Page 36 of Wild Horses

He goes to touch his wrist, but when he finds it bare, he runs his free hand through his hair. “My parents held us both to ridiculous standards, but no matter what Tuesday did, it was never good enough. I, um, I got caught up in ambition and the desire to be better. And I hurt the one person I should’ve been there for.”

“Hurt her how?”

His shoulders curl forward, and, while War Phillips isn’t a small man, he seems to have shrunk. “Not standing up for her. Watching my father and mother bully and berate her over every fucking thing. I put the business before her when she needed me.” His voice catches. “I helped them send her away.”

Xpresso stiffens, picking up on the tension radiating from War, so I step away from her flank and put myself where she can see me. I offer her an apple slice and soothe her muzzle. Once she’s settled, I press myself to War’s back, wrapping my arms around him.

My voice is soft when I say, “But you’re growing closer now? Tell me about that.”

He turns, hugging me closer. “Around the time you and I met, I finally did the right thing. I backed Tuesday’s play, and we screwed my dad over.” He smiles into my hair. “I won’t ever forget the look on his face when he realized he lost.” There’s a pause, but as I’m about to break away, War tightens his grip. “The day you and I went out, I told my parents I was done with them. I was done letting them push me around. Done listening to them bad-mouth Tuesday. Just done.”

“That’s why you were late?”

“Yep.” He chuckles. “Then I had the best date of my life.”

My heart sinks. “And I left you.”

War lets out a heavy sigh, and his voice drops. “And you left me.”

It’s my turn to cling to him—a desperate barnacle, cleaving myself to a mooring. “I’m so sorry, War. I never should have run.”

“In a way, I owe you a thanks.”

I peer up at him, trying to parse out what he’s saying.

“If you hadn’t ditched me…”Ouch.“I never would have sold my apartment and run to Trail Creek. Which means I wouldn’t have met my father in Lubbock and ended up at a rodeo.”

My thoughts tumble, and I fidget against War’s hold. “So, I’m the reason we’re together now?”

A smirk tugs at his full lips. “That’s one way to look at it.” He presses his forehead to mine. “I would love to have those three months spent without you back, but I’m so fucking glad I’m here now.”

X whinnies and stamps as we wait for our turn. After War left, his parting words played like a record stuck on repeat. A flurry of nerves came to life in X’s stall this morning, and the bastards refuse to settle. Instead, they swoop and dive and belly-flop their way through my system, searching out any ounce of calm and mutating it until all I’m made of is jitters.

He’s glad he’s here. He actuallyishere. He wishes we could’ve had those three months.

My twin devils are at a loss. If he shouted or ended things, they’d be ablaze. That’s territory they thrive in. But here, in this new place—where a man like War kisses the tip of my nose, hugs me, forgives me—they have nothing to say.

And it’s incredibly disquieting.

X takes two steps before I get her back in the lane. She’s feeding off the wonky energy I’m putting out. I breathe in for five and hold it for six. Then do it again. I’ve got to get myself under control.

Don’t think about War being in the audience, sitting with Dad, watching me ride. Wanting more.

Focus, Laramie!I’m last tonight, and the posted times are respectable. Not great, but good. I’m better. If X and I run clean, we’ll make it to tomorrow night and a chance for the purse.

Like a shot, the timer starts, and X races through the gate. We come in to turn one a wide but quickly adjust. Turn two goes smoothly, but at turn three, it all falls apart. My shoulder locks, and I jerk the reins in response, pulling X too close to the barrel. Her flank catches it, and I know without looking, we just earned a five-second penalty. The silence of the audience confirms it. We sprint through the straightaway, but the damage is done.

I blew it.

Again.

CHAPTER TWELVE

war

My knee bounces as I wait for the barrel racing event to begin. Right now, a dozen adorable kids in mini Western wear ride sheep all around the arena.

“Mutton bustin’,” Kit says to my unasked question.

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