I turned my face away, staring at the packed dirt beneath my boots. My shoulder throbbed. My pride was burning. “You shouldn’t have come out here.”
He didn’t answer right away. The silence between us grew heavy and thick. The noise from the crowd faded as the next rider was announced, but it all felt far away, like I was underwater.
Finally, he said softly, “You think I could watch you hit the ground and not come?”
The question cut straight through the wall I’d spent years building. I didn’t answer, couldn’t, not with my throat closing tight.
An event staffer ran up, clipboard in hand, asking if I needed medical help. I shook my head quickly. “I’m fine.”
Linc’s hand twitched, as if he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. His jaw flexed once before he stepped back. I thought he was leaving. I hoped he was leaving.
He wasn’t.
He walked Lady toward the pens, unhooking her cinch, loosening the strap with the easy rhythm of habit. His movements were methodical, efficient. The same way he handled every crisis, calmly, competently, like emotion had no place in it. But I could see the muscle twitching in his temple, and the way his eyes followed me even when I turned away.
When he came back, I was already half limping toward my trailer, clutching my arm against my ribs. The noise of the rodeo echoed around me, boots crunching in gravel, the hum of generators, the faint metallic twang of a distant announcer’s mic, but it all sounded muted, unreal.
“Kristin.”
My name stopped me.
I didn’t turn. I couldn’t.
“What?”
He approached me more slowly this time, careful as if I were a spooked colt. “You need to get that shoulder looked at.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“Fine’s not the same as okay.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, fighting the heat climbing behind them. He always knew how to find the crack in my defenses, the exact spot I didn’t want him to see.
“Why are you even here?” I asked.
“Diamond business,” he said plainly. “We sponsor part of the circuit now. I was checking stock.”
The words hit harder than I expected. Of course, he was here. Of course, he’d built something stable while I was still chasingadrenaline around dusty arenas. That was Linc, steady where I was wild, grounded where I ran.
He reached out before I could step back, his hand hovering near my arm, careful not to touch. “Let me help you get to the trailer.”
“I don’t need help.”
“You fell hard, Kristin.” His tone softened, but he didn’t give an inch. “You can fight me after you sit down.”
Something inside me cracked, small but undeniable. Maybe it was the pain. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the sound of my name in his voice again. I didn’t argue this time.
He matched his stride to mine, staying just close enough to catch me if I stumbled but not close enough to brush against me. We crossed the lot in silence, the gravel crunching under our boots. The light had shifted; the sun hung low, casting everything in a golden glow.
When we reached my trailer, he stopped at the door. I reached for the handle, but my shoulder screamed. His hand came up, covering mine, warm and strong, steadying me. I jerked back as if burned.
“Thank you,” I said, the words rough and final. “You can go now.”
He nodded once. “All right.”
He turned to leave, and for one sharp heartbeat, I wanted to call him back. I wanted to tell him that I hated him for still caring, that I hated myself for wanting him to. But the words stuck behind my teeth.
He stopped halfway to the pens, glanced over his shoulder. “You did good out there. Before the fall.”
