Page 140 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

With a sharp flick of my wrist, I sent the rope flying. It sailed through the air, looping perfectly over the bull’s thick neck. The second it landed, he jerked his head, but Ginger and I rode forward, forcing the bull to move with us.

“Come on now,” I gritted out, guiding him toward the back of the house, away from Fable’s property.

My biceps strained against the pull, but I held firm, determined to keep him under control. Eventually we made it toward Kline’s house, into the makeshift pen he’d set up until he could fix the fence.

I nodded to Kline as he worked to maneuver the bulls back into their pens, then set off again, searching for any stragglers.

It had been hours. Absolute fucking hours of chasing them down, roping them one by one, and bringing them back to Kline’s. My muscles ached, my casted arm throbbed from the strain, and I was drenched in sweat.

Bone-deep exhaustion didn’t even begin to cover it.

Ginger needed water. We had finished getting every bull back to safety, and then I was ready to get home.

I slid off Ginger and tied her to a fence post, giving her sweaty neck a quick pat before turning toward Kline’s barn. My boots scuffed against the dirt as I walked inside, heading straight for the water buckets stacked near the entrance.

I grabbed one and turned on the faucet, stretching out my stiff back as the cool water filled the bucket. The night air hit my skin, making me shiver slightly.

Get Ginger settled. Drag my ass home. Sleep for a week.

That was the plan.

But as I turned and headed out of the barn, bucket in hand, I froze.

A sleek, high-end truck rolled into Fable’s driveway, headlights sweeping across the dirt before shutting off.

Her place was still dark, except for that one light inside. I stood there, motionless, watching as the driver’s door opened and a man stepped out.

For a second, all I could make out was his silhouette, but when he walked into the glow of the porch light, my stomach dropped.

The man from the coffee shop.

Her fiancée.

The second he said Chicago, I had known it, but seeing it play out in front of me was something else entirely.

We hooked up.

We dated. Slept together. Danced in the rain. I loved her.

Dammit.

I love her.

She told me they’d broken up.

I wanted to believe it had been the truth. But standing there, watching him walk up those steps, it felt like I’d been played for a fool.

The dull throb in my arm sharpened as I shifted the bucket, my broken bone reminding me that I wasn’t at my best. Still, I carried it over to Ginger, setting it down so she could drink. Her ears flicked, the sound of her muzzle dipping into the water the only thing I focused on for a moment as I watched the man stomp up her stairs.

He reached her door and pounded on it.

Once. Twice.

Then again, harder this time, like he had the right. Like he owned her.

Ginger lifted her head at the sound, water dripping from her muzzle, but I stood there, jaw clenched. I wanted to walk over, say something, do something.

I didn’t. Not yet.