Page 33 of Cowboy Bull's Promise

A nail.

The fuck?

It’s big. Ugly. New. And it’s jammed deep into rubber that’s worn down to the cords.

My jaw tightens.

“You drive by some construction?” I ask, my voice low and already on edge.

She shakes her head. “No. Just home and here. Oh, I did stop by the store earlier, but I didn’t notice any road work.”

She frowns as she sees the thick nail, and I don’t miss the worry creeping into her eyes.

“That nail’s not from road work,” I growl, already shifting into protective mode.

Something about it, about how perfectly it’s placed, feels off.

She sighs, lips pursing. “Well, shit. I can’t afford a new tire.”

She mutters a few more choice curses, and somehow, she even makes swearing sound adorable.

“You got a spare?”

“Um, yes! I think. Wait. Hold on.”

She pops the trunk and starts rummaging. I follow, frowning as I lean in and take a look.

Yeah, she’s got a donut, not a real tire. But it’s flat as hell, too.

“Shit,” she whispers again, eyes closing like she’s trying to hold in the overwhelm.

I exhale slowly and keep my voice steady, gentle but firm.

“Look, I can fix your tire. Let me roll it into a spot, and I’ll come back for it with a tow later.”

She turns to me, eyes wide, cautious.

“Why would you do that for me?”

I get it.

I get why she’s wary.

And still—it stings.

Even if I’d be suspicious of me, too.

“Just being neighborly,” I say with a shrug, like her doubt doesn’t cut deep. “Besides, I do all the work on the trucks and machines over at Motley Crewd. This’ll be no problem.”

She chews her bottom lip, hesitating. “I—I can pay. But in increments. Would that be okay?”

I shake my head. “Arliss, I’m not taking your money?—”

“Oh yes, you are, Kian O’Malley,” she says, hands on her hips like she’s ready to throw down.

Her voice is strong, unyielding. There’s a steel spine under all that soft.

My Bull practically bows to it.

---