Page 144 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

Beau wasn’t done.

“You know what your problem is?” he asked, his tone almost conversational, but his body was ready. Taut. Waiting.

Mike scoffed. “Oh, please, enlighten me.”

Beau tilted his head, eyes sharp. “You think being bigger, stronger, louder makes you a man. You think you can take whatever you want, and as long as no one stops you, you get away with it.” He took another step, slow and deliberate. “But you don’t know what it’s like to be stopped, do you?”

Mike’s jaw clenched. “I don’t need a fucking lesson from some⁠—”

Beau moved fast.

Before Mike could even finish his sentence, before he could react, Beau’s hand shot out, grabbing Mike’s wrist—the one locked around mine—and squeezed.

Mike let out a strangled noise, a mix of shock and pain, as his fingers spasmed, releasing me instantly.

I stumbled back, sucking in a sharp breath as blood rushed back to my wrist.

Beau didn’t let go.

He leaned in close, voice dropping to something barely above a growl. “Touch her again, and I promise you, you’ll regret it.”

Mike’s face twisted in anger, but when he tried to yank his arm free, Beau held firm. His knuckles went white, his body tensing like he was deciding if he wanted to take a swing.

I almost hoped he would.

Beau must’ve seen it too because he smiled. It wasn’t friendly. It wasn’t reassuring. It was the kind of smile that said, I dare you.

“You think you know her? Think you know what you’re protecting?” Mike’s voice twisted with malice as he spat, “She’s barren. Did you know that?” His lips curled in satisfaction, like he had delivered some kind of fatal blow. “She can’t have kids. She’s not a real woman.”

Silence settled between us. I had never told Beau what happened to me. We hadn’t even seen each other since I ran away from the accident.

“You think that’s what makes a woman?”

Mike stayed quiet.

Beau didn’t.

“A woman is grit. She’s the kind of strength that don’t break, even after men like you try to break her,” he murmured. “A woman is fire. She’ll fight like hell for what’s hers, for the people she loves, even when she’s got nothing left to give.” He took another step forward, his presence swallowing up every bit of space between them. “A woman is whatever she decides she is, and you? You don’t get a say in that.”

Mike’s jaw tensed, his bravado slipping.

“You think he knows you?” he sneered. “Knows how crazy you are? How obsessed with dirt and washing your hands and your little health rules?” He let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “You think he’s gonna put up with that? No man wants to deal with a woman who’s terrified of everything. You are exhausting, Fable.” He spat the words like venom. “A man wants a woman, not someone who treats life like one big fucking hand sanitizer commercial.”

My throat tightened, the words slicing through old wounds.

Beau only smiled. Slow. Easy.

“A woman,” Beau said, his voice like warm whiskey, “is someone who knows her worth. Someone who won’t settle for less than she deserves. A real woman ain’t afraid to be exactly who she is.” His gaze flicked to me, softening, something knowing, something sure settling in his features. “And Fable?” He let out a small, appreciative breath. “She’s a damn beautiful woman.”

Tears fell.

Hot, silent, burning as they slipped down my cheeks.

I wasn’t crying for him. I wasn’t crying for what we were. I was crying for me.

For the girl who had once believed in the lies. For the girl who had let him convince her she was small, unworthy, too much and never enough all at the same time. For the girl who had walked away, but still carried the shame of why it had taken her so damn long.

Shame that still ate me raw.