Page 18 of Ride the Sky

Face the truth. Face myself.

After nine months of sunshine and wide-open spaces and bruised bones, Aiden’s still here. Every night in my nightmares.

I thought I’d be happier here. I thought I had a plan that would fix everything, fix me. I thought I’d be okay.

“You are,” I tell my reflection. “You’re fucking fine.”

I whip the shower curtain aside and turn on the water. As I wait for the old pipes to heat, I pick up my phone and log on to my abandoned Instagram account. Ignoring my overflow of unwelcome DMs, I go to one particular profile.

Wyatt Montgomery.

It hasn’t been updated since he announced his retirement from the rodeo. In the caption, he thanks his brothers and the PRCA, while stating his excitement about his new venture as a trainer with Younger Rodeo School.

A bullshit statement for a bullshit job. He’s too good to quit the rodeo. I hate everything about it.

I bite my lip and stare at the photo of him saddled on Pepita as thoughts and memories rise.

The text he sent me a day after I left Resurrection.I’m pissed at you. For worrying everyone. Worrying me.I hope you’re okay. Please be okay.

The letter I left him, unanswered. Maybe I had been a fool to hope. That he’d read it and—

It doesn’t matter.

He’s a grudge I can’t get over.

He’s too good for me. I’m a dark shadow, and he’s sunshine.

He’s that silver-tongued cowboy whispering in my ear.Give me your hand and let’s do it. Let’s do this thing.

Thing.

I look down at his photo and laugh.

Right.If that’s what you want to call it.

THREE YEARS AGO

“Put the cigarette down.”

The order raises my hackles. Curls my toes. I shouldn’t like a man telling me what to do, but it’s different with Wyatt Montgomery.

Muted conversation drifts from the farewell campfire dinner taking place on the ranch.

Inhaling a deep drag, I lean back against the tree. “Didn’t you know? Good for your body and soul.”

His handsome face clouds. “Cowgirl killers, and you know it.”

I give a lazy shrug. “Sure, they’re bad for you. So are cowboys, but they taste good.”

In amusement, I watch his lips flatline. Riling Wyatt Montgomery never gets old.

Then he plucks the smoke from my mouth. Tosses it on the ground, advances to press me up against the tree.

“You’re a neanderthal,” I sneer at him.

He links his index finger around mine. Fire lights inside me. “C’mon.”

I remain stubborn, relishing the power I have over him. But the funny thing is, he has power over me. I hate the way my body bends to him more than it should. Letting him know thatwould be too satisfying for him. Just another thing for this cocky cowboy to boast about.

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