linger on her—barefaced, glowing, legs for days, my ring flashing on her hand.
My pretty darlin’, fuck me. Maybe we should stay here.
I push the start button, my truck grumbling to life, and we make our way to our neighboring city.
Opal Springs is a good hour from Ruby Ridge, highways stretching long and open between the hills.
Catalina’s curled up in the passenger seat with her legs crossed, those damn Daisy Duke shorts riding higher every time she shifts. Her boots sparkle every time the sunlight hits them, and that tight little white tee… Jesus.
She’s got the window rolled halfway down, her hair swirling in loose waves, humming along to the radio as if we’re not both sitting here simmering.
I keep one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her bare thigh. My thumb strokes lazy circles against her skin, high enough to make her squirm but not high enough to give her what she wants.
“You’re distracting me, darlin’,” I groan, my eyes still on the road.
She smirks, tilting her head. “You mean my legs, or my shirt?” She tugs at the hem, the red cowboy pillows lettering stretching across her tits in a way that makes my grip tighten.
“Both,” I rasp, shooting her a look that has her laughing.
“Can’t blame me for having nice tits,” she teases, sipping from her water bottle.
“Fuck,” I glance at her again, heat crawling low in my gut. “Baby, you’re sittin’ there lookin’ like a goddamn sin, and you know it.”
Her cheeks flush, but she leans closer, voice dropping into that sweet, dramatic lilt. “What are you gonna do about it, cowboy? You can’t exactly pull over on the highway.”
My jaw ticks as I drag my hand higher on her thigh, squeezing just enough to make her gasp. “Don’t tempt me.”
She giggles, leaning back in her seat, tossing her hair like she just won. But her thighs press together, and I don’t miss it.
“Carter Hayes, you’re supposed to be focused on driving.”
“I am focused,” I say, voice low, thumb tracing the inside of her thigh now. “On you.”
Her lips part, her wedding ring catching the sunlight as she reaches down to lace her fingers through mine. That soft little smile she saves only for me slips across her mouth, and I swear I’d drive to the ends of the earth if it meant keeping her looking at me like that.
The sign for Opal Springs finally comes into view, painted in bright letters. She sits up straighter, her eyes lighting up as she claps her hands together.
“There it is!” she says, excitement bubbling. “Our first rodeo together.”
Opal Springs.
It’s not like home, with quiet farmland and small-town streets.
This place is lively. Neon signs flicker outside western shops, music blares from outdoor bars, and banners across the main street shout RODEO WEEKEND in bold red letters.
Trucks line the roads, trailers are stacked two deep at the fairgrounds, and cowboy hats are everywhere I look.
Catalina presses her nose to the window with her eyes wide and lips parted in that little gasp she always makes when she’s about to narrate her own life.
“Oh my God,” she breathes. “It’s like Vegas… but with horses.”
I chuckle under my breath, turning the truck toward the rodeo grounds. “That’s one way to put it.”
The closer we get, the thicker the crowd becomes—families, tourists, and locals in starched Wranglers and oversized hats.
Vendors line the road with food stands, and the air is filled with the smell of fried dough and barbecue smoke.
The sounds of laughter, country music, and distant bulls bawling drift on the breeze.
Catalina leans across the console, tugging on my arm. “This is insane. Look at all of them! Carter, they’re wearing chaps in broad daylight!”
Her hair falls into her face, her wedding ring flashing in the sunlight as she gestures wildly at some group of cowboys swaggering down the street. My chest tightens because she looks perfect like this, barefaced, golden in the light, alive.
“Settle down, darlin’,” I mumble, though my mouth twitches into a grin.
“Settle down?” she scoffs, shoving at my shoulder. “I’m about to buy a rhinestone cowgirl hat and you’re telling me to settle down?”
“Darlin’.”
She scoffs, flipping me off.
I chuckle to myself as we pull into the rodeo parking lot, dirt lots stretching out around the arena.
The place is enormous; bigger than anything Ruby Ridge has ever seen.
Bleachers rise high into the sky, flags fluttering in the wind, and the sound of the announcer already booms over the loudspeakers.
Catalina’s practically vibrating beside me. She’s got that same light in her eyes she had the first time she walked into her bookstore.
“Carter.” Her hand finds mine, squeezing hard. “We’re really here.”
“Yeah, baby.” I squeeze back, scanning the arena as I park. “We’re here.”
We step out of the truck, gravel crunching under our boots—the air hums with music and the smell of barbecue smoke, leather, and dust. Catalina’s hand slips into mine as we walk toward the gates, her boots sparkling with each step.
She’s practically bouncing, pulling me along as if I’m the one who needs to keep up. Her hair catches the sunlight in loose waves, and her wedding ring flashes as she points out vendors selling glittering belts and rhinestone hats.
I love seeing my ring on her finger.
“Look at that one!” she gasps, her eyes locked on a stand dripping in sequined cowgirl jackets. “Oh my God, Carter, do I need fringe?”
“You don’t need anything,” I mutter, eyes glued to her legs in those shorts. “You’re already killin’ me.”
She laughs, shaking her head, but her cheeks glow pink as we reach the entrance.
The announcer’s voice booms overhead, pulling us into the chaos of the arena.
The stands are already full, with families cheering, tourists taking pictures, and locals leaning against the rail with beers in hand.
Bulls bellow from the chutes, and the clang of gates slamming echoes across the dirt floor.
Catalina grabs my arm, eyes wide. “This is insane. Look at all the cows, omgggggg.”
“Bulls,” I correct automatically.
She waves me off, too enchanted to care. “Baby, that’s practically the same thing.”
I can’t even roll my eyes at her, not when she looks like this; glowing from within, lips slightly parted, excitement radiating from her.
We climb the bleachers and find seats halfway up. She tugs me down beside her, immediately leaning forward with her elbows braced on her knees.
The crowd roars as a bronc bursts out of the chute, a rider holding on for dear life. Catalina gasps, clutching my hand and squeezing tightly.
“Holy shit, Carter! Did you see that?”
I squeeze back, watching her more than the ride. “I saw, darlin’.”
The announcer’s voice echoes throughout the arena, and the crowd rises to their feet.
“Ladies and gentlemen, make some noise for Opal Springs’ very own star bull rider, Jake Steele!”
The bleachers shake with cheers. Down in the dirt, a cowboy steps out of the chute like he owns the whole damn place. Tall, broad-shouldered, hat tipped just enough to reveal a shit-eating grin. His jeans fit tight, spurs flashing under the lights, each step a show for the shouting fans.
The crowd cheers him on, hollering and whistling like he’s the second coming.
Beside me, Catalina snorts, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, pretending it’s just the excitement.
“You know him?” I ask, narrowing my gaze at the arena.
She cranes her neck toward me, a devilish smirk stretching across her lips. “He came into Boots & Bourbon and flirted with me.”
I remember that fucker, I watched it all happen. White hot jealousy courses through me, fuck him. Let me catch him flirting with my wife again.
I grunt, locking my eyes on this town’s precious bullrider. Never heard the name, but hell if he doesn’t have the whole place wrapped around his finger.
He climbs the rail, tips his hat to the crowd, soaking in every scream. His gaze sweeps the stands. When it crosses our section, he pauses—just a beat too long.
At her.
Oh, I think the fuck not.
Jesus, I’m starting to talk like my wife.
I shift, sliding my arm across Catalina’s shoulders, pulling her tight against me. She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t look at me. Her eyes are glued to the arena, lips pressed together, holding back a laugh.
The crowd’s cheers grow louder as his bull bucks against the gate, causing the entire chute to rattle with its force.
The chute rattles loudly as the bull inside bucks, pounding against the gate as if it’s desperate for blood. Dust rises, horns flashing under the arena lights. Jake Steele climbs the rail, waving his hat at the crowd like he’s on stage instead of strapped to a two-thousand-pound beast.
Stands erupt, as people stomp their boots, clapping, hollering his name.
I glance over at Catalina, who’s sipping her soda through a straw, her legs crossed.
“You’re really calm for someone watchin’ a man get trampled,” I mutter, glancing at her.
She shrugs, not even bothering to look my way. “I don’t care about that ogre. I just want to see the bull.”
That draws a small chuckle from me, even as my jaw stays clenched.
Seconds later, the gate bursts open again with a metallic clang, and the bull charges out, dirt flying under its hooves.
Jake holds on tight, one hand in the air, chest puffed out like he’s riding for a damn crown.
He puts on a show, grinning as the crowd screams, slapping the bull’s flank when he thinks no one’s looking.
I grit my teeth, watching him ride circles like a cocky fuck.
Catalina leans over, lips brushing my ear, voice dry. “He’s good, and he knows it.”
My gaze shifts back to her, studying her face. She’s calm. Unbothered. Nearly bored.
She raises her soda cup toward the arena with a slight smirk. “I like the bull better.”
A slow grin tugs at my mouth despite the heat crawling up my neck. “That’s my girl.”
The buzzer rings, the crowd roaring as Jake jumps off smoothly, tossing his hat into the air. He bows to the stands, soaking it all in. His eyes scan again, catching our section.
I slide my arm tighter around Catalina’s shoulders, pulling her against me, my lips brushing her hairline. “Let him look,” I growl, just for her. “Ain’t got a thing he’ll ever take from me.”
She sips her drink, completely unaffected, like the only show she came for was mine.
The arena empties slowly, dust hanging in the air as the crowd filters out toward the food stands and parking lot. Jake Steele’s name is still echoing off folks’ tongues, everyone buzzing about his ride.
I’m just glad it’s fucking over.
Catalina’s hand is tucked into mine as we weave through the crowd, her boots glittering under the arena lights. I’m half-focused on how her shorts ride up her thighs, half-scanning for an exit, when a voice cuts through the noise.
“Well, if it isn’t?—”
Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me.
Jake Steele.
He steps right into our path, his hat tipped back, sweat still slick on his neck. His grin is easy, cocky, and far too familiar. But what makes my chest tighten is how his eyes catch Catalina’s, recognition flickering.
“Catalina? From Boots & Bourbon?” he drawls.
Catalina blinks once, then smirks, tilting her head. “Yeah, and you’re the shithead with your old ass pick up lines. Byeeee.”
For a beat, it’s dead silent.
Just behind Jake, a laugh. A woman about Catalina’s age, with long black curls spilling over her shoulders and dark eyes glinting with amusement. She tries to smother it behind her hand, but the sound escapes anyway, echoing.
Jake shoots her a glare. Her smile falters, her shoulders tense, and without another word, she spins on her heel and storms off, curls bouncing as she disappears into the crowd.
Catalina watches her go, brows lifted. “O-kay… weird.” She shrugs, looping her arm through mine, tugging me toward the lot. “Let’s go home so we can try for babies.”
I choke on air, my boots catching on the gravel. “Catalina.”
She looks up at me, all innocence, her lips twitching with a smug little smile. “What? That’s what you said you wanted.”
Heat punches through my chest, my ears burning as people brush past us, unaware of how my wife just set me on fire in public. I tighten my grip on her hand, steering her toward the truck before she can say another word.
“Darlin’,” I rasp, jaw tight, “you can’t just?—”
She’s laughing, bright and unbothered, with the sound filling the night as she pulls me along.
All I can think is, she’s gonna kill me one of these days.