21
“T hey’re using their spurs too much.”
I spear a hand through my hair, send a glare to the girl leaning over my shoulder. It’s been a week, and she’s still the ever-present, hovering whisper in my ear. “Christ, Fallon, I know.”
“Well, if you know tell them ,” she counters, the merest hint of a smirk gracing her lips.
Gritting my teeth, I walk the perimeter of the fence. Dust flies. I bark a sharp order at the new class to get off their horses and get on their mats to practice proper tuck-and-roll movements in case of falls.
So much for rest and relaxation. I should have known nothing would keep Fallon still. The girl’s never been stagnant in her life. It’s the cowboy in her. It lights pride inside me, but also worry. I promised Dakota and Davis I’d look out for her. But bringing her along with me is the best I can do.
I don’t trust leaving her alone. Not for a hot minute. Her climbing on the back of a horse the second I leave is a real possibility. Fallon would kill herself to live again.
The last week has carved out a routine Fallon detests.
The slow struggle to get ready, PT in the morning, then I bring her to the ranch with me in the afternoon.
I have a job to do, and I can’t lose it.
These kids can’t go to Younger’s school.
I can’t let what happened to me happen to them.
Hell, it’s been twenty years, but the past still fucking stings.
“Tell them to tighten up.” Fallon’s husky voice blazes straight to my brain.
I whip to her and growl, “Fallon, I swear to Christ…” She thinks she plans to wear me down, well, the joke’s on her.
She nudges me with her elbow. “Perry isn’t tucking his arms.”
Damn. Maybe the joke’s on me.
I should have expected it. Hell, Fallon’s a better rider than me. Before she rode bulls, she was the reigning barrel race champ. She could train these kids in her fucking sleep. Her work ethic, her tenacity, puts these cowboys to shame.
“Go get some water,” I say testily. “Fucking cool off.”
“Bite me,” she snarls but turns to slump against the wall of the training school, arms crossed, looking bored. Per usual.
I try to get back to my class, but my gaze won’t leave her. Fallon runs a hand through her long caramel hair, the waves running through her fingers. She looks fiercely sexy.
Untouchable.
“Who’s that?” asks a voice.
I turn, squinting in the bright June sun. A bunch of cowboys crowd the fence. A new week means a new class. The first day is always spent evaluating every individual rider’s technique. I can pick out their strengths and weaknesses, show them what to improve.
“No one,” I grunt. “Now let’s talk about your—”
“She’s cute,” a kid name Jonas adds.
Another, Dan, wiggles his eyebrows. “Got a guest tutor, Montgomery?”
“She single?” Ritchie asks, and I glare.
Perry’s grin is wicked. “She can train me any day of the week.”
Huck curls his lip. “What’s with the walker?”
My fists clench. Red ripples in the corner of my vision.
“That’s Fallon McGraw,” I snap, storming closer to the fence. “Show some goddamn respect.”
Perry elbows Dan. “Yeah, I’d show her some respect. In the bedroom.”
I’m under the fence and in that ring so goddamn fast they never see me move.
I don’t touch him, but I do get in his face. “Kid, I’m tellin’ you once. That woman’s my wife, and if you say one more word about her, I will fail you so fucking fast you’ll go back to your shitty hometown and work at your local burger dive.”
“Y-y-yes, sir,” Perry stutters.
“I’m going to kill you, Wyatt.” Fallon stands there, hands on her hips, narrowed eyes promising murder.
Dan snickers. “Sounds spicy.”
“Break for lunch.” I look at Perry. “Except you. Clean out the stalls.”
I duck under the fence. Fallon’s on my heels. Her hand darts out to snatch me by the collar.
“Listen, asshole, just because we’re married doesn’t mean you can toss that word around whenever you feel like it.”
I ignore the look of disgust on Fallon’s face. “What word?”
She frowns and crosses her arms. “You know what word.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Wife.”
I toss her a crooked grin. “It’s what you are, ain’t you? My wife.”
My wife. Goddamn if I don’t love the way it rolls off my tongue. Riles her up. The way it darkens Fallon’s cheeks, making her look even prettier than she should.
Her lips flatline. “Don’t push it, Wyatt.”
I nod at the barn in the distance. “Think you can push yourself while I feed the new colts?”
Fallon nods, lacing her hands over the bar of her walker.
“You can go ahead,” she says as she makes her way over the thick grass. Her speed is slow, uneven. “I’m slowing you up.”
“Nah.” I stick my hands in my pockets and slow my stride. “Thought I’d stick around and force you to make conversation with me.”
Fallon inclines her head to look at me. “Are you happy you left rodeoing?”
“Ain’t sure what I’m happy about these days.”
“Cryptic.” She arches a brow. “Let me ask you this… You like training?”
“I do. Dealing with little shits all day.” I give her a grin. “They remind me of me.”
She snorts. “I can already picture it. Wyatt Montgomery. Ballbuster extraordinaire.”
“I’m not that much of an asshole.” I think of Younger and flinch. “Am I?”
“No,” she says, to my relief. “You’re not.” Fallon’s jerked to a halt. She says nothing as I bend to unhook the foot of her walker from a tangle of weeds. “You were an adequate trainer,” she says when I stand, and we continue our trek. “You’re stern. They need that, but you’re not a monster.”
Monster .
An older, darker memory sneaks up on me.
Me, fourteen, at our Georgia farm, staring down a grown man, trying to be defiant even though I was scared shitless.
“You fucked up,” Younger shouts. “You’re a fuckup, kid, and you’ll keep fucking up your entire life.”
I swallow twice before I can say, “I’m not the fuckup, you are.” I move my body in front of the horse he had just hit. “Don’t touch him.”
Younger takes a step toward me. Lifts his fist. And that’s when I know I really fucked up.
“Wy?”
I blink myself out of my reverie. Fallon’s stopped and staring at me.
“You were a good trainer,” she says. No condescension in her words, only earnestness. Truth.
Damn. I almost fall out of my boots.
Her expression turns smug. “Too bad I got better than you.”
“There it is.” I chuckle. “Why’d you start riding bulls?” In all the conversations we’ve shared, she’s never once told me why.
“I…” Fallon shakes her head, her hair swaying. “Just got bored riding horses,” she says then increases her pace in an obvious bid to get away from me.
I roll my eyes. If avoiding conversations was a degree, Fallon would have a PhD.
Ahead of me, Fallon stops. “Fuck.” Her soft whisper floats.
“You hurtin’?” I ask, hurrying to her side.
“Yes,” she admits grimly. Her face is pale, knuckles wrapped white around the handles of her walker.
“C’mon. Let’s take a break,” I say, cursing myself for bringing her out here.
When she hesitates, I give her a look. “Let me help you or I call Koty.”
“Ugh, fine,” she grumbles. “God, you’re such an asshole.”
“Leverage,” I tell her. “I have to use it.”
That barely gets her to crack a smile.
Placing a hand on her back, I slowly guide her to the barn. I could pick her up in my arms and carry her, but something tells me I’d be walking crooked for a week if I do that.
“Sit.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, I lower her to a bench.
She collapses, breathing heavily, sweat dotting her brow. The scent of hay and horses surrounds us.
Fallon peers up at me. “This sucks.”
“I know it does.” The pain on her face wrenches my heart. “I’ll get you some water.”
“No,” she says when I move to go. She offers me a tight smile. “Can you just…stay?”
Stay.
Fuck if that isn’t my undoing.
“Yeah. Of course.” I settle down beside her.
Fallon tilts her head back to the sun. Her shoulder and arm press against mine. Instantly, calm settles me.
“What if I can’t ride?” Her eyes close, and she hugs her arms tighter around herself. Sweat beads her brow, tendrils of hair stick to her pink cheeks. “Fuck riding bulls. I don’t know who I am if I can’t ride horses.”
“You’re alive,” I say.
She lets out a short bitter laugh. “It’s not enough.”
I don’t like that answer.
It is enough. You’re alive. You’re here, and you’re mine. And if you ever go anywhere again, I’ll lose my ever-loving mind.
I want to scream the truth aloud, but I don’t because she’s tired. As tired as I’ve ever seen her. She’s putting up a good fight, but she’s losing.
Breathless, she says, “I have to ride my horses, Wyatt.”
I sigh. “Fallon, you just got out of the hospital.” Fallon’s kink is if you tell her she can’t do something, she’s going to prove you wrong.
“I just want to ride again. It doesn’t have to be a bull. I just need to be on the back of a horse.” Desperation stains her voice. “I can’t lose that, Wyatt. I can’t.”
I reach over and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “You won’t.”
“Then help me.” She twists into me, those gorgeous hazel eyes wide and serious. “Please.”
“Help you with what?”
Her smile is feline. “Help me ride.”
My body locks up at her idiotic suggestion. “Absolutely the fuck not.” Little miss attitude thinks she can fix her trauma with shitty colts, tattoos, and denial when what she needs to do is sit her ass down and heal.
“You don’t think I can do it, do you?” She squeezes her fists together. Anger etched across her face.
“It’s not about you not doin’ it, it’s about you gettin’ better.” Fear pulses through me. Fear for Fallon. If she got hurt again…I wouldn’t survive it. “Goddamn, listen to me, will ya?”
“I am. I’ve listened to you all my life.” Voice dropping, Fallon says, “You trained me once. You can do it again.”
The hopeful, pleading look on her face is going to knock me fucking dead.
I swallow and stare at her. “Fallon…”
She clutches at my hand. “Please, Wyatt. Please .”
I open my mouth to say no, to say fuck no , but nothing comes out.