Something close to the Thorne brothers but a place we can call our own.
Travis comes up behind me, warm, solid, and smelling of soap after his shower. One hand slides easily around my waist.
“You hungry, little filly?” he asks. “Baby needs to eat.”
He’s beyond excited to be a dad.
“A little,” I admit.
“Dinner’s almost ready.”
I lean back into his chest, breathing deep with the quiet certainty of my life right now.
Six months ago, I was worried about past-due bills, eviction notices, and trying to find where I belonged in the world.
Now?
I am home.
And there’s no place I’d rather be.
10 Years Later…
Travis
The limo hums softly beneath us as Vegas blurs past the tinted windows. The bright lights outside don’t look like they’ve changed a damn bit in ten years.
Maisey’s curled into my side, her boots kicked off, her head resting on my shoulder. It’s her first time back to Sin City since the night we met, but she couldn’t care less about looking at the sights. I know she’s worried about the kids.
Being away from them is hard, and it still twists something inside my chest every time I have to go away for a rodeo, but this is Maisey’s first time away. It took some convincing to get her to leave our ranch. But this trip matters.
Tonightmatters.
“I still can’t believe we left them,” she murmurs.
“They’re with Wyatt and Anna.” I squeeze her a little tighter. “They’re fine.”
“I know.” She lifts her head and smiles. “They’re probably having so much fun they haven’t even noticed we’re gone.”
“Exactly.” I lift her chin with one finger and kiss her gently.
Tonight is our anniversary.
Ten years.
Somehow, that still surprises me.
I’ve been retired from riding for a while now. It was time. I didn’t stop loving the rodeo, just stopped risking my body for it. For the past few years, I’ve turned my knowledge and passion into a new career as a performance coach for kids who have that same fire in their eyes that I did all those years ago.
You can’t teach the instinct for bronc riding. But you can fine-tune technique that will turn a talented rider into a championship rider.
And that’s exactly what I’ve done. Maisey and I just watched my latest protégée take first place, along with a belt buckle that matches the one I wore the night I met her, and for many years after.
The limo slows, then stops.
I straighten, a grin tugging at my mouth. “Ready?”
“For what?” she asks suspiciously.
