5
“W ould it kill you to smile, Fallon?”
I shoot the photographer a glare. “I’m not good at this shit.”
Pappy waves a hand. “Hitch the dress higher. Show a little leg.”
Dolled up, standing in the silver water trough, wearing a black lace dress that could pass as lingerie, I grumble but gather the silky material higher on my thigh.
I look down at the silver and turquoise ring on my index finger. “Isn’t this an ad for jewelry?”
The photographer lowers the camera. “It adds to the mystery.”
Pappy smacks his palm to his forehead. “For Christ’s sake, stop arguing.”
“For you, anything.” I fake a smile then flip him the bird.
“Here. For your lipstick.” Tripp Hendrix, a tall, lanky cowboy, with a coif of impressive wheat-colored hair, hovers over me. I should hate another man in my life, but Tripp’s a childhood friend from Resurrection. Neighbors, we often walked each other home from school.
When I was twelve, I caught him getting the shit kicked out of him by a couple of classmates. I pulled a fist like my father had shown me and swung. The group scattered. My fist throbbed, but I’d never admit it.
“Holy shit,” Tripp gasped, rubbing at his black eye. “You did that.”
I sort of laughed at him. “Nothing to it. Got your back.”
I meant it. In Resurrection, we stick up for people.
Now, employed by Pappy as a member of our team, Tripp’s our water boy. Gear carrier.
He’s all the things, including a pain in my ass. No matter how mean I am to him, he sticks around.
I squirm as he offers me a water bottle and a straw. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” He grins as I take a sip. “Are you going insane yet?”
“Only slightly,” I answer ruefully.
Tripp steps back.
I lift an eyebrow at Pappy. “All I want to do is ride, Pappy. Not play dress up.”
“And ride you will. Tomorrow, the show goes on.” Pappy swaggers his way in the dust, ashes his cigar. “In the meantime, we make money.”
I scowl and snap open my mouth. Next to me, an assistant says, “Smile,” and swipes Vaseline on my teeth, effectively cutting short any more arguments.
My agent for the last two years, Pappy’s mission in life is to make me the face of female bull riding in America. He’s greedy and ruthless, and I hate him. Dakota says Pappy is using me, and he is, but I’m using him, too.
All the big rides are coming up in the fall. The PRCA, the Pbr, the NFR. I’m so close. Maggie Parker, Polly Reich status. I ride better than a man. I’m not arrogant. I know what I have. What I want.
And god, I fucking want this.
It would be the validation I’ve been chasing. That running worked. That leaving Dakota was worth it. That I’ve made my father proud. That Aiden didn’t take everything from me.
That I am still fucking here. Still me.
On the photographer’s orders, I climb out of the water trough. Someone unhooks the pearl clasp in my hair, letting it tumble around my shoulders.
I scowl. “After this, no more endorsements,” I tell Pappy. I thought I wanted to be famous. But all it’s been is a pain in my ass. “I nearly got killed filming that damn boot ad,” I grumble.
Pappy guffaws, his big stomach quivering. “Do you think I’d put you in danger, my girl?”
I snort. “Would you?” I bare my teeth as the photographer gets in my face with the camera. “Hurry the fuck up.”
Taking a draw on his cigar, Pappy says, “You’re my little ticket. My moneymaker.”
I roll my eyes.
Pappy always has his eye on fame, the next big thing, the next deal to be made. He’s like a shark in the water when it comes to money.
We finish the shoot. I step beneath the eave of Vic’s casita, getting out of the warm May sunlight. I find my cellphone on the wooden table and swipe my screen lock.
Fuck.
In my DMs, a new message.
You ride, you’ll regret it.
The unsettling messages have been coming ever since the article about my upcoming ride was published. All from one spammy account.
I worry my lower lip between my teeth.
Probably some asshole trying to scare me out of the competition.
The crunch of gravel has my head snapping up. Has me spying Vic, coming across the ranch.
Inhaling a steeling breath, I hurry over to him. He’s given me the silent treatment for the last week. Even when we practice, all he does is grunt. To make things worse, he’s doubly unhappy about the number of people that have descended upon his ranch for today’s shoot.
“Vic,” I find myself calling out.
He turns. Stops.
Breathing hard, I scrape my wild hair out of my eyes. “I did every chore. Slopped the pigs. You saw me today. I stayed on Mastermind seven seconds.” I stare him down, trying to get him to crack. Vic’s cold shoulder is unbearable. “You could at least throw me a bone of conversation.”
Side-eyeing me, Vic shakes his head. “That bull was small. And it’s number eighty-nine. Not 100.”
My nostrils flare, my lips pressing into a flat line of annoyance.
“You should be spending your time practicing instead of prancing around in high heels.”
Vic’s sneer is directed at Pappy. Everyone who meets Pappy hates him. Even more than me.
Vic’s shrewd gaze flicks to Pappy, who’s reviewing the photos with the photographer. “He made you a star, kid, but none of it matters if you don’t keep it.”
“Stars go out.”
“They got a thousand million years in their lifespan.”
“Who made you an expert on the sky?” I toss back.
“Fallon, I’ve lived under the sky my whole damn life. I know when things are getting ready to fall.” My breath hitches as Vic steps forward to curl his massive hands around my shoulders. “Tomorrow. You have got to ride as if your life depends on it, because it does.”
A shiver goes through me. “I know. I will.” I look up into his tan and weathered face. My defenses lower. Hope flutters in my chest. “Will you be there?”
“I promised you I’d train you, and I’m obligated to look out for you.” A curt nod. His hard face softens. “I’ll be there.”
I smile. “Thank you.”
The earth rattles beneath my boots, a great rumbling sound like a giant awakening. Startled, I twist toward the long, winding dirt road. Past the gate come four massive trucks. A silver Chevy leads the pack.
Davis’s silver Chevy.
Fuck.
My heart drops into my stomach. They found me. Damn Pappy and that article.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Not ready. Not ready to face them. Any of them.
Vic’s droll voice tears me from my thoughts. “Why do uninvited guests keep showing up here?” He looks at me. “I reckon you have something to do with it?”
“I’m going to kill them,” I grumble.
Especially Wyatt. This act of ambush has his annoying name all over it.
Every muscle in my body tightens at the slam of truck doors. I stare at the broad-shouldered men muscling their way out of the driver’s seats. The Montgomery brothers. Cowboys who’d go to war for you and then some. They’re as reliable as the sunset. As irritating as dust in your eyes.
The passenger door of a bright cherry red Chevy whips open. Ruby’s smiling face appears. Seeing me, she lights up and gives me a wave.
Despite the nerves in my stomach, I smile. I’ve never met anyone as trusting and as kind as Ruby. Against all my better judgment, she made me her friend, and now I will gladly kill anyone who touches her.
Charlie grips Ruby’s hand protectively as she bounces out of the passenger seat. The ends of her long blonde hair and the hem of her sundress flare as her grumpy, bearded husband picks her up and spins her around. Ugh, god, they’re still as nauseatingly adorable as ever.
Speaking of adorable, I fight a smile at the sight of Ford and Reese.
The long-legged country music star looks like some cosmic cowgirl in gold jewelry, high-heels, and cut-off shorts.
Ford’s rumpled from the drive and wears a backward baseball cap and blue jeans.
A pang of regret goes through me. I missed their wedding.
I’ve never felt like more of an asshole.
Except when I spy Dakota.
Fuck.
I take a fortifying breath and scuff my boots as I walk toward them.
“The whole cavalry?” I arch a brow at Dakota. She looks soft and pretty in tight blue jeans and a denim shirt. Her dark hair is cut in long layers that accentuate her cheekbones. “Really?”
“Really,” she says and then throws her arms around me.
I hug her tight, close. The one person I love enough to let into my personal space. My big sister.
“I missed you,” she whispers. The words are a knife to my heart.
“I missed you.” I give her one last squeeze then pull back. “How’s Lainie?”
“Screaming inconsolably for hours straight.” Dakota tries to smile. “You need to meet her.”
I look behind her. “Where are the kids?”
“With Stede,” booms a deep voice. My gaze lifts to Davis, hulking behind her.
I arch a brow. “I see muscles strikes again.”
He chuckles, shakes his head, then pulls me in for a crushing bear hug.
I give Davis shit, but I secretly love him to death for what he did for my sister.
A man of honor, Davis stepped it the fuck up for Dakota when she returned home to Resurrection two years ago.
Pregnant and on the run from her abusive ex, Aiden.
Davis quickly took her into hiding, and it wasn’t long after that he was claiming both Dakota and her baby.
“So, this is where you’ve been hiding all these months,” Dakota breathes, looking around the ranch then at me. “You did it, Fallon. You found your wild horses.”
Dakota’s words cut. There’s awe in her voice, and I hate it. I wish she’d be disappointed. Wish she’d rage at me. Call me selfish, an idiot. It’d almost make this strange reunion less painful.
I shake my head, clear the emotion from my throat. “What’re you doing here?”
Mischief lights in Dakota’s dark-brown eyes. “We tracked you down.”
I snort. “Clearly.”
“You’re riding tomorrow,” Davis adds. He sticks his hands in his pockets. “Wanted to be here for it.”
Great. Just what my nerves need.
“Are you okay?” Dakota asks, holding me at arm’s length to evaluate me. “How are you?”
“I’m—” I break off, my train of thought sideswiped by a lone figure brooding in the distance.
I’m fucked.