His chuckle is a low rumble that buzzes through my chest. His lips latch onto my throat, and I’m caught in a moment of desperation, my legs urging him closer. It’s impossible with both of us clothed in denim, but the friction eases the ache.
A horse whinnies loudly in its stall. It might as well be a bucket of ice water—a reminder we have a job to do and there are people on the other side of the ranch waiting for us.
I groan as Tripp sets me back down, but he just grins at me, dimples popping like all he wanted to do was wind me up.
He gives my ass a final squeeze before stepping back. “I’m gonna have so much fun fucking you later tonight. You’re always so desperate for my cock when we get interrupted.”
I hum. “Itisa really good cock.”
A low moan works its way up his throat. “Come on, honey. Let’s get these last two horses down to the new stable so we can disappear for a while somewhere.”
We get the horses saddled and ride them to the other side of Dawson Ranch. Tripp urges his horse into a gallop, and I do the same, letting the warm breeze whip the hair from my braid, while the horses trample down green grass as they go. Riding in the open like this always makes me feel weightless, free.
It doesn’t take long before the brand-new stable comes into view. Wes is already there, leaning on the fence rail with a lead rope dangling from his hand. His mouth quirks when he sees us.
“Took your sweet time,” he mutters flatly.
I bite back a smile and slide off my horse. “There were... extenuating circumstances.” My eyes flick to Tripp.
Wes shoots me a deadpan stare. “You think I don’t realize his extenuating circumstance is my little sister?” His nose wrinkles.
Tripp wisely keeps his mouth shut, but then he grins, dimples flashing. And I know that look.
“What can I say? She looks damn good in the saddle.”
Wes’ scowl deepens, and I hurry to hand over my reins before they can start in on each other.
Across the yard, Sawyer’s working a young bay in the training ring, her sharp whistle cutting through the air as the horse circles at a steady trot. She moves like the reins are an extension of her, and Pops leans on the fence, shouting unnecessary commentary from the sidelines.
“Get her nose tucked in tighter, Sawyer, don’t let her boss you around!”
Sawyer doesn’t even look his way. “I don’t remember puttin' you on the payroll, old man.”
That earns a belly laugh from him, his Stetson tipping back as he slaps the fence rail. The easy banter, the horses, the smell of leather and dust—it all settles in my chest, a content buzz that has me grateful for the life I chose here in Cottonwood Creek.
Tripp steps up behind me, his lips soft on my neck before his teeth nip at my skin briefly. A reminder. A promise of what’s in store for me when we get back home.
The crunch of tires on gravel pulls my gaze from the ring, and a big black pickup rolls up to the training center. Tripp pats my hip and steps out from behind me, an excited grin deepening the dimples denting his cheeks.
The door swings open and Tripp calls out, “Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.”
Gravel crackles as large cowboy boots step out of the truck. The stranger towers over everything, broad-shouldered with thick thighs, a full beard, and eyes that sweep the surroundings before landing on meand Tripp. His presence is commanding as he settles his hands on his hips.
“Hey, rookie,” he mutters, his voice deep and growly.
Tripp’s laugh is loud, and he crosses the distance in a few strides, wrapping him in a hug. The man must be in his forties. Laugh lines crinkle the corners of his eyes as his lips tug up in a slow smile.
“I’ve missed your irritating ass,” Tripp says.
“It’s been a while,” the man replies.
Tripp nods. “It has. Come here. There’s someone I want you to meet.” His arm curls around me, pulling me close. “This is Quinn Dawson, our vet and my future wife,” he says.
I love the way he beams at me like he couldn’t be prouder or happier than he is to say those words. I step forward and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, offering the man my hand.
“Quinn, this is Brooks Wilder. Hopefully he’s gonna be helpin' us out with riding lessons.”
He gives me a warm smile as his giant hand encompasses mine. “Nice to meet ya, darlin',” he says, his Texas drawl thick and slow like molasses.
