“Header.” He tips his chin, a cocky smile spreading. “I’d better go check on my heeler before we get started. I’ll be seeing you, Dr. K.”
I make my way to the warm-up pen just outside the arena, where the barrel racers are circling their horses in the dust, waiting their turn at the gate. The air hums with nervous energy. Horses tossing their heads, nostrils flaring, riders leaning low to whisper reassurances.
The announcer calls the next rider, and the crowd leans forward as a sorrel mare explodes from the gate.
Barrel racing can look like chaos—a horse running flat out, skidding around barrels, dirt flying—but I know better.
Every stride, every turn, is precision.
The mare tucks her hindquarters under, pivots hard around the first barrel, muscles bunched and straining. Dirt sprays up like a rooster tail, stinging my boots. Thenshe launches straight into the next sprint, rider low and balanced, reins loose.
The second turn’s tighter, the horse digging deep, front legs stabbing at the ground, back legs driving her out of the curve. The stress on her joints makes me wince, but she powers through, charging to the last barrel and then for home, a blur of muscle.
I’m leading a gelding when a small whirlwind comes barreling toward me, little boots kicking up dust.
“Miss Sarah!” Evie’s arms fling around my leg like she’s been waiting all day to see me. Her little face tips up, all sunshine and dimples, as if I’ve just handed her the moon.
“Hey, cowgirl.” I crouch, brushing a curl out of her eyes. “You come to watch the rodeo?”
She nods so hard her hat nearly topples off. “Daddy said I could see the broncs, but then I sawyou.”
My throat tightens.
“Evie.” Cade’s voice rings across the noise of the arena. He’s only a few steps behind, his hat shadowing his eyes. “You don’t run off like that, remember?”
Evie looks sheepish but doesn’t let go of my hand. “I just wanted to say hi to Dr. K.”
I brace myself, waiting for the usual bite in his words, the sharpness I’ve come to expect. But when Cade’s gaze meets mine, there’s no rancor. No accusation. Just a man trying to balance being a father and…being decent?
“Thanks for humoring her.” He tips his hat a fraction. Respectful. Polite. It throws me.
“Anytime,” I answer.
Evie tugs my braid. “Why is that horse’s leg taped?”
“So he doesn’t get hurt while he runs barrels,” I tell her, crouching so we’re eye to eye. “These horses run fast and turn sharp, and that puts a lot of strain on their legs. The wrap gives him extra support, like when someone wears kneepads or elbow pads.”
Her eyes widen. “Like when I ride my bike!”
“Exactly.” I smile as I straighten from my crouch. “Only instead of a bike, he’s got four legs and a whole lot more horsepower.”
She giggles, and the sound cracks something open in me. I’ve always been good with kids. I enjoy their blunt honesty, their eagerness to learn. But as I watch Evie beam at me like I hung the stars, a pang strikes deep and sharp.
Because maybe this is the closest I’ll ever get to feeling this way. A borrowed moment with someone else’s child. I’ve built a good life, yes. But one with walls. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tear them down enough to love a man, to start a family, to trust someone with so much.
Evie finally lets go, running back toward the stands. Cade lingers for a moment longer, nods once, then follows.
My heart aches with everything I’ve lost…and everything I’m still terrified to want.
The gelding shifts beside me, bumping my shoulder with his nose. I pat his neck, the tension leaving me on a slow exhale.
“Dreams die once they come alive, don’t they?” I murmur.
Once I hand the horse over, I stay in place, watching Evie with her father. She’s sitting on his shoulders, hands waving.
He’s probably a great father, I think.
Before I can drag my heart further into despair, Elena and Aria find me and take me along to watch Hunt compete.
