The darkening forest suits her, remote and wild. Many women would look out of place at the top of a ridgeline, diminished by the formidable mountain range, but not Lanie. Here, she’s a part of the elements, made for the breeze that lifts her hair, her pale cheeks receiving its icy kiss.
I stroke my fingertips across her shoulders, beneath her hair, drawing the edges of her blanket together. Her hand emerges to make a knot between her breasts, pulling the corners of the wolf blanket tight.
“It’s beautiful here,” she whispers, tucking her legs beneath her. Her brow dips as she stares into the forest, and she leans forward abruptly. “Cord?—”
“What?” I frown, watching her carefully, and then follow her gaze, but all I see is trees and the top of the waterfall, its pool serene and clear. “Lanie?”
She sinks back against my arm. “Nothing. I thought I saw—” She shakes her head. “It’s silly. Ignore me.” The curve of her cheek rests on her knees, her gaze focusing on some point in the distance.
“Not your wolves?” I murmur.
“I wish.” A sigh leaves her body soft beside me.
I itch to touch her, to hold her again. To kiss her and give her some deeper part of myself, even if she doesn’t return my affection. She’s worth the risk and she needs the distraction right now. “Can I show you who I am?” I ask, catching a wayward lock and laying it over her shoulder. My fingers brush her cheek, and she rewards me with a shiver.
“I don’t think we’re quite there yet.” Lanie doesn’t quite look at me, her fingers flexing around her shins.
Ilean back, retracting my touch, and settle beside her. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Lanie sneaks a sideways glance at me. “The Cord I thought I knew wouldn’t let that go.”
I suppress a grin. “You’re absolutely right.”
She huffs a laugh, turning eyes on me that finally sparkle again. “Good to seethathasn’t changed,” she says dryly. A speck of curiosity flickers there, too. Maybe I haven’t lost her, after all. “Tell me what happened.”
I don’t insult her by pretending not to understand what she’s asking.
Dust a decade old coats my tongue, cloying my throat. “It was a championship ride, defending a title I pulled every year without contest. Kids like Billy came from towns around to watch, stayed up late to hear that bell ring past eight seconds.” I flex my hand over my knee, the ghost of the rope beneath my fingers still present. “That buckle should have been mine. I drew a sweet little bull by the name of Wrecking Ball that no one had seen yet back then. A wild card entry. And by sweet and little, I mean huge and terrifying.”
Lanie snorts. “I can’t see you being afraid of anything.”
“Maybe, once. I was after that ride.” I exhale long and slow. “We came out of the chute awkward. It’s always a bit wild, but my seat was poor and everything seemed to shift beneath me. The whole world disappears for those eight seconds. If you can see and hear the crowd, you’re not going to stay on that bull. He demands your respect. Your focus. Everything you have. Sweat. Aching muscles. Sixteen heartbeats. And you should give it.”
“You live for this, don’t you?”
I straighten, unbuttoning my shirt with stiff fingers. Memories of dirt and sawdust kick up around me; the scent of bull that’s never left me mixes forever with a hideous sanitary hospital tang. “I came off. I wasn’t on for long, and that night easily counts as one of my worst rides. My foot tangled in the rope, which didn’t come undone the way it should have. I got dragged, came up a little trodden. The rodeo clowns did an amazing job, but they couldn’t getclose without being seriously injured. I was pretty messy by the time the bull and I disengaged.” I finish unbuttoning my shirt and shuck it off my shoulders despite the frigid air closing around us as the day’s light fades.
Just enough left to see by.
Balling my shirt in my hands, I brace my elbows on my knees, letting my head hang forward. Lanie hesitates and then takes the invitation, trailing her fingers across my back, seeking what I want to show her. When I gently grasp her cold hand and place it over the dead patch of skin at the base of my neck, she finally discovers the thin scar there.
“Do you have any sensation here?” she asks, her fingers pressing lightly.
“Some. Not on the scar. It’s numb. There’s a lot of damage, and they reconstructed what they could. Money wasn’t the issue.” I shrug back into my shirt, rubbing my neck when the twinges start. “But I’m not supposed to ride again.”
“Or you’ll be paralyzed,” she finishes for me.
I stare at the mountains I don’t see anymore. “No. I’ll be dead.”
Lanie presses her lips together tight before she speaks. “And you’re going to ride.”
“All because a line about beinginspirationalgot into my head.”
She frowns. “Is that what started all…this? A need to inspire someone?”
A bitter laugh breaks from my lips. “Yeah. I thought I might try to make a difference. Myimpulsiveis broken.”
She pulls a dry grass stem from the corner of the truck bed and fiddles with it.
