Page 59 of Ride Me Reckless
“She’d like that,” he said. “Your mom deserves something solid.”
“She does,” I agreed, though I didn’t add that I wasn’t sure she’d accept it. Not yet. Not with how much of her life she’d already lost in the fire.
We fell into silence again, chewing slowly, the kind of meal where nothing’s rushed because everything matters.
Then Colt spoke again, gently this time, like he didn’t want to scare the words away.
“You never answered me the other day when I mentioned you starting to barrel race again.”
I didn’t look up right away. I just pushed a piece of roast around on my plate and watched the gravy trail behind it like a slow tide.
“Not yet,” I said quietly. “Maybe later. I’ve got other things to focus on.”
He didn’t argue. Didn’t try to sell me on it again. He just nodded and reached for another slice of cornbread, like he understood there were things I wasn’t ready to say out loud yet.
And there were. So many.
But somehow, sitting across from him like this, in the warm light of his kitchen, I didn’t feel quite so alone.
Colt glanced down at his boots like they might suddenly rebel against him. “I know from the last time that walking is important. Keeps things loose.”
I pushed back from the table and smiled. “Then let’s walk.”
He gave me a look—half gratitude, half amusement—and stood with a slight grunt. I stepped beside him, our arms brushing as we made our way to the door. Millie handed him a jacket without a word, then disappeared again like a ghost with manners.
The air outside was crisp and golden, the kind of late-afternoon light that softened everything it touched. Hand-in-hand, we started down the long driveway, moving slowly, Colt leaning slightly to one side.
“I’m not gonna win any footraces,” he said with a crooked smile.
“You could always beat me even when you gave me a head start,” I teased.
He chuckled, and it was nice to hear. Real, low, warm.
We walked in silence for a few minutes, the kind that didn’t need filling. I could hear birds in the trees and see a hawk circling far off in the sky. It felt like Montana was breathing around us—steady, grounded, familiar.
“How’s Callie liking her job?” Colt asked, finally breaking the quiet.
“She called me on her lunch break and told me she likes it,” I said. “She explained how the manager’s already letting her shadow in a few different departments. And she’s got that sparkle back in her eyes, you know? Like she’s finding her rhythm.”
He nodded. “That’s good. She’s a strong gal.”
“Too strong sometimes,” I murmured.
We talked a bit more about my mom—how the doctors think her pneumonia is almost gone, and that the memory clinic Helenrecommended had a spot open if we could act fast. But even that conversation faded into silence as we reached the end of the drive.
Colt stopped at the wooden fence post, resting his hand there as he took in the view. The land sloped away in soft curves, golden fields stretching toward the horizon. A few birds dipped low, wings catching the light just right. It looked like the whole world was made of fire and forgiveness for a second.
I leaned beside him, both of us watching without speaking.
“I haven’t felt safe in a long time,” I said, not meaning to say it out loud.
But he didn’t flinch. Just reached down and laced his fingers through mine. “Me neither. Winning the Powerball made it worse. Had to tell if folks are your friends or just grifters,” he said softly.
We stood like that for a while, hand in hand, our shadows long across the driveway.
He took it a little slower on the walk back, and I didn’t rush him.
“You ever think about the old swing?” he asked.
