Page 18 of Eight Seconds

“Yes!” He bounces on the balls of his feet. “It’s my first time mutton busting, but I’ve been practicing with our neighbor’s sheep for weeks.”

“Sounds like you know what you’re doing!” Little Colt beams with pride as I acknowledge his efforts. “You’re not nervous, are you?”

“No, sir.”

“Not even a little?” I reel back in pretend surprise, once again assessing him. He shakes his head purposefully, all business. “You sound like someone else I know. She’s a real cowgirl. Wins every race she’s been in this year. Practices and works hard, just like you.”

“Is it that pretty lady with you?” Colt’s cheeks flash pink, and his mother giggles with tender affection. I stand then, reaching back for Charlotte. She kneels easily next to me, the pair of us giving Colt our full attention.

“This is Charlotte Stryker, the best barrel racer I’ve ever seen. She and her horse, Rooney, practice every day, and they are unbeatable,” I introduce them like I’m old friends with the seven-year-old. With care, Colt lifts the brim of his hat to Charlotte.

“Hi, ma’am.” His voice softens a little, as though he hasn’t done this many times before, but still knows the drill. Colt’s younger sister has wiggled free of their mother’s arms, taking up a place next to her big brother.

“Hi, Colt.” Charlotte waves. “Sounds like I’ll have someone to cheer for during the rodeo tomorrow. All that practice and determination is bound to pay off.”

“Pretty.”

The little girl walks right up to Charlotte, interrupting the conversation, and takes hold of the chiffon ribbon, playing peekaboo through the ebony waves Charlotte has cascading over her shoulder tonight. It’s a cornflower-blue color that brings out the tiny pattern of her sundress. She didn’t wear a hat tonight, and I’ve enjoyed seeing the sunlight bring out the deep chestnut streaks in her hair. Just as the girl’s father steps forward to disengage his daughter’s grabby fingers, Charlotte easily guides them out of her hair gently.

“Thank you,” she says before pointing at the girl’s own sundress, layers of purple frilly material making it far more feminine than Charlotte’s. “This is very pretty, too. You look like a princess.”

“Rapunzel! Princess!” The little girl claps. Charlotte’s eyes cut to the parents, a kind smile and question on her face.

“Her name is Marie, but she’s obsessed with Rapunzel right now,” her mother explains. With practiced ease, she brings the little girl back on her hip and gently clasps Colt’s shoulder with her other hand, steering him into the family group. Charlotte and I stand, and I wrap an arm around her waist. This seemingly insignificant interaction fills my chest with an unfamiliar warmth.

The ride operators have finally opened the gate, preparing to usher all the queue through to find their assigned bucket seats. I give everyone one last smile and raise my hat to Colt.

“Good ride, cowboy,” I tell him, pleased when he responds in kind.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Charlie?” I explore the fondness and quiet surprise on her face as we settle into the bucket seat. There’s a disconcerting groan from the mechanisms of the ride as we’re lifted into the air, but it’s just the usual churning of carnival rides. Half the fun is thinking you might die when you get on one. When the bucket swoops, Charlotte scoots closer, looping her arm around mine and pulling me close.

“I just think you were really sweet with that little boy. I didn’t expect it.” I try not to feel any offense, and any hint of it dissipates as soon as she leans her head on my shoulder and sighs. “I think it’s become my favorite thing about you, Wild. You’ll never be what I expect. You’re better.”

The confidence she has in her statement sends a pang of want through me, warm and heavy. But it isn’t only the desire I’m used to feeling when I’m with her. There’s something deeper tangled with it. Affection so strong I’m momentarily blinded by the surety of my subconscious whispering at me a singular word—love.It’s too early to feel that, but I can’t help how right it sounds. How having this incredible woman see me, value me, and want me has changed nearly every fiber of me in such a short period of time.

I hook a finger under her chin, bringing her gaze to meet mine. The breeze, as we circle in the air, blows wispy strands of her hair around her heart-shaped face. When her eyes find mine; the dying sun and bright lights of the carnival make the various chips of emerald and jade shine like a kaleidoscope. Moving my hand to trace the fine angle of her jaw until I can brush a thumb across the apple of her cheek, I relax into the moment, shutting out the rest of the world. Here, gliding effortlessly through the air, I pull her close, pressing my lips to drink her in.

Charlotte’s lips are soft, yielding, and warm under mine. The remaining flavors of salt and sweetness from her kettle corn somehow perfectly blend with her usual taste. A flavor I have come to need nearly as much as the air I breathe. Cupping the back of her head, I angle her exactly where I want her, deepening the kiss as a soft moan reverberates in her throat. She opens for me at the first swipe of my tongue, and then we’re tumbling into a fevered kiss. Tongues sliding against each other, desperate gasps of air, and barely restrained groans covered only by the squeals of other riders as the bucket drops toward the ground.

I pull back, proud of the way her lips have plumped and reddened from our kiss. Desire shows clear in her blown pupils looking back at me, the green nearly eclipsed by the swollen black. Her soft pants fan across my skin.

“I suddenly hate the Ferris wheel,” she whispers, taking me by surprise. But before I can ask, her small fingers glide along the line of buttons on my flannel, stopping just at the metal of my belt. She traces them back and forth. “I need you alone. Uninterrupted. The way I’ve been dreaming about for weeks.”

“You don’t want to watch the fireworks?” I tease, running the back of my fingers along her arm, smiling when I see goosebumps in their wake.

Charlotte twists her hand, reaching between my legs to cup my rapidly hardening cock. I can’t help the sharp intake of air, the smile on my face faltering even when she gifts me a playful wink.

“Let’s go make our own.”

Without hesitation, I flag down the ride operator and motion for us to be brought to the ground immediately.

10

CHARLOTTE

CALGARY, ALBERTA — EARLY JULY

The trip back to my trailer is a blur. Teasing touches, soft kisses, and whispered promises somehow carry us through the carnival crowd and back to the space my rig is calling home for the next week. I’m not sure who that version of Charlotte was back on the Ferris wheel—tempted to open Wilder’s jeans and explore the cock that bulged the button fly—but I like her.

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