“Axle Trust.”
He places a dramatic hand on his chest. “I may require some of that extra-special physical therapy tonight.”
I glare at him. “You have milked that injury long enough.”
His grin grows. “Have I?”
“Yes.” I point toward the cabin. “Tonight, you’re the one doing all the work.”
A slow smile spreads across his face, and he bites down on his bottom lip. “Yes, ma’am.”
Heat rushes into my core, and the smug cowboy chases me up the steps and carries me inside.
And he does more than his share of the work.
Jovie
One Year Later
I’m standing in the medical tent with my hands buried in a pair of gloves when the roar of the crowd shakes the walls.
I glance toward the monitor just in time to see Axle burst from the chute.
My heart lodges itself in my throat.
It doesn’t matter how many rides I watch. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve seen him do this. Every single time feels like the first.
The bull explodes beneath him.
Eight seconds later, the buzzer sounds. Axle hits the ground hard but bounces right back to his feet.
The arena erupts.
“Ninety-one point nine points!”
I grin.
Then the grin disappears as the camera pans to him, and I see blood already streaming down the side of his face.
“Dammit,” I mutter.
A few minutes later, he strides into the medical tent, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Dr. Chastain is already cleaning the gash on his forehead when I push through the curtain.
“Seriously?” I demand.
Axle flashes that crooked grin. “What?”
“You’re in a wedding next weekend.”
He laughs. “Charli’s marrying Bryce Raintree. She’ll be lucky if her groom shows up in a tux instead of a neck brace.”
I growl.
Dr. Chastain just shakes his head as he finishes cleaning the cut and applies butterfly closures.
“Good to go,” he says.
