I look back at the arena, at the massive banners featuring the men who’ve turned my entire life upside down.
Maybe she’s right.
Maybe it’s time to stop running and start falling.
16
KAI
The smoke from the big metal BBQ pits drifts across the patio, thick and rich with the smell of brisket and burnt ends and something sweet—probably the honey glaze they use on the ribs here. My stomach has been growling since we pulled into the parking lot, and now that I’ve got a plate piled high with meat, I’m a happy man.
Well. Mostly happy.
June is sitting across from me at one of the long wooden tables, wedged between Carter and some barrel racer from Wyoming who won’t stop talking about her horse. The sunset paints everything gold and amber, catches the red highlights in June’s hair, makes her freckles stand out against her flushed cheeks. She’s laughing at something Carter said, head tipped back, and the sound cuts through the noise of the crowd and the twang of country music playing from the speakers mounted on the patio posts.
I want to be the one making her laugh like that.
Down, boy. You’ll get your turn.
The place is packed tonight—half the rodeo circuit crammed onto these benches, mixing with locals who came out for the food and the spectacle. It’s the kind of scene I usually love: loud,chaotic, everyone a little drunk and a lot competitive. But my attention keeps drifting back to the woman with the hazel eyes and the mating mark on her neck that isn’t mine.
Not yet, anyway.
“You gonna eat that or just stare at it, Kai?” Seth’s voice cuts through my thoughts. He’s working on a rack of ribs, sauce smeared across his fingers and lips, looking more relaxed than I’ve seen him in weeks. Probably because our Omega is sitting close, safe and claimed, even if technically she’s got Carter’s mark on her skin.
Pack, I remind myself. We’re a pack. What’s his is ours.
Doesn’t make the hunger any less sharp.
“Just pacing myself,” I say, tearing into a chunk of brisket. The meat falls apart on my tongue, smoky and perfect. “Unlike some people, I don’t need to inhale everything in front of me.”
“Big words from the guy who ate an entire pizza by himself last Tuesday,” Carter pipes in.
“That was different. That was strategic carb-loading.”
“For what? Sitting on the couch watching TV?”
I laugh out loud, and June catches my eye from across the table, grinning. Fuck me, she’s beautiful.
The barrel racer finally takes a breath, and June uses the opening to lean forward, elbows on the table. “So I’ve been thinking about the attendance today. Despite a bunch of empty seats, I noticed the stadium was reasonably full.”
Seth nods, reaching for his beer. “My father mentioned a few days back that ticket sales are down, especially the multiday passes. But you wouldn’t think that by today’s turnout. Unless the next few days sell fewer tickets?”
June’s brow furrows in that way she does when she’s working through a problem. “The town is booked solid. I handled most of the rentals myself. Why is your dad being told sales are down?”
“Maybe the tourists are here for something else,” Carter suggests. “The scenery?” He gestures vaguely at the Montana landscape beyond the patio. “Fresh air? The dubious pleasure of small-town charm?”
“Doubt it,” she answers.
“You’d be surprised what people do,” Carter adds.
I tune out their speculation and let my gaze wander across the patio. Past the crowded tables and the waitresses weaving through with trays of food, past the big smokers billowing their fragrant clouds, to the corner where something catches my eye.
A mechanical bull.
It’s set up under a covered area, surrounded by thick padded mats for landing. The thing is built like a tank, all chrome and leather and mechanical joints designed to throw riders on their asses. A small crowd has gathered around it, watching some guy in a too-tight shirt try to hang on. He lasts maybe three seconds before he’s eating mat.
But that’s not what interests me.
