Page 129 of Brim Over Boot
I pluck the crown up, walking with it back to where Colton is still lying. Going down on my knees, I nestle the crown on top of his head, the size just right, the metal a bright contrast to the brown locks curling around his ears and against the nape of his neck.
A smile touches his lips, his head shifting lazily to see me better. “Do I look like a king?”
I pull in a breath. Outside, the evening sun shines, lighting the barn we’re in, and steaks wait for us inside the kitchen. The whole world waits, days stretching out before us. Years, even. But right now, there’s only him. My Colt. The man I’ll gladly spend the rest of my life fighting for.
Does he look like a king?
I give him a smile, leaning down to press my lips to his.
You look like you could be one.
Epilogue
Colton
Three Years Later
“You’regoingdown,King.”
“That so?” my rival asks, lips twitching as he stands across from me. “Last I recall,youwere the one who lost. So I don’t think I have anything to worry about.”
I scoff. “Won the year before that, though, didn’t I?”
Noah only hums.
“All right, gentlemen,” Mr. Yadav says with some amusement, cutting into our bickering. “Why don’t we start this competition off with a friendly handshake?”
I hold out my hand, and Noah clasps my palm tight.
“I’m not going easy on you,” I tell him.
He puckers his lips, blowing me a kiss. “Love you, too, Colt, baby.”
I grunt, and Mr. Yadav starts us off. The crowd cheers as Noah and I race toward our respective horses for our fourth annual Darling Shoein’. Noah may talk a big game, but I came prepared this year, and I amnotlosing.
The minutes tick by, the gathered townsfolk murmuring amongst themselves as the sound of our tools fills the air around us. I don’t dare look over at what Noah is doing, not wanting to get distracted. We’ve both forgone the speed approach. Yeah, it gives a good chunk of points. But, in the end, the finished product is what wins the race.
I’m almost surprised when I hear Noah announce he’s done, but a quick check his way shows his horse shoed and polished to perfection. Not a problem. He’s still not winning.
I finish polishing my horse’s final hoof, and then I bring out the big guns. Noah barks a laugh as I pull the ribbons from my bag, his eyes twinkling when I look his way.
“My ace,” I tell him, shooting him a wink.
He shakes his head. “You’re gonna pay for that later.”
Oh, I won’t mind that one bit.
I take my time, braiding my horse’s mane and tail, incorporating the ribbons like Wendy taught me to. When I stand back, my horse looks as radiant as a damn unicorn. All that’s missing is the horn.
“Done,” I declare.
There are chuckles and hoots from the crowd, but I catch more than one appreciative comment about my horse’s appearance. Damn right. I’ve got this in the bag.
The members of the town board come out from behind their judges’ table to check our work. Noah heads my way, shaking his head again.
“Really, Colt? Braids?”
“Hey, there are no rules against it,” I point out. And I checked. Carefully.
