I held her gaze. "I've got a reason to think past tomorrow now. I ride hurt, blow out this shoulder, my season's done. And then you're on a plane back to Chicago."
She shook her head, her wet hands coming up to frame my face. "Brock, don't put that on yourself. You're the one who said it. Even if I have to go back, we’ll figure it out."
Her thumbs brushed my jaw, and something in her eyes softened. "But for the record? I've watched you ride. I know you can do it. Pendleton won't be any different."
"I couldn't have done it without you. You brought in real money with the Ryder thing, gave the ranch some breathing room. First time in a while I'm not just running to stay ahead."
"I just sent a few emails."
"You bought me time to heal, and I won't forget that. So I'm going to do this right. I'll rest this shoulder, then I'm going to ride Pendleton like hell. And then I'm taking you to Vegas."
I leaned in and kissed her, slow and deep, tasting the clean, mineral-rich steam of the canyon. My hands found the smooth curve of her waist under the water, pulling her hips flush against mine.
When she pulled back, her brown eyes were steady. We stayed there, wrapped around each other in the hot water. The sun edged along the canyon rim above us, painting the highest rock gold.
An hour later, our fingers were pruned and the air above the steam had turned sharp again, like the ranch was calling us back.
We waded out. The air hit cool, raising goosebumps on my arms. I grabbed the heavy towels from my saddlebags, wrapped one around her shoulders, and rubbed her arms. We dressed fast, our fingers clumsy with zippers and buttons.
Before she could reach for her jacket, I went to Rio and untied my spare hat—wool, lined thick. I stepped up to Sienna, settled it over her wet hair, and tugged it down over her ears. It was too big for her, resting low on her brow.
She looked up at me from under the wool brim.
“You packed a hat for me?” A small smile tugged at her mouth. “Wren said you’ve got a rule about this. Nobody touches your hats.”
“Can’t have my girl catching a cold on the ride back,” I muttered, adjusting the brim so I could see her eyes better. “And Wren’s right. But you’ve been breaking all my rules since you got here, darlin’. Might as well give you the hat too.”
She smiled, grabbed the lapels of my coat, and pulled me down into a hard kiss.
After we broke apart, I boosted her onto Dusty and swung into my saddle. We rode out of the canyon together, leaving the steam behind us.
My shoulder was finally loosening up. The noise in my head had gone quiet. And for the first time in years, I wasn’t just riding to survive.
I was riding to win.
twenty-seven
. . .
BROCK
The wilder bunch
Colt
VIP section secured. Your emotional support beef jerky awaits.
I sat on my heavy canvas gear bag behind the chutes, boots planted in the dirt, staring at my phone.
Making it to Saturday at Pendleton meant you’d already survived the long rounds. Only the top twelve cowboys received an invitation to return to the finals, and I’d ridden well enough on Thursday to earn my spot. Now, it was just about finishing the job.
Colt sent a selfie from the grandstands. He pulled a cross-eyed, goofy face with a bag of beef jerky raised like a damn trophy. Wren leaned in beside him, flashing a peace sign, grinning big.
But my eyes fixed on Sienna.
She was laughing so hard her eyes were squeezed shut. That bright blue tank top she had on matched the hot springs back home, and one of my felt hats sat low over her dark hair. The sun had turned her cheeks pink.
She looked damn good. That flush took me straight back to yesterday at the hotel, her face glowing just like that after we’d worn each other out, both of us breathing heavy and tangled up in the sheets. Looking at the picture got my blood running hot, and my jeans feeling tighter than they should right before I had to climb on a bronc.
