Page 52 of Wild Horses

“I was going to ask you to come with me, but?—”

“I was going to ask to go with you, but?—”

His smile matches mine until our mouths are too busy for anything besides tasting each other. I savor these kisses. They’ll have to last me a few days at least, possibly longer.

“How long do you have?” War asks, his large hands sliding under the hem of my tank top.

“Two hours. Is your sister still here?”

“No, she and Bond wanted to give us time to work out our next steps.” His thumb grazes my nipple, and when it puckers under my shirt, War climbs on top of me and sucks it through the material.

“Mm, next steps?”

His teeth tug at the hardened peak, and my whimper spills into the room. “Yeah, sweetheart. Next steps. I need a couple of days to square this mess up, but there’s no way I’m letting you go to Pueblo without branding each inch of your body, all your delicious noises, into my brain. Or without a promise that I’ll see you in the finals.”

“Then I guess I’ll let you do your worst, Pretty Boy.”

Pleasure pulses between my legs at the teasing touch of War’s fingers. With each kiss, each stroke, each thrust, the worry in my chest melts away, replaced with warm certainty.

We’re going to be alright.

Cheyenne, Wyoming

April

X and I are on fire.

The Cheyenne Rodeo isn’t as big of an event as Denver, but the pot tonight is nothing to blink at. Not to mention, a win here earns a heap of points. The big Boss and I are getting ready to warm up, and if all goes to plan, we’re walking away as the queens tonight.

Night one was perfect, and night two followed suit. So long as I stay focused—and don’t think about the silent phone I tucked away in my trailer—there’s no doubt how things will play out.

War promised he’d be in Pueblo for the finals, but thingsdidn’t go as planned. He didn’t make it to Denver either. When he and Tuesday turned down their father’s offer—shocking—they found several additional assets tied to family accounts they needed to clear out. He explained it all to me during one of the multi-hour video calls we shared during our time apart.

Morning chats are for sharing how we slept, what we have planned for the day. Mid-day is to check in on his and Tuesday’s progress. Nights are for updates on how I raced, taking off our clothes, and pressing the boundaries of mutual masturbation.

Today, though, I only got my morning call. I’m trying not to pout, and I refrained from calling him after the first three went unanswered. I’m guessing something big is happening with the last holdings he and Tuesday are looking to liquidate.

Xpresso stamps her hoof, a prancy little move on her part to get my attention. Cooing to her, I take her lead and walk to the warm-up space. “We’re winning tonight.”

She tosses her glossy mane and nickers in agreement.

From behind me, a familiar voice chimes in. “Yep. You two are about to earn a big win. I can feel it.”

“Hey, Dad, what are you doing back here?” I wave my arm, spurring him to catch up.

“Just checking on you.” He flicks the brim of my hat.

I swat his hand away and straighten my Stetson. “We’re good, and you’re hovering. What’s wrong?”

Dad holds his hands up in surrender. “Hovering? That makes me sound like your Memaw. You’re breaking this old man’s heart.” At my smile and eye roll, he squeezes my shoulder. “Have a good run, Mimi. I’ll be waiting for you after your victory lap.”

X nudges me on, antsy to move. “I’ve got ya, girl. I’m ready to run, too.”

There’s no more time to think about War, Dad’s weirdbehavior, or anything else. By the time I work X through her warm-ups, they’re calling me to the alley. Like always, I take a beat to center myself. All my favorite scents—minus War’s body wash and skin—fill my nose. The mixture of hay, dirt, and horse soothes any remaining nerves, and with a pat to Xpresso’s neck, we approach the gate.

The countdown clock flashes.

Five.

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