The air in the tunnel leading to the arena was thick with the smell of damp dirt, expensive leather, and the heavy, metallic scent of agitated livestock.
Slade’s shoulder had healed, I’d gone back to work, and we’d established a routine that kept us together despite my work and his return to the circuit.
I walked beside him, keeping my mouth shut and trying to breathe through the tight knot in my chest. Slade was fully in his zone—the World Champion zone. When he’d finally told me about the scar on his shoulder, the fame, the notoriety, I’d almost ran. That was not my life. I was a librarian who worked in a quiet little town. He’d convinced me otherwise. Many, many times.
Today, he looked like the bull-riding cowboy that he was. He wore a black protective vest, dark brown chaps settled low on his hip. Almost as low as that towel had been and just as sexy. His black Stetson completed the picture.
The noise of the arena was a physical weight—the roar of the crowd, the smell of churned dirt and adrenaline, the terrifying thud of heavy hooves slamming against metal chutes.
I thought I was doing a good job of hiding my panic.
But apparently not. He stopped suddenly, his spurs giving a sharp, metallic jingle that echoed in the tunnel. He looked down at me, and the mask slipped. He didn’t need me to say a word. He saw the way my hands were tucked tightly against my sides to keep from shaking. He saw the sheer terror I was trying to blink back.
“Jamie,” he said softly.
He didn’t ask if I was okay. He just reached out, grabbed my hand, and pulled me into a narrow hallway behind the bucking chutes, away from the chaos of the fans, the riders, and the officials. He caged me against the concrete wall, his gear creaking as he leaned in close.
His thumb came up to stroke my pale cheek. “I know you’re scared,” he murmured. “I know this isn’t your world, and watching me get ready to climb on a bull is a lot to ask of you. You’re looking at me like I’m not going to walk back out of that arena. But I promise you, darlin’, there isn’t a bull out there that can keep me away from you.”
A slow, teasing smile finally tugged at his mouth, breaking the heavy tension. “Plus... you liked my horse, remember?”
I felt my face heat up, the distraction working instantly. I did remember. Three days ago, he’d put me on the back of Whirlwind and climbed up behind me, his chest a solid wall against my back, his hands reaching around me to take the reins. But he hadn’t just steered the horse. Before the ride was over, he’d used those same hands to find the zipper of my jeans, his fingers working a slow, rhythmic magic that had me arching into him while we circled the pasture.
I didn’t remember a single thing about the ride. I only remembered the way he’d made me come.
“That wasn’t a riding lesson, Slade. That was a felony in three states.” My hand went to his shoulder, tracing the ridge ofthe scar through his shirt. “What if you get hurt again? What if it’s not just a busted shoulder this time?”
“I’m good at what I do, Jamie. I’ve spent my life learning how to fall so I can get back up.”
He bent down and kissed me, and everything else faded away. This. This was what it was all about. Him loving me.
“You’re it for me, Jamie,” he said, his voice stripped of the rodeo swagger, leaving only the raw, undeniable truth. “You are more important to me than any buckle, any title, or any eight-second ride. I wasn’t going to tell you until tomorrow, but I signed the papers yesterday. I bought that forty acres from Carl. Good water. Good land. The second you’re ready, we’re building a house on it and moving in.”
My breath caught. “Slade...”
“This isn’t a comeback, Jamie. This is my final ride,” he promised. “And before you say anything, I’m retiring because I want to, not because the bull forced me out. Or because I know you go throw up after every ride. I swear to you, tonight, after that buzzer sounds... the circuit is done. I’m all yours. No more bulls. No more dust. Just us.”
He leaned in, his mouth hovering over mine. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life reminding you exactly why you love a cowboy.”
I let out a shaky breath, my hands tightening on his vest. “You better. Because if one more buckle bunny gives you that look—the one where they’re mentally measuring your inseam—I’m going to lose my prim and proper librarian status and start swinging.”
Slade let out a dark, booming laugh that echoed in the small hallway. He stole one deep, possessive kiss that tasted like a promise.
“Let ‘em look, baby. They’re looking at a man who’s already been branded. Now, go find Paige and get to your seat so you can see your cowboy ride.”
EPILOGUE
Slade
I stood in the cabin on the Wild Vista Ranch, the cool air hitting my damp skin, a white towel hitched low on my hips.
Through the open window, I could hear the crunch of boots on the gravel path and the sound of my soon-to-be-wife’s voice.
“I stepped in it again, Paige,” Jamie was saying, a smile obvious in her tone. “I’m looking at it. It’s on my boot. My pretty pink boots.”
I didn’t have to hear the conversation to know what Paige was telling her. That what was on her boot wasn’t manure, just good old-fashioned Texas dirt.
I leaned against the wall near the door, a grin spreading across my face. I couldn’t wait to convince her, once again, why she loved Texas. And me.
