Page 70 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

“Well, considering you’re a bull rider, the broken ribs are definitely true. And you don’t seem like the type to back down from a fight, so that one’s probably true, too.”

I chuckled. “Once or twice.”

“So, that means you don’t actually hate thunderstorms. Which makes sense, because you’re too stubborn to be scared of anything.”

“Cocky answer.”

She shrugged. “Confident answer.”

I swiped my tongue over my bottom lip as I watched her, that damn smirk still playing at the edges of her mouth.

“Am I right?”

“Yeah, yeah. Go on and gloat.” I leaned back while I listened to her giggle. “Your turn, Cowgirl.”

She tapped her fingers against her thigh, considering for a moment before meeting my gaze. “Alright. One—the bulls terrify me. Two—I’ve danced in the rain before. Three—I wasn’t actually scared of leaving Chicago.”

I shook my head. “Easy. Number three. You were terrified.”

She leaned back, grinning like she was enjoying this. “Nope,” she said, stretching out and watching the rain streak down the windshield. “I wasn’t scared. Sure, maybe at first I was nervous, but scared? No. I needed a change.”

She lifted a hand, gesturing toward the storm outside, the darkness stretching beyond the fields. “This? This is a change. I needed to live a little recklessly.”

Live recklessly.

Recklessness wasn’t something I’d ever had to force—it was part of my blood, woven into my bones. I rode wild animals for a living. I took risks, put my body on the line every damn day.

“And not in the way that you’re reckless,” she added.

“Yeah?”

She nodded, her gaze drifting back to the rain. “Your kind of reckless is all risk, no safety net. You throw yourself into things knowing you might get hurt. Mine . . . mine is different. It’s stepping into something new and hoping I don’t lose myself in the process.”

Her words sank deep, pressing into something I wasn’t ready to name.

Because she wasn’t wrong. I didn’t do calculated risks. I took the hit. I hit back harder.

Living recklessly meant something different for her.

She was taking a different kind of risk. One that had nothing to do with bulls or adrenaline and everything to do with trust.

And damn if that wasn’t the bravest thing I’d ever seen.

I coughed, trying to ignore the itch clawing up my throat, the desperate urge to grab her, pull her onto my lap—anything to cross the fraying friendship line.

I had to change the subject, so I cleared my throat. “That must mean you haven’t danced in the rain.”

She shook her head, tucking the blanket tighter around herself. “No. Never. I’ve got a thing for being clean,” she admitted awkwardly.

I glanced up at the sky, at the heavy sheets of water pouring down. “Rain’s coming from above. Not touching anything first. Seems clean enough to me.”

Her lips parted slightly.

I grinned, tilting my head toward the door.

“You ready to be reckless, Cowgirl?”

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