Chapter Twelve
Marina
The reception is in full swing.
The event barn is just as beautifully transformed as the arena was.
Wooden beams are draped with flowers and trailing greenery.
Warm string lights twinkle overhead. Long tables are dressed in simple, elegant linens, wildflowers spilling from glass jars at their centers.
Rustic touches are woven naturally throughout—weathered wood, worn leather, glowing lanterns, horseshoes tucked into the décor.
Elegant Western—a perfect blend of Bryce Raintree and Charli Storm.
Music spills through the barn, mingling with laughter, the clink of glasses, and the occasional cheer from the dance floor. Couples move beneath the strands of lights while kids tear through the spaces between tables, laughing as they dodge grown-up legs.
I smile, taking it all in, when a familiar voice slides in beside me.
“Well, hell.”
I turn.
And promptly forget whatever clever response I might have had.
Royce Trust looks damn good in a suit.
Okay, not a suit. Cowboy groomsman attire. Dark jeans, crisp white shirt, vest, boots, and that damn hat sitting low over his forehead.
I’m a sucker for a man who wears a cowboy hat well.
The man has somehow managed to make formalwear look like he could walk straight from this reception into the arena and climb onto a bull.
Five years disappear in the space of a heartbeat.
Two reckless nights after a rodeo.
Two nights when my on-again, off-again relationship was on an off cycle, my judgment was questionable, and Royce Trust was very, very good at making me forget all about the complicated mess in my life.
Apparently, time has done nothing to make him less dangerous.
His mouth curves into a slow, crooked grin. “Rina.”
The way he says my name in that low, gravelly voice makes my stomach flip.
“Trust.”
His gaze moves over me, lingering just long enough to make me aware of it before settling back on my face. “You look good.”
“So do you.”
His grin deepens as he adjusts his hat. “I know.”
I laugh softly and shake my head. “Still as cocky as I remember.”
“That’s good.”
I raise a brow, and he leans in.
“You remember.”
His eyes darken, and a shiver runs through me.
For one fleeting second, it feels like we’re back there again. Younger. Wild. Free of consequences.
Then a small body barrels into my legs.
“Mommy!”
I look down just as Ryder wraps both arms around me.
“There you are.” I crouch, smoothing his little vest and straightening his tie. “Where have you been, cowboy?”
He beams up at me. “I was dancing with Har-wee.”
“You were?”
He nods enthusiastically, his oversize hat slipping sideways over one eye.
Royce chuckles. “That’s one hell of a good-lookin’ hat.”
Ryder looks up at him.
He studies him with the serious consideration only a four-year-old can give a complete stranger. Then recognition sparks in his eyes.
“You’re a bull boy, like my daddy.”
All the color drains from Royce’s face.
I’d laugh at his pure panic if he didn’t look like he was two seconds away from going into cardiac arrest.
His wide eyes shoot to me. “Bull boy?”
“It’s what he calls bull rider cowboys.”
He looks back down at my son.
Then at me.
Then back at Ryder.
“Um …”
I bite the inside of my cheek.
Five years ago, Royce and I had spent two spontaneous nights together. Two thrilling nights of escaping the pressure of the circuit life. Getting lost in each other.
And judging by the expression on his face, his brain has just connected a few dots that absolutely do not need connecting.
I lean closer, lowering my voice so only he can hear. “Don’t worry.”
His throat bobs.
“Another bull boy’s regret. Not yours.”
His chest collapses in relief. Then he gulps in a lungful of fresh air.
Once he’s recovered the ability to speak, his forehead creases.
He mouths the word silently. Regret?
I shrug. It’s meant to be indifferent.
My fingers drift through the ends of Ryder’s soft hair, smoothing the loose strands beneath his ridiculous hat.
“Long story.”
Royce’s gaze follows my hand.
Something shifts in his expression. The teasing from moments ago disappears, replaced by something softer.
“You want to dance?”
The question catches me off guard.
“Dance?”
That cocky grin returns, and he nods to the people who are twirling in step in front of the band.
“It’s a party.”
“Yeah, Mommy.”
I glance down. A set of blue eyes is looking up at me expectantly, and my heart skips for a different reason. Because Ryder is the best thing that ever happened to me.
He isn’t a regret.
Not even close.
But the man who gave me my beautiful little boy?
That’s a different story.
“You think I should dance with him?”
Ryder’s mouth cocks to the side as he looks Royce over thoughtfully. “Yeah. He looks like a nice bull boy.”
Royce chuckles. “Thanks, little man.”
He extends his fist, and Ryder bumps it with his.
I bite back a smile.
“Well, I guess that settles it,” Royce says, looking back to me.
“I guess so.”
His gaze holds mine, and he tips his head toward the dance floor.
I should say no.
Instead, I hear myself say, “One song.”
“One song.”
He offers me his hand, and I stare at it for half a second before taking it.
His fingers close around mine, warm and rough, and every thought of protest flies from my mind. I glance down at Ryder, who is grinning up at the two of us.
“I’ll be right back, baby.”
Royce leads me onto the dance floor just as the music changes. A slow song rolls through the barn, soft and easy, and before I can decide where to put myself, Royce tugs me closer.
My breath catches.
He smells good.
Clean soap, warm skin, leather, and something darker underneath that I can’t quite name. Something that rekindles the memory of that long-ago weekend.
He’s tall, broad through the shoulders, with a thick chest that makes me feel delicate, pressed against him.
His arm settles around my waist, and the touch sends a little shiver through me.
I hate it.
Royce looks down at me, his whiskey-colored eyes catching mine. Sharp chin. Dark hair curling slightly at his nape. And a face that would make any woman melt.
“You’re tense.”
“Am not.”
His mouth twitches. “You are,” he murmurs, his voice dropping lower. “Relax, Rina. I don’t bite.” He eases back just enough to catch my eyes, a slow, wicked smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Unless you want me to.”
“Not even a little bit,” I say, forcing my voice to stay steady.
His eyes spark with unmistakable amusement.
“You sure?” he murmurs, leaning down until his mouth brushes my ear. “Because I seem to remember you liked it.”
Heat floods my face.
The bastard knows exactly what he’s doing.
Memory flashes, hot and immediate.
His hands.
His mouth.
The weight of him.
His hand shifts against my waist, and when it slides slowly down my side, my skin prickles.
I inhale sharply.
Royce notices.
His eyes darken with amusement.
“Well, hell,” he mutters, “you do remember.”
Heat rushes up my neck, and I glare at him.
Cocky bastard.
And somehow, that only makes him more attractive. Because apparently, arrogant bull riders are my weakness.
I haven’t been held by a man like this in a long time. Not by a man who makes me suddenly aware of every inch of my body. Someone this solid, this masculine, this distractingly sexy.
I need to get a grip.
“So,” he says, thankfully deciding to give me a break, “your little man have a name?”
I glance toward Ryder, who’s busy talking to Shelby and Ruby near the edge of the dance floor.
“Ryder.”
Royce smiles. “I like that name.”
I nod. “Yeah. So did his dad.”
Something shifts in his expression.
“His dad,” he repeats, and there’s a question buried in those two words. “Blaze Cassel?”
Of course he knows. Everyone knew.
Blaze and I had been the circuit’s golden couple for years. The princess barrel racing champion and the Pbr’s up-and-coming blond Lothario. We were photographed together, interviewed together, celebrated together.
Until we weren’t.
I nod. “Yeah. Blaze.”
Royce’s jaw tightens.
He doesn’t say anything for a beat, but I can practically hear the thoughts running through his head.
“Ryder was a surprise,” I say quietly.
His gaze drops to mine.
“A beautiful surprise.”
His expression softens a bit.
“We tried once Ryder came along,” I continue. “Tried to be a family. We even got engaged.”
His eyes flick to my left hand, and his thumb brushes absently over my knuckles before he looks back at me. “What happened?”
I take a breath. “In the end, Blaze decided he wasn’t ready.”
“Ready to be a husband?”
I shake my head. “Husband or father.”
Royce’s expression hardens.
He’s never liked Blaze. Everyone on the circuit knew it. They could tolerate each other when they had to, but calling them rivals is being generous.
Royce has always thought Blaze was a joke and had no problem letting me and everyone else know it.
Now, judging by the look on his face, his opinion hasn’t changed much.
“He’s always been a son of a bitch,” Royce mumbles almost incredulously.
I shrug, trying to make it look like it doesn’t affect me anymore.
His hand settles more firmly at my waist.
“He had you,” he says quietly. “And he walked away?”
“Yeah.”
His eyes hold mine before his gaze drops briefly to my lips.
My heart gives one hard, traitorous beat.
“Stupid son of a bitch,” he whispers, more to himself than to me.
Something about the way he says it makes my pulse stumble.
For a suspended moment, neither of us says anything.
We just look at each other as the music swells around us, soft and slow, while the rest of the reception seems to fade into the background.
Then the song begins to wind down.
I blink, suddenly aware of where we are. Of his hand at my waist and my body pressed against his.
The final notes drift through the barn, and before either of us can move, Matty’s voice carries over the microphone.
“All right, everybody, we’ve got something special for you! Coming to the stage now is Garrett Tuttle!”
The crowd erupts as applause rolls through the barn.
“And we’d like to invite the bride and groom to join us on the dance floor for their very first dance as husband and wife!”
The spell breaks, and I step away from Royce so quickly that I nearly trip over my own feet.
I smooth my dress, willing my racing pulse to settle.
“One song,” I remind myself under my breath.
Royce’s mouth curves.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear. “One song.”
I don’t trust myself to say anything else. I turn on my heel and head back toward Ryder, resisting the urge to glance back over my shoulder.
The last thing I need is to entertain the thought of another reckless night with Royce Trust.
Especially if I plan to stay in Wildhaven.