She lights up, excitement flashing across her face. “A real rodeo? With bulls and everything?”
“Bulls, broncs, the works,” I say, holding the passenger door open.
Her head tilts. “Oooooo, can I ride one?”
“No, darlin’.” I chuckle against her lips.
Her laugh bursts out. “Sooo lame, can I ride you instead?”
I grunt, choosing not to answer her because if I do, we’ll never leave. Climbing into my truck, my eyes linger on her—barefaced, glowing, legs for days, my ring flashing on her hand.
My pretty darlin’, fuck me. Maybe we should stay here.
I push the start button, my truck grumbling to life, and we make our way to our neighboring city.
Opal Springs is a good hour from Ruby Ridge, highways stretching long and open between the hills.
Catalina’s curled up in the passenger seat with her legs crossed, those damn Daisy Duke shorts riding higher every time she shifts. Her boots sparkle every time the sunlight hits them, and that tight little white tee… Jesus.
She’s got the window rolled halfway down, her hair swirling in loose waves, humming along to the radio as if we’re not both sitting here simmering.
I keep one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her bare thigh. My thumb strokes lazy circles against her skin, highenough to make her squirm but not high enough to give her what she wants.
“You’re distracting me, darlin’,” I groan, my eyes still on the road.
She smirks, tilting her head. “You mean my legs, or my shirt?” She tugs at the hem, the redcowboy pillowslettering stretching across her tits in a way that makes my grip tighten.
“Both,” I rasp, shooting her a look that has her laughing.
“Can’t blame me for having nice tits,” she teases, sipping from her water bottle.
“Fuck,” I glance at her again, heat crawling low in my gut. “Baby, you’re sittin’ there lookin’ like a goddamn sin, and you know it.”
Her cheeks flush, but she leans closer, voice dropping into that sweet, dramatic lilt. “What are you gonna do about it, cowboy? You can’t exactly pull over on the highway.”
My jaw ticks as I drag my hand higher on her thigh, squeezing just enough to make her gasp. “Don’t tempt me.”
She giggles, leaning back in her seat, tossing her hair like she just won. But her thighs press together, and I don’t miss it.
“Carter Hayes, you’re supposed to be focused on driving.”
“Iamfocused,” I say, voice low, thumb tracing the inside of her thigh now. “On you.”
Her lips part, her wedding ring catching the sunlight as she reaches down to lace her fingers through mine. That soft little smile she saves only for me slips across her mouth, and I swear I’d drive to the ends of the earth if it meant keeping her looking at me like that.
The sign for Opal Springs finally comes into view, painted in bright letters. She sits up straighter, her eyes lighting up as she claps her hands together.
“There it is!” she says, excitement bubbling. “Our first rodeo together.”
Opal Springs.
It’s not like home, with quiet farmland and small-town streets. This place is lively. Neon signs flicker outside western shops, music blares from outdoor bars, and banners across the main street shout RODEO WEEKEND in bold red letters. Trucks line the roads, trailers are stacked two deep at the fairgrounds, and cowboy hats are everywhere I look.
Catalina presses her nose to the window with her eyes wide and lips parted in that little gasp she always makes when she’s about to narrate her own life.
“Oh my God,” she breathes. “It’s like Vegas… but with horses.”
I chuckle under my breath, turning the truck toward the rodeo grounds. “That’s one way to put it.”
