Prologue
“Folks, I want to see you on the edge of your seats. Our next cowboy comin’ out of the chute is one of the best bareback bronc riders in the business, Colton Nash! He’s climbing on the horse known as Trigger. We’re about to see if Trigger can live up to his name and shoot this cowboy into the dust!”
Inside the steel tomb of the chute, the world was a different story.
Colton jammed his gloved hand under the rigging, the leather groaning under the pressure. He squeezed his palm tight, forcing the blood out of his hand until his grip felt like iron. Beside him, twelve hundred pounds of “Trigger” slammed into the metal rails, a violent shudder that vibrated through Colton’s boots and up his spine. The horse wasn’t just anxious; he was a riot in a box.
The roar of the crowd was becoming a distant hum. He focused on the noises right in front of him. Colton tuned it out, focusing instead on the hot, rhythmic huff of the horse’s breath and the sharp clink-clink of his own spurs against the gate. He could smell the sharp tang of horse sweat and the sticky rosin on his glove.
All eyes were on him, waiting for the signal.
He set his jaw, his pulse hammering against his throat. He looked at the chute boss, his eyes narrowing until the world was nothing but the space between Trigger’s ears.
He gave a sharp, jagged nod.
The boss returned his nod and raised his hand. The gate shot open.
Chapter One
My life was measured in spreadsheets and high-stakes presentations. I knew what I was going to eat for every meal of every day. I knew what outfit I would put on each morning for the next two weeks. I knew what shade of lipstick I would wear to the upcoming company dinner in two months.
I had a planner that was filled for the rest of the year. The cream paint on my nails was beginning to chip, which meant my appointment was in three days. My rent was paid for another six months. I was going to pay the full year, but I knew my boyfriend was planning to propose in April, and his apartment had two more bedrooms than mine.
Every detail was going to go according to my plan.
It was Monday. That meant a red dress and a white blazer, with a Greek chickpea salad packed in my yellow lunch tote. It meant working until 4:45, changing into a black dress for a 6:00 dinner with my boyfriend, and then dessert back at my apartment until 9:00. It meant my lights would be out by 9:45, ensuring I’d be up again at 5:00 for my run.
Every moment accounted for.
My morning run, the twenty-minute shower, the precisely applied shade of lipstick, each step a testament to my principle of control. I felt a quiet satisfaction as the elevator doors opened on the 27th floor, at exactly 7:48.
“Oh, look at that, you’refourteen seconds later than yesterday,” my colleague Martha chortled from her desk, tapping her watch. “What happened? Car crash? A bomb?”
I forced a small laugh. “Good morning, Martha. Let’s blame the train.” I made a vow in my head as I walked to my desk to be fifteen seconds earlier tomorrow.
She laughed with a big chunk of bacon in her teeth. “Ha! We all know you don’t trust anything other than your two legs to get you here on time.”
“You know me well enough to be my stalker.” I lifted my pinky and touched my own tooth. “Have breakfast at the office this morning?”
Her gray curls bounced in surprise as she pulled out her compact. “Oh, Allegra, youlife saver. Yes. I went to visit my kids for the weekend anddidn’thave time to finish my slideshow.I’vebeen here for an hour already.” Shefisheda flosser out of her giant purse. With the piece of bacon gone, she smiled widely and asked, “So, did you do anything fun this weekend?”
I slid my lunch tote into the mini-fridge below my desk, knowing Martha would tease me for not using the shared fridge in the break room. “I finished a book about the secret to longevity, which was oddly depressing to read.”
“Well, you read a book on a Saturday night in your twenties. That’s what’s depressing. You know there’s a big fridge in the breakroom, Miss Persnickety,” she raised her eyebrows tauntingly.
“Oh, is there?” A knowing smile touched my lips as I powered on my computer.
The mix of the clicking of keys and the low hum of a crispair conditioner fell together in perfect harmony. I smeared creamy lotion on my palms and let it absorb into my skin, ready to get another project finished before lunch and start polishing my presentation that afternoon.
The chatter on Martha’s side of the office muffled and then fell silent. The hush spread over the entire floor.
“Morning, Craig,” Martha said loudly enough to get my attention. “How was your weekend?”
My eyes shot up to see my boss hanging beside mine and Martha’s desk clump.
“Morning, Miss Hillard. It was great. I went fishing with my grandson.” He was smiling at her,his hands crossed behind his tailored black blazer. “You?”
“That’s just peachy,” she said casually, leaning back in her chair. “Got to go upstate and see my kids.”
