Page 90 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

I was completely and utterly fucked when it came to this girl.

29

Fable

I loved Harleigh and the way she found any excuse to celebrate. Bars, music, drinks—it was her way of marking the good moments. For me, it was a lot to manage. The noise, the bodies, the pulse of energy. It wasn’t what Beau had said that sent me spiraling—it was everything, all at once.

While the last thing I imagined myself doing since the accident was standing in a barn, running my hands over a horse’s coat, I did it anyway. Because it was quiet. Because it was slow. Because Beau was steady.

Because, somehow, being near him felt safer than being anywhere else.

“Is this what life out here is like?” I said as I rocked and looked out into the stillness of the night.

“Boring?”

I glanced over at Beau and realized how fucking fucked I was. He was sitting there, beer in hand that he’d gotten for us, rocking away.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Peaceful. Quiet.”

“Sure is,” he murmured. “Didn’t always appreciate it, though. That’s why I moved to Dallas for a while. Hated the stillness out here. When I came home from events, I wanted to party and fuck my way through the week.”

“Of course you did.” I chuckled, tipping my bottle to my lips.

Come home and fuck me.

Nope. Weird thought. Way too close to home.

I focused on the horizon, anywhere but him—on anything but the way that stupid cowboy hat sat low on his head, how that belt buckle caught the dim porch light, how his presence filled up all the empty spaces around me.

I turned my chair slightly, facing him fully. “I get why you do it.”

His mustache curled a bit, the shadow of a smirk playing on his lips as he watched me.

“Bull riding. Risking your life for eight seconds.” I clarified. “I get it.” I sighed and tucked my knees up to my chest. “When my parents passed away, I wanted to live like that—fearlessly. I still do. I understand why you chase that high.”

A pregnant pause settled between us.

“Yeah. If I die out there, I imagine I’d get a chance to be with her again.” His voice was quiet, almost lost in the night air. “It doesn’t scare me as much as I think it scares others.”

My chest ached at the way he said it, so certain, so at peace with the thought of it. Death terrified me. I couldn’t see it the way he did, probably never would, but I knew one thing. I had to stop letting my anxiety dictate my life. I had to start living it for myself.

I wouldn’t be first in line—if ever—to climb atop a bull or a bucking bronco, but petting Ginger was a step in the right direction. A small act of defiance against the fears that had gripped me for so long. Before the accident, I’d loved horses. I could go back to living my life with fewer fears than I had in the moment, then I’d be living it better.

“Two truths and a lie?”

I smirked. “Hit me, bull rider.”

“I’ve never had a friend⁠—”

“Lie,” I answered immediately, thinking of how he and Dalton were always around each other.

“Hold on,” he said. “I’ve never had a friend who has ever come inside my house. Dad’s been the only one who ever comes in.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, seriously?”

He nodded, taking a slow sip of his beer.

“Dalton? Gatlin? None of them?”