Page 62 of Tempted By the Broken Cowboy
Maybe one day I’ll be brave enough to tell him. To risk everything for the chance to finally be free of the fear that keeps me silent.
But for now, I keep the words locked tight behind my teeth, even as my heart screams them every time he touches me.
I press a hand to my chest, trying to steady the thrum that still hasn’t calmed since breakfast. My life feels full. Happier thanI ever imagined it could be. And maybe that’s why the unease twisting in my stomach catches me off guard.
It isn’t sharp, not painful—just a dull flutter of discomfort that refuses to settle. I push back from the table, moving toward the open window to breathe in the ranch air. The scent of hay, sun-warmed earth, and distant horses usually clears my head, but today my body feels heavy, a strange fatigue tugging at my bones.
“Too much coffee,” I mutter to myself, forcing a small laugh. Or maybe it’s the butterflies Beck plants in me, relentless and unkind in the best way. Either excuse works, keeping me from thinking too hard.
I shake it off, because I won’t let anything sour this. Not now. Not when Beck is trying so hard, not when the Morgans are finally looking at me like I belong.
I smooth my palms over my jeans and straighten my shoulders, schooling my expression back into something light, something unbothered. Whatever this is—fatigue, nerves, butterflies—I can handle it.
Because the truth is, I’ve handled worse.
And this? This is nothing compared to the fire I feel when Beck looks at me like I’m the only thing that matters.
So I tuck the discomfort away, deep down where it can’t steal from me, and step back into the rhythm of the day.
24
BECKETT
The fairgrounds hum with the kind of restless energy I used to live for. The smell of dust, leather, and fried food hangs heavy over the arena. Kids are darting between legs, balloons bobbing in the sunlight, as the announcer’s voice crackles through the loudspeakers, booming about the schedule of events. For years I’ve stood outside of this, shut out, banned and whispered about. Now, standing here with my number pinned to my shirt, I feel every set of eyes on me.
I roll my shoulders back, trying to loosen the knot that’s been sitting in my gut all morning. It’s just a charity ride, I remind myself. I’m not chasing points, not chasing glory. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s my first time back in the chute since they threw me out. Every sound is sharper, every smell stronger.
The only consolation I have is that my family is here with me. The Morgans don’t just show up—they show out. My old man is already working the crowd, shaking hands with ranchers, laughing that deep belly laugh of his that carries over the arena. People respect him. Hell, they always have. Him standing here with me today says more than I could ever ask for.
“Son,” my father grips my shoulder when I pass him. His voice is steady, proud. “It doesn’t matter how long you last on that bronc. Just get on, ride clean, and hold your head high. That’s all anyone needs to see.”
It’s not much, but coming from him, it might as well be a standing ovation. I nod, swallowing hard, but my throat still feels dry.
“Don’t look so nervous,” Jace says, clapping me on the back. “It’s for charity, not a damn world title.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter, adjusting the strap of my glove. “You weren’t the one who got paraded out of here in handcuffs last time.”
He gives me a look—half stern, half brotherly—before smirking. “Fair point. But you’ve worked your ass off to be here. Don’t let the past steal this from you.”
Zane joins us, a bit tanner than when he left for his honeymoon, looking more smug than a man has any right to. “Try not to eat dirt, brother. Ava already made me promise not to laugh too loud if you do.”
“Appreciate the support,” I shoot back, rolling my eyes. But the grin slips out anyway.
And Ava—of course she couldn’t just sit pretty in the stands. The announcer calls her name, and the crowd goes wild when she steps into the arena, mic in hand. She’s dazzling in jeans, one of Zane’s shirts to hide her ever-growing belly, cowboy boots, and a hat. She gives the crowd an electric performance from one of her albums, voice smooth and confident.
The kids scream, the ranch wives clap along, and even the old-timers who usually only care about livestock are whistling. Zane is staring at her, entranced—his superstar wife who can turn a rodeo arena into a damn concert stage with nothing but a smile, all while seven months pregnant.
I shake my head, muttering under my breath, “Show-off.”
Quinn slides up next to me, close enough that I feel her shoulder brush mine. She’s got that teasing look in her eyes—the one that says she’s about to cut me down a notch and enjoy every second.
“Think you can top that performance, cowboy?” she asks, lips quirking.
“Not a chance,” I admit, tugging my hat lower. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t end up eating dirt in front of all these people.”
She tilts her head, studying me in that way that makes me feel like she sees more than I want her to. Then she lowers her voice so only I can hear. “It doesn’t matter what happens out there,Beck. You’ve already proven yourself—to your family, to this town… to me.”
My chest tightens, and I have to look away before the emotion shows too plain on my face. Her words mean more than the cheers of a thousand strangers.
