Page 83 of Cowboy Bull's Promise

Dante, bless him, looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. And Rosie is singing sweetly and giggling as she draws on the window with her spit covered finger.

“Sweetheart, are you sure this is ideal right now? Penny’s probably nesting or sobbing into her mate’s socks again.” Dante interrupts, but I can tell it is out of concern for his woman.

Sweet. Weird, but sweet.

Avery beams. “Of course I’m sure. This is exactly what Arliss needs.”

I blink again. “Wait. What do I need?”

Avery turns in her seat, eyes gleaming.

“A Girl Club Meeting, of course.”

And that’s when I realize, I may have just stepped out of one supernatural heartbreak and straight into a Shifter sisterhood storm.

And I’m so not ready.

But something in my chest—small, trembling, and stubborn—sure as fuck wants to be.

Chapter Seventeen-Kian

Working myself into a lather is exactly what I need.

Because the second Max and Zeke finally let me up, after physically holding me back from chasing Arliss down like some feral bull on a rampage, I was this close to shifting, charging down the drive, and begging her not to look at me like I’m a monster.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I did something useful.

I mean, I still shifted into my Bull.

But not to hunt my woman. Instead, I let Jed, our resident goat-whisperer and all around handyman with too many opinions and not enough shirts, strap an old-fashioned plow to my back.

Yeah. A real one.

Iron and leather. Rustic as hell.

Why? Because sometimes a man needs something to tether him to reality.

The moment the straps tightened, something in me settled.

Because this is honest work. And I need that to ground me.

Everything I’m doing, I do for her whether or not she knows it.

I should leave her alone. But I know I won’t.

In the end, I might wind up ruining us both. But I still can’t stop myself from wanting her, from pining for her.

The sharp bite of soil giving way beneath my hooves brings me back from my downward spiral.

The rhythmic creak of leather.

The raw pull of muscle with every step as I carved deep, even lines into the field.

It’s not just tradition.

It’s necessity.

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