Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LINC
Days had passed since the feeling like we were being watched.
Kristin had gone back and forth to Everton almost daily, and there hadn’t been another problem with the store or the mysterious white truck.
Her injuries healed just in time for the Everton Indoor Rodeo.
I wanted her to rest more, but she was anxious to prove that the fall hadn’t scared her.
The air in the arena was heavy with dust and anticipation. You could taste it, grit and adrenaline clinging to the back of your throat. The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, calling out the next competitor, and the crowd’s noise shifted, a hum turning sharp with expectation.
Kristin Felder.
I knew what this arrangement was, but I couldn’t help the swell of my chest as they announced her name.
She registered with my last name and the crowd around me looked at one another, slightly confused as to who was next.
There’d be no doubt when she flew out of the alleyway in her fringe and sparkles.
I leaned forward in my seat, elbows on my knees, though I had told myself a dozen times I wasn’t going to do this. Wasn’t going to care. Wasn’t going to watch her every move. But the second she came into the alley, reins taut, her horse skittering sideways with nerves and energy, I was locked.
With the laser beam set, Kristin clucked her tongue, leaned forward, and then they exploded out of the alleyway like a bullet.
Lady thundered into the arena, dirt flying, hooves pounding a rhythm that hit me in the chest. Kristin was low and tight, her braid whipping against her back, the fringe on her shirt fluttering behind her like it would lift her right out of her saddle, and she could fly away.
Her eyes were laser-focused on the first barrel.
She didn’t just ride, she became part of her horse.
Every shift of her weight was a cue, every tug on the reins a whisper she obeyed without hesitation.
She swung around the first barrel so close I thought she would clip it. Dirt sprayed high, the horse’s muscles bunching and releasing in perfect rhythm, and then they shot off to the second.
The crowd roared, but I couldn’t hear them; my blood was rushing too loudly in my ears.
She was fierce. Fluid. Fearless. By the third barrel, she had the arena in the palm of her hand. She leaned hard, the horse digging in, and then they were sprinting for home, flat-out, dust flying behind them in a golden haze under the lights.
They crossed the timer line, and the announcer’s voice cracked with excitement. “New leader! Kristin Felder takes first place!”
The stadium erupted. Boots stomped, hands clapped, whistles pierced the air. She slowed her horse, lifted a hand in thanks, smiling that smile that was half pride, half disbelief.
It hit me like a fist to the gut.
I had told myself I didn’t need this. Didn’t need her, or the ache that came every time she looked at me like she saw through every wall I had ever built. But watching her like this, alive, lit from the inside out, I couldn’t stop it. Pride swelled in my chest so sharply it hurt.
I should have stayed in my seat. Should have let her soak in the glory without me. Instead, I was already on my feet, pushing through the stands, heading for the back of the chutes.
The air behind the arena was thicker. Horses blowing hard, sweat darkening hides, men shouting, gates clanging.
The smell of leather, dirt, and frying onions from the food stand hung heavy.
Kristin swung down from the saddle, boots crunching in the dirt, her horse blowing steam, veins standing out under her slick coat.
She patted Lady’s neck, murmuring something soft I couldn’t hear.
She looked small then, framed against the bulk of the horse, the chaos of the arena behind her. Small, but burning bright.
And that was when they came.
“Hell of a run, darlin’.” A man with a crooked hat and a beer in his hand stepped right into her space.
Another reached for her reins like he was doing her a favor. “Damn fine riding. Fastest I have seen tonight.”
Kristin gave them a tight smile, polite, but her shoulders pulled back.
A third cowboy leaned in, brushing her arm with his hand. “Bet a girl like you gets a lot of offers to ride. You ever been to Vegas?”
Her smile faltered. Just for a second. Not enough, most people would have noticed, but I did. I saw the flicker in her eyes, unease, the way her fingers tightened on the reins, the subtle shift of her weight like she wanted to back up but could not with the horse behind her.
Heat shot through me, ugly and hot. I was moving before I even thought about it. Shoving through, planting myself between her and the pack, my voice low and sharp enough to cut. “Back the hell away from my wife.”
The men froze, then laughed like it was a joke. One sized me up, like he might test it. I didn’t move, I didn’t need to. The fury rolling off me was enough. One by one, they peeled away, muttering, tossing glances over their shoulders.
Kristin let out a breath. Shaky. Her hand was still tight on the reins, her chest rising and falling too fast. She looked at me, eyes wide, and for a split second, I saw it, the fear, raw and real. It gutted me.
Then she snapped her head up, fire flashing back into place. “What the hell, Lincoln?”
I clenched my jaw. “You alright?”
“I had it under control.”
“The hell you did.”
“They were congratulating me,” she snapped, though her voice wobbled at the edges.
“They were ready to put their hands on you.”
Her chin lifted, pride shoved back into place like armor. “So what? You think you get to step in whenever you feel like it? You think you can just claim me?”
My temper flared hotter than the stadium lights. I stepped in closer, close enough she had to tilt her head back to hold my gaze. “You are telling me you didn’t feel it? Them pressing in, reaching out to touch you? You didn’t feel me wanting to tear them apart?”
Her lips parted, her cheeks flushing. No words came out.
“Tell me I am wrong.” My voice dropped, rough, dark with everything I had been holding back.
She shook her head, defiant, but her hand still trembled on the reins. “You don’t get to be jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.” My chest pressed against hers now, the reins trapped between us. “I’m furious. That is different.”
The air between us snapped tight. I could feel the heat of her, see the pulse hammering in her throat, the way her body leaned infinitesimally toward mine even as her mouth spit fire.
“You don’t get to claim me,” she whispered again, but softer, like she did not believe it herself.
“That ring on your finger says you’re already mine.”
Her breath hitched. That was all it took.
I grabbed her waist, pulling her hard against me, and kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle or careful. It was years of hunger, of restraint burning out all at once.
Her gasp was swallowed by my mouth, and then she was kissing me back, fierce and desperate, her hands clutching my jacket like she would fall if she let go.
The world disappeared. The men, the horses, the noise, it all fell away. There was only her, pressed against me, her lips hot and demanding, her body melting into mine.
We stumbled back into the shadows of a chute, half-hidden, though I didn’t give a damn who saw. My hands slid under her jacket, desperate to touch, to prove she was here, she was mine. She shivered, arching into me, her mouth opening undermine, giving me everything I had been starving for.
I broke away only long enough to rest my forehead against hers, both of us breathing like we had just run the barrels ourselves. “Tell me to stop.”
She shook her head no, and pulled me back instead, kissing me harder, deeper, her tongue tangling with mine, a low sound breaking from her throat that nearly undid me.
I groaned against her mouth, pressing her against the wooden gate, one hand fisted in her braid, the other sliding up her back. She clung to me, nails biting through my shirt, gasping when I kissed down her jaw, to the curve of her throat. I reached between us and fumbled with her belt.
“Lincoln,” she whispered, half warning, half plea.
I couldn’t help but smile against her mouth as I popped open her belt and snapped off the old buckle she was wearing. Kristin went stiff against me and pulled away.
“You won, you get a new buckle.” I slid it on and did her belt back up. “In all the commotion, you missed the ceremony, and I figured I could present it to you better.” Leaning down again, I kissed her, and she melted against me.
I lifted my head, eyes locking on hers. She was fierce and soft all at once, pupils blown wide, lips swollen from kissing.
“You’re mine,” I rasped, voice rough, “and you know it.”
She did not argue. She kissed me again instead.
The world could’ve ended then, and I wouldn’t have cared.
For a few seconds, we just stood there, forehead to forehead, breathing hard, the noise of the arena muffled behind us.
Somewhere close by, someone whistled, and another voice shouted for a new round to start.
The sound snapped me back. I released her slowly, hands falling away, forcing myself to remember where we were.
She looked at me like I had stolen something from her, then given it back in pieces.
“You can’t do that again,” she said softly.
“Do what?”
“Taking over every time you think I need saving.”
I brushed my thumb across the corner of her mouth where my beard had left a faint red mark. “You did need saving, you just do not want to admit it. And I’ll do it every time, I’ll kill them for you if I have to.”
Her eyes flashed. “That is not your call.”
“Maybe not,” I said. “But I’m making it anyway.”
She stared at me, torn between fury and something that looked too much like wanting. Then she stepped back, straightened her jacket, and grabbed the reins again.
“Go cool her down,” I said quietly. “Before she stiffens up.”
She hesitated, then nodded once, swinging back into the saddle with a grace that made my chest ache. The crowd cheered again as she circled the arena once, letting the horse stretch.
I stayed by the gate, watching until she disappeared into the alley. My hands were still shaking, adrenaline buzzing under my skin. Every muscle in my body screamed to follow her, to finish what we had started, but I knew better. Not here. Not with half the town watching.
When I finally turned toward the parking lot, I caught sight of a few men near the concession stand. The same ones from before. They stood in a loose group, watching her ride out. One lifted a hand, pointing toward the alley. The others laughed. It was low and mean.
My stomach went cold.
I made a note of their faces. Every one of them.
By the time Kristin came around front with her horse, I was already waiting by the trailer. She led the horse over, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes still bright from the run.
“Congratulations,” I said, forcing my tone to be calm. “You were perfect out there.”
She gave me a look that was half suspicion, half curiosity. “You are not still mad?”
“I am always mad,” I said. “Just not at you.”
She smirked, handing me the reins. “Then I will take the win while it lasts.”
We loaded her horse in silence, both pretending that the kiss hadn’t happened, though the memory of it burned between us like live coal. She climbed into the truck first, pulling her hat low, and I followed, sliding behind the wheel. The heater roared to life, fogging the windshield.
“Lincoln,” she said finally, voice low. “You have to stop jumping in like that. It is not just overprotective; it is dangerous. You could have started a fight.”
“I do not start fights,” I said. “I finish them.”
“That is not funny.”
“Wasn’t trying to be.”
She stared out the window, jaw tight. “You can’t fix everything by being the biggest guy in the room.”
“I can try.”
Her sigh fogged the glass. “One day, that is going to backfire.”
“Maybe. But not today.”
She looked at me then, her eyes softer. “You scared me.”
“I know.”
“Not because of them. Because of you. Because I saw what you looked like when you walked up.”
I gripped the wheel tighter. “I am not proud of that.”
“You shouldn’t be. You looked ready to kill someone.”
“Maybe I was.”
She turned away again, whispering, “That’s what scares me.”
We drove in silence after that. The roads were slick with dust and patches of frost where the temperature had dropped. The truck lights caught flakes of snow as they started to fall again.
When we reached the bar, she climbed out before I could open her door. I followed, watching her move through the light spilling from the windows, the music audible through the walls, her silhouette sharp against the falling snow.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“For what?”
“For showing up.”
I nodded. “Always will.”
She opened her mouth like she wanted to argue, then stopped. Her hand brushed mine as she stepped past, a fleeting touch that left my skin burning.
I didn’t follow her immediately, I needed a minute or I was going to go into that bar, and haul her out over my shoulder and take her home to our bed.