Hudson gives me a once-over, clearly skeptical. “I mean…no offense, Mom, but I don’t see it.”
I scoff. “What a shocking vote of confidence from the kid who tried to eat glue sticks throughout his toddlerhood.”
Boone smirks, grabbing the rope from Hudson and tossing it in my direction. I catch it automatically, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Go on,” he teases, crossing his arms. “Show him.”
I shake my head, fingers curling around the rough, well-worn fibers. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything with a rope, Boone.”
“Muscle memory,” he says, like that settles it.
Hudson nudges my arm. “Come on, Mom. Just try.”
I let out a long breath, rolling my eyes. “Fine. But if I throw my back out, one of you is carrying me home.”
Boone chuckles, and I turn the rope over in my hands, the familiar weight of it sparking something long-buried in my chest.
Summers on this ranch come flooding back—the way Boone, Sage, Wren, Ridge and I would spend hours running through the pastures, making up our own rodeo events. Swinging ropes at fence posts, tree branches, each other. We used to play this game where one of us would ride double on Wren’s old pony, and the others would try to lasso them off. Looking back, it was a terrible idea. But at the time? It felt like the greatest sport ever invented.
I roll my shoulders back, plant my feet, and try not to overthink it. Boone’s watching me with that lazy sort of grin he wears when he already knows how this is going to go. Amused, entertained. Hudson’s next to him, arms crossed, trying to look supportive but already bracing for disaster.
I blow out a slow breath, fingers tightening around the rope. Muscle memory kicks in as I swing it overhead—wrist flick sharp, form decent enough that, for a second, I think maybe I’ve still got it.
The loop flies toward the fence post, dead-on.
And then, at the last second, it slides off—misses by an inch—and drops into the dirt.
Hudson’s eyes widen. “Okay, that was actually good.”
I laugh, reaching over to playfully punch his shoulder. “You shouldn’thave doubted me.”
He grins, rubbing his arm dramatically. “Still wasn’t a win, though.”
Boone steps up beside us, arms crossed, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. “Alright, Hudson, what did your mom do wrong?”
Hudson scrunches his nose, thinking, then shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
Boone clicks his tongue softly, stepping in close. Closer than necessary.
I go still the second his chest brushes my back, his presence that taking up more space than it should. My fingers tighten around the rope on instinct, but my pulse gives me away.
“Your wrist,” he murmurs, voice low and far too close to my ear. “You dropped it too early. Gotta keep it steady—let the rope do the work.”
His hands come to mine, slow and sure. Calloused fingers sliding over mine, adjusting the grip without rushing it. Guiding, not correcting.
Hudson gives us a long look, arching his brow. “You two might as well just kiss if you’re gonna stand there like that.”
Boone barks out a laugh—sharp and full of something unhinged—and the next second, he’s spinning me around so fast I let out a yelp, catching my chin in his hand as he kisses me.
His mouth crashes into mine—hot, certain, hungry. His tongue sweeps against mine like he’s trying to remind my body who it belongs to. It tangles with mine—confident, coaxing—like we’ve done this a hundred times but somehow it still feels brand new. His teeth catch my bottom lip, just enough to make me shiver.
My hands fist in the front of his shirt before I can think. His other hand finds my lower back, sliding down, gripping my ass with enough pressure to pull a gasp from my throat—but he doesn’t stop. If anything, he deepens it.
And I forget everything—Hudson, the rope, the air between us that was supposed to stay casual.
Until Hudson groans behind us. “Oh my God. This issogross. You can stop now. I’m begging you.”
Boone chuckles against my mouth, then presses one last, slow kiss tothe corner of my lips before pulling back—barely.
