Page 38 of Wild, Wild Cowboy

She didn’t answer, but I took her silence for agreement.

Shit. I tried to breathe. My heart was pounding like I had just taken an eight-second bronc ride.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t known about the dark side of rodeo. There was abuse, both of people and of animals. I knew washed-up animals sometimes ended up in slaughterhouses in Mexico and Canada. I hated it, but I didn’t love rodeo less because of it, as crazy as that might sound. There wasn’t a damn thing in this world that didn’t have a dark side, and you couldn’t let all thatdarkness push out the bright spots. What would be the point of living?

I could live with knowing rodeo wasn’t perfect and doing my best to make it better where I could.

But knowing that Hurricane Red’s last hours on this earth would be miserable, followed by a hellish death, and that it was my fault? I didn’t know how to live with that.

Fucking hell.

“All right,” I said. “Give me the keys.”

My words were met with more silence.

I pushed off the steering wheel and stared at the empty passenger seat.

Hannah was gone.

I groaned and thumped my head against the seat rest, wishing I could knock some damned sense into myself. Of course Hannah was gone. She had witnessed a full-grown man have a meltdown. I felt sick when I remembered how I had kicked the dirt. How I had raised my voice at her with my hands in fists. Shit, had I scared her?

I bolted from the truck, my phone pressed to my ear. She didn’t pick up. Fuck, fuck, fuck. There was no sign of her in the parking lot, so I started for the auction pens.

“Hey.”

I whirled and found her behind me, cheeks flushed, breathing heavily. My knees damn near buckled with relief. Slowly I lowered the phone from my ear. “Hannah.”

“Were you calling me?” she asked. “I figured that was you. I could feel my phone buzzing in my bag, but my hands were full.” She waved two white paper bags. “Are you?—”

She didn’t get another word out. I wrapped my arms around her waist and hauled her against me. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I’m so sorry.” I buried my face in the crook of her neck.

“For what?”

“For being a damn fool. For scaring you. I wouldn’t have hurt you, I promise. But I’m sorry if it seemed like I might.”

“I know. You didn’t scare me, Zack.” She had her arms around me, returning the hug as best she could with the bags in her hands. “You said you needed a minute, so I gave you a minute.”

Oh. Right. I had said that.

I still didn’t want to let go of her, though.

“What’s in the bags?” I asked, pulling back, but keeping my hands on her hips.

“Lunch. Chicken strips and fries was the best I could do, but I’m starving and we’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

Three hours wasn’t what I considered long, but I wasn’t going to argue with her just because fried foods scared the shit out of me now. Anyway, I’d made her feel bad enough for one day. “Chicken strips and fries are my favorite.” I grabbed the blanket I kept behind the seats. “You want to eat in the back?”

“Sure.” She held up her arms. “Help me up?”

I boosted her into the truck bed and climbed in afterward with the blanket. I spread it out over the dust and dirt that had built up, since washing my truck was never high on my list of priorities, and we settled in for a picnic.

“How’s your leg?” she asked, watching me try to get comfortable.

“Nothing worth complaining about.” Because if I complained every time my leg or some other body part hurt, I’d never have time to do anything else.

“How do you think it would feel after a fourteen-hour road trip?”

I paused, considering her. “Why do I get the feeling you have a reason for asking me that?”

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