She needed normal, and I could give her that, even if I had to lie through my teeth to keep it.
The snow had covered whatever footprints might have been there. The light in the barn was off. The day stretched clean and white, and I told myself that was enough.
But deep down, I knew better.
It was only the beginning.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LINC
Days had passed since the feeling like we were being watched. Kristin had gone back and forth to Everton almost daily, and there hadn’t been another problem with the store or the mysterious white truck. Her injuries healed just in time for the Everton Indoor Rodeo. I wanted her to rest more, but she was anxious to prove that the fall hadn’t scared her.
The air in the arena was heavy with dust and anticipation. You could taste it, grit and adrenaline clinging to the back of your throat. The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, calling out the next competitor, and the crowd’s noise shifted, a hum turning sharp with expectation.
Kristin Felder.
I knew what this arrangement was, but I couldn’t help the swell of my chest as they announced her name. She registered with my last name and the crowd around me looked at one another, slightly confused as to who was next. There’d be no doubt when she flew out of the alleyway in her fringe and sparkles.
I leaned forward in my seat, elbows on my knees, though I had told myself a dozen times I wasn’t going to do this. Wasn’tgoing to care. Wasn’t going to watch her every move. But the second she came into the alley, reins taut, her horse skittering sideways with nerves and energy, I was locked.
With the laser beam set, Kristin clucked her tongue, leaned forward, and then they exploded out of the alleyway like a bullet.
Lady thundered into the arena, dirt flying, hooves pounding a rhythm that hit me in the chest. Kristin was low and tight, her braid whipping against her back, the fringe on her shirt fluttering behind her like it would lift her right out of her saddle, and she could fly away. Her eyes were laser-focused on the first barrel. She didn’t just ride, she became part of her horse. Every shift of her weight was a cue, every tug on the reins a whisper she obeyed without hesitation.
She swung around the first barrel so close I thought she would clip it. Dirt sprayed high, the horse’s muscles bunching and releasing in perfect rhythm, and then they shot off to the second.
The crowd roared, but I couldn’t hear them; my blood was rushing too loudly in my ears.
She was fierce. Fluid. Fearless. By the third barrel, she had the arena in the palm of her hand. She leaned hard, the horse digging in, and then they were sprinting for home, flat-out, dust flying behind them in a golden haze under the lights.
They crossed the timer line, and the announcer’s voice cracked with excitement. “New leader! Kristin Felder takes first place!”
The stadium erupted. Boots stomped, hands clapped, whistles pierced the air. She slowed her horse, lifted a hand in thanks, smiling that smile that was half pride, half disbelief.
It hit me like a fist to the gut.
I had told myself I didn’t need this. Didn’t need her, or the ache that came every time she looked at me like she saw through every wall I had ever built. But watching her like this, alive, litfrom the inside out, I couldn’t stop it. Pride swelled in my chest so sharply it hurt.
I should have stayed in my seat. Should have let her soak in the glory without me. Instead, I was already on my feet, pushing through the stands, heading for the back of the chutes.
The air behind the arena was thicker. Horses blowing hard, sweat darkening hides, men shouting, gates clanging. The smell of leather, dirt, and frying onions from the food stand hung heavy. Kristin swung down from the saddle, boots crunching in the dirt, her horse blowing steam, veins standing out under her slick coat. She patted Lady’s neck, murmuring something soft I couldn’t hear.
She looked small then, framed against the bulk of the horse, the chaos of the arena behind her. Small, but burning bright.
And that was when they came.
“Hell of a run, darlin’.” A man with a crooked hat and a beer in his hand stepped right into her space.
Another reached for her reins like he was doing her a favor. “Damn fine riding. Fastest I have seen tonight.”
Kristin gave them a tight smile, polite, but her shoulders pulled back.
A third cowboy leaned in, brushing her arm with his hand. “Bet a girl like you gets a lot of offers to ride. You ever been to Vegas?”
Her smile faltered. Just for a second. Not enough, most people would have noticed, but I did. I saw the flicker in her eyes, unease, the way her fingers tightened on the reins, the subtle shift of her weight like she wanted to back up but could not with the horse behind her.
Heat shot through me, ugly and hot. I was moving before I even thought about it. Shoving through, planting myself between her and the pack, my voice low and sharp enough to cut. “Back the hell away from my wife.”
