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‘Yes.’ No kind, comforting words. Just the truth. ‘That’s girl’s too young, too green to make a decision like this after a weekend-long love affair.’

TJ had known that, but hearing someone else say it was a relief. ‘Can you get Maverick Hunt’s number for me?’ TJ asked.

‘I have it on my phone.’ His dad pulled out his cell and brought up the number.

Because TJ was too tired to even raise his hand to take the phone, he said, ‘Dial him. Put it on speaker.’

Maverick answered on the second ring. Despite the fact that Mav had to be pushing forty, he still answered the phone with, ‘Mr Jones?’

‘Mav. It’s TJ, calling from my dad’s cell. Long time, man.’

‘Son of a bitch. I heard about your accident. You okay?’

TJ actually laughed. His physical injuries were nothing compared to that new ache in his chest. ‘I’m alive. Barely. Look, Mav, this isn’t a social call. There’s something I was hoping to ask you. A favour for an old friend.’

‘Anything. You know that.’

‘There’s a girl headed your way. She’ll be on the road alone, pulling a Quarter Horse mare in a rig that’s barely roadworthy.’

‘Okay …’

‘She’s going to be looking for work as a wrangler.’

‘She any good?’

‘She’s green. But if you give her a chance, she won’t disappoint you. Her name’s Skye.’

‘I’ll keep an eye out.’

‘Thanks, Mav.’ TJ hated to break Skye’s trust, but he also knew he had no other choice. He was a man who couldn’t even walk, let alone protect her. But Mav … Mav could. And, TJ knew, he would. ‘Ah … She’s had some trouble recently. Her old man is an abusive prick, and she’s trying to stay off his radar. If I knew I’d walk again, I’d be there. But—’

‘Don’t worry, TJ. Focus on getting better. If she shows up, we’ll take care of her,’ Mav assured him.

And it was that simple.

PART TWO: RODEO

Chapter 20

Hunt Ranch, Santa Barbara County, California – January 7, 2027 (Nearly Two Years Later)

Skye slouched comfortably in her barrel saddle, an antique Billy Cook she’d picked up for cheap on Facebook Marketplace and redyed herself using a YouTube tutorial.

She’d kept her blonde hair short, so that one of the owners of Hunt Ranch, Sierra, had taken to calling her ‘Tink’ and inadvertently given her a nickname for the other wranglers to tease her with. But that was really the only thing that remained the same. Her body, still small and lean, had toughened after almost two years of working outside with horses. Her hands, once as white as alabaster and as soft as petals, were tanned and carried the calluses and scars of hard work done well.

But more than those physical changes, almost two years of working at Hunt Ranch had made her different. Her smile came easily. She laughed often. And even though she still looked over her shoulder sometimes, she’d long ago accepted that the habit was a small price to pay for freedom.

She looked out over the ranch and saw Bandit sitting on the ground, his tongue lolling from the hike, his eyes half-mast as he bathed in a stream of sunlight. Beneath her, Smokey was relaxed, maybe even bored, too used to being ridden for hours a day to put much energy into it – unless they were running the barrel pattern. The moment Smokey saw the blue practice barrels set up in the arena, the horse disappeared, and a dragon emerged.

When Skye hauled the mare to rodeos and barrel races, Smokey, still used to travelling after so many months on the road, was calm and at ease in the trailer. The horse could stand tied for hours, one hip cocked as she dozed. But the second they stepped into the arena, preparing to run, that dragon would take over. Smokey would prance and pull on the bit as they moved down the alley. The mare would rock forward, shifting from side to side with impatience as Skye held her back, and the moment Skye let her go, there was no stopping them.

Smokey might have been born to run, but from the moment she’d left Dallas, Skye had learned how to run too. Barrel racing wasn’t just fun for them; it was instinctual. And over their time at Hunt Ranch, under Sierra and her husband, Benji’s, tutelage, the duo had left their remaining fears behind. They’d become good. Very good.

Skye had spent the previous year filling her WPRA permit whenever she had a weekend free and could haul Smokey to nearby races. And although she’d set out with the intention of earning the thousand dollars required to get her WPRA pro card, they had raked in over twenty grand over the course of last season. She’d won – and given away – her first trophy saddle, and even though she’d considered giving away TJ’s instead, Skye couldn’t bear to part with it – and had stoically chosen not to ponder why. Just as she didn’t like to dwell on why she’d not only kept the cactus TJ had given her on that first date – but also named it Bob.

But now, it was time to move on, to embrace the next chapter. Maybe it was her twenty-fifth birthday, in just a few months’ time, that had made her uneasy and solidified her decision to leave Hunt Ranch for life on the road, hopping from one barrel race to another, but Skye didn’t overthink it.

It didn’t matter that she hadn’t seen Holden in over two years; he had subtly let her know that he was watching her. The first time had been over six months prior, when Skye had answered a call from her mom – only to be greeted by Holden. He hadn’t made any threats. He’d said all the right things: ‘I’m sorry’, ‘You know how much I love you’, and ‘Please forgive me?’