Page 149 of Burned & Bound

Before the final move, we made use of the northern ridge one last time to get married. Mickey and my mom joined us along with Peter. West was late and showed up on the back of a horse, wearing a yellow dress shirt and a smile that blinded the sun. I knew he’d be late after rushing over to talk to his former sponsor in Merrillville, so I wasn’t even bothered in the least. But that was the thing, I’d wait forever for West without hesitation.

And then we left Double Arrow in the past. A part of me would be forever grateful for that ranch because it gave me West, but I was morethan ready for the next phase in our lives. We named our farm West Haven because this was truly West’s safe place as he forever dealt with the shit life had handed him. We had good days and bad days. West couldn’t bend or sway. He stuck the line. He had to. The uncertainty of not knowing what would happen next was often too much on his fight or flight.

But I could.

And I did.

Happily.

There wasn’t a damn thing I wouldn’t do to make the war against his own mind a little easier. Some people said it wasn’t fair to me—that I deserved better than everything he went through. But they didn’t see West the way I did. They’d never see him with his guard down when he felt safe and comfortable. They’d never understand how fiercely that man loved me in all the little ways that mattered. They’d never see under his armor.

And I was okay with that. I didn’t need anyone’s validation about our relationship. Loving West McNamara wasn’t hard. Watching him fight a war that I couldn’t protect him from was.

And so I just loved him.And kept on loving him. That part was easy. That part I firmly believed I was made for.

Every year in May we went on vacation. We took the worst day of his life and filled it with new memories of places he wanted to go. We’d gone to Italy, Canada, Mexico, London, and Ireland. The pictures were all over our house—a happy reminder that we didn’t have to stay bound to the past.

I wandered toward the stables in search of my husband, attracting a small crowd as I did. Ferdinand became my shadow as did our goats Taco and Granola. We didn’t fucking name them that crap. They came pre-named and answered to those goddamn names.

Sure enough, West was moving bales of hay inside for the horses—shirtless and in a backward hat. I leaned against the fence and enjoyed the show because him doing farm work like that was one of my favorite fucking things.

When he saw me, a smile lit up his face and did things to my heart. West’s smiles always did. I loved being on the receiving end of them.

“How do we feel about selling baby cows?” West demanded, huffing out a quick breath when he joined me.

“How do you feel about fighting my fucking cane?” I retorted. No one was selling my baby cows. He grinned as he braced against the fence, those gray eyes holding mine. I was all too aware of the careful placement of his hands—close but not touching. I filed that little piece of information away.It was one of those days.“You have horses, I have cows.”

“Except my horses aren’t fucking horny all the time.”

“Damn it, Ferdinand!” I glanced at the bull, but there was no shame in his adorable face. “Who now?”

“Daisy and Poppy,” he replied. “Maybe if you stopped naming your cows after flowers, the bull who loves flowers would stop fucking them.”

I opened my mouth to say something but closed it, making West laugh.

“You know I’m right,” he said.

“Can you stop fucking all my heifers?” I snapped at Ferdinand. The bull didn’t give two fucks—well, he had and that was why we were having this goddamn conversation. “Think we can ask the Harvey’s kid to sterilize him? Ain’t that one a vet?”

“You want to neuter a bull?”

“That’s the best I’ve got.”

“Okay.” West took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I can give him a call later today and find out what he says. I ain’t getting my fucking hopes up.”

“We’ll figure it out,” I told him.Hopefully.Fucking Ferdinand was living up his best life with all the snacks he could find and treating my girls like they were his snacks too. We had nine baby cows from him in six years.

“Do you want to go for a ride?” he asked.

“I have to be at Abernathy’s facility in a while,” I reminded him. I’d taken Beau Abernathy up on his offer to teach future bull riders—finally. I’d hemmed and hawed over the decision for five years. But after years of attending opening day as a guest, I was ready to do more. I’d never be able to ride, but I wasn’t done. As West always said: I was Jackson Fucking Myles, and I was still a goddamn legend. I was ready to see what more I could do, including training the next generation of bull riders.

“I know.” His lips quirked at the corner, and I bit back a sigh, knowing full well he was up to shit. “And I plan to be there with popcorn. I’m going to sit there and watch you yell at a bunch of young kids. They don’t fucking know what they’re in for.”

“You’re terrible.”

“Tell me I’m wrong, cowboy.”I couldn’t.He leaned across the fence and kissed me quickly. “Let’s go for a ride. When we get back, we can shower, I’ll make you breakfast, and then we’ll go.”

“A short ride,” I corrected. “Not one of those six-hour rides you sometimes drag me on.”

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