Page 144 of Dust Storm

“What do you mean?”

She shifted Charlotte to her shoulder and rubbed her tiny little back. “Someone who doesn’t kiss his ass. Someone who doesn’t want to take over his role as the girls’ parent. When Nathan and I got stateside and I moved down here, I offered to help Christian all the time. He never took me up on it. At first I thought it was because he didn’t like me, but Nathan said it was because Christian thought he had to prove to himself that he could do it. That he could do their hair, fix the lunches, have the puberty talks, show up to mommy-and-me activities in all his burly cowboy glory without a hint of remorse. That he was capable of doing all the things Gretchen did. A few years ago he started asking for a hand, but only because he needed it or because schedules were crazy, not because he couldn’t do it.” She turned her back to the arena. “But I think he realized that he needs you. He doesn’t need you to be their mom. He needs your tenacity.”

“It’s weird thinking about leaving New York for good. Packing up my apartment. Leaving the dream behind.”

She smoothed her hand over the tufts of ginger hair that coated Charlie’s head. “Trust me, I know what that feels like. People look at you like you’re insane when you pivot and chase what makes you happy instead of what makes you look good.”

Hands slipped around my hips. I didn’t even have to turn around to know it was Christian pulling me against his chest.

“Hey,” I said as I looked up.

His beard brushed the side of my head as I tilted and stole a chaste kiss. “Where are the girls?”

“Nate and CJ are bringing ’em up. They wanted to go look at livestock.”

“They have a pet cow that lives in my office and eats my ice cream, and they want to seemorecows?”

Christian buried his nose in the back of my hair. “I like that you just called it ‘your’ office.”

“Slip of the tongue.”

He chuckled. “I know where I’d like to slip my tongue.”

“We are around your family,” I hissed.

“Don’t mind me,” Becks said with a snicker. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

Chaos in the arena caught my attention as the announcer introduced the first competitor riding for the championship.

“Oh my god,” I whispered as I clapped my hands over my mouth.

“It looks brutal,” Becks said. “But they’re usually fine after.”

“Usually?” I squeaked.

The animal that the rider had mounted bucked and thrashed against the corral, nearly pinning him to the wall.

“Ray’s going to ridethat?”

Christian’s hold on me tightened. “No, that’s Ball Buster. Ray drew Homewrecker.”

“That sounds way worse.”

“It is, but it’s a good thing,” Christian said. “He’s one of the meanest ones. Homewrecker and Ray have a history. Homewrecker tries to kill him, and Ray wins a shit ton of money. Apparently, it’s worth it to him.”

“You Griffiths are psychotic. Why—pray tell—is riding the meanest bull a good thing? Get one that’s nice and tuckered out.”

Christian pointed to the scoreboard. “Each rider has the possibility of getting a hundred points. Fifty points come from the rider’s performance. Fifty points come from how hard the bull bucks.”

It was starting to make more sense. “So, the meaner the bull, the more points you get.”

“That’s right.”

The gate released and the bull jumped—jumped—out. A thousand pounds of ornery muscle flew through the air and landed with an earth-shaking rumble. The rider was whipped left and right, looking unnaturally fluid as he held on to the rope.

“How is his spine not in four pieces?” I shouted over the melee.

I shrieked and jumped back into Christian when the rider was flung off and landed in a tumble of limbs.

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