I leaned forward to pushhis messy hair away from his face. “Colton…”
He went on, putting his hand on my cheek. “When I was under the horse,” he chuckled lightly and winced, “before I passed out, I wasn’t thinking about the NFR, or the stats, or the sponsors, none of that. I thought of you. Your baby blue eyes and the way they sparkle when you smile. I was thinking about how your hair is so blonde that it bounces sunlight off it. I was thinking about how you’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen when you laugh.”
I closed my eyes as my tears betrayed me.
“You’re my ‘why.’ The rodeo gives me purpose, but you give me a reason to come home.”
I opened my eyes to look at him. He was broken and bruised, but more certain than I had ever been in my life. He wasn’t just asking for a pass to ride; he was asking me to stop being a victim of my own history.
“Thirteen years,” I whispered, leaning my forehead against the railing of the bed. “I’ve been so tired of being afraid for thirteen years.”
“Then let it go, Ally,” he breathed, his hand stroking my hair. “Let me be the one who helps you carry it. We’ll do it together. No more lies. No more match-rides. Just us, the road, and the truth. I’ll wear the vest, I’ll take the tests, I’ll do whatever it takes. Just... don’t ask me to be a man that I’m not. Because that man wouldn’t be worth your love.”
I closed my eyes, and for the first time since the bar in Chicago, the image of my father started to fade, replaced by the warmth of Colton’s hand.
“You better be the best bareback rider this world has ever seen,” I choked out, half-laughing and half-sobbing. “Because if I’m doing this, we’re winning everything.”
Colton smiled, a real, lopsided Nash smile that reached his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”
If Colton was going to fight to get back into that chute, he wasn’t going to do it alone. And he wasn’t going to do it the “cowboy way” by just toughing it out and hoping for the best. He was going to do it the Allegra Ford way.
I was going to find the best surgeons, the most elite physical therapists, and the most advanced safety gear on themarket. I would manage his recovery with the same ruthless precision I used to launch a national campaign. I would be his strategist, his enforcer, and his sanctuary.
The dirt had taken enough from the Ford family; it wasn’t taking Colton Nash.
I looked at his bruised hand in mine and felt a new kind of fire ignite in my chest. It wasn’t the “fever” the cowboys talked about, but it was just as hot.
Colton was right.
I had been haunted by the ghost of a twelve-year-old girl and let her dictate the borders of my life. I had let her determine who I loved, how I lived my life, and why I could never fully trust my heart to fall for another person.
But it was time to let go.
I had spent my life managing risks and avoiding crashes, yet here I was, anchored to a man who lived for the ride. It was the most beautiful, reckless thing I’d ever done–proving once and for all that a life lived in fear isn’t a life at all, and that Colton Nash was entirely worth the fall.
Epilogue
One Year Later
The roar hit me first. It wasn’t the polite clap of a theater audience; it was a hungry riot of a crowd ready to watch adrenaline surge for two hours. The announcer’s voice was booming, letting the crowd know the rodeo was going to start in five minutes.
I had made it just in time.
My crisp white cowboy boots were clicking in the dark tunnel, practically running toward the arena.
“No, I’m telling you, Thompson, you’re going to want to be the main NFR sponsor every year!” I shouted into my phone, trying to hear him over the sound of 17,000 anxious rodeo fans. “Agri-Corp stock has skyrocketed in the past two days!”
“Legra, I’ve told you a million times,” he said grumpily. “I don’t care what you do with my budget, just call me if there are problems! Now, would you please let me enjoy the show?”
I smiled. “Yes, sir.”
I exited the tunnel as he hung up. He was more than happy to take the two free tickets I had secured at thelastminute as long as I didn’t bother him about any more “marketing jumbo.”
Of course, I bothered him with more “marketing jumbo,” it was my job.
It had taken a lot of convincing from Mr. Sterling and the board for me to move to Oklahoma.
I had convinced them I could just as easily run my Agri-Corp campaign from the ranch in Oklahoma rather than the Chicago skyscraper. I told them I needed to be closer to the dirt, to get “down and dirty” within the company, to make sure our clients felt the authenticity.
