“Come on, Mom.” I slouched. “You’ll appreciate those more than I do.”
“Quinn, those are a huge part of your childhood.”
“Exactly, my childhood.” I grabbed the box, spinning on my heel to my bare bed. Setting the box on the bed, I moved to the next bookshelf. Framed photos of me and Hook during our first agility run, and then the day I bought Charming…all photos that friends of mine had taken. Hidden behind those were photos of a much younger me dressed to the nines with a sash across my chest, and a fake smile spread across my lips. I gingerly picked up the photos I wanted, ignoring the others. “I’m not a kid anymore,” I continued. “You know I never really cared for that stuff.”
With a huff, Mom stomped into my room. “You loved it.” She moved the photo of me in a bright pink shirt forward, bringing it front and center on the bookcase. “I was proud of you.”
“And you’re not now?” I asked quietly, grabbing a few other photos.
The silence was deafening.
In order to make my mother proud, I would have had to do the exact same thing she did. Miss Rodeo Bozeman, Miss Rodeo Montana, and eventually, Miss Rodeo America. There was absolutely nothing wrong with that lifestyle. The Rodeo Queens did more than wave at the crowd, and I knew that. I saw what my mom did with those girls, but that wasn’t me. I fell in love with the wind in my hair as the horse was running as fast as it could. I fell in love with the sharp turns as we took those barrels. I fell in love with competition. I fell in love with the rodeo in a different way than my mom did.
My last pageant was when I was thirteen, and I didn’t even come in the top five. After that, I turned in my sashes and found a job at the local stables. I mucked stalls, I walked colicky horses, I filled water troughs and hauled hay—and when I made enough, I purchased my first horse, promptly naming him after one of my favorite TV show characters, Hook. Years later, I was able to get Charming from my own income and started to barrel race. I knew the first time Hook and I rounded all three barrels without knocking one down, that was my sport. That was what I was made to do. I signed up for my first rodeo, telling my mom I entered the pageant there just to get her to come. When I rounded barrels instead of taking a crown, she let me know she was disappointed. Her pride in me was gone.
She had never been to another one of my events since.
This was my thing. This was for me.
It didn’t matter to me that she wasn’t there; it wouldn’t stop me from doing what I loved.
Folding up the box, I looked around my nearly empty room.
“I’ll be leaving before lunch. I’ll let you know when I’m there, okay?” I said softly.
“Quinn.” Mom’s lips tightened as she picked up the photo of me. “I just wanted the best for you.”
“This is the best, Mom.” I walked up next to her, taking the photo from her hands and placing it back on the bookshelf. “Maybe you can come to a rodeo and see for yourself?”
She inhaled. “I have a few girls going for Montana this year…”
Of course. She would go if one of the girls she was coaching were going to be there.
“Right, well…” I rubbed my thighs. “I have to keep packing.”
A few hours later, I loaded the last of my boxes into the trailer, making sure everything was strapped down. I gave my dad a hug, a quick promise from him that he’d watch mylocation, before I gave my mom a tight smile and nod. She inhaled, but didn’t return my smile. I climbed in my truck, buckled myself in, queued up my audiobook, and set out on my seven-hour drive to my new home—excitement filling my entire body the further I got away from my parents’ house.
Two
Wyatt
“Mmm,”thegorgeousblondenext to me hummed, scooting closer, her skin soft and warm against me. “Good morning.”
I mimicked her hum, giving her my signature sexy grin. Her fingers drummed on my pec before she pushed herself off, climbing from my bed. I could hear the faint taps of her feet across the hardwood floor as she took the few steps to the living room. The small apartment above the bunk house wasn’t much, but it kept me out of the main house. Not that I didn’t love myfamily—I’d just rather stay here. Especially with a naked woman walking around. Shifting, I took in the sight of—wait…what’s her name?—as she bent over, grabbing my button-up shirt.
“Breakfast?” she cooed, looking over her shoulder.
I inhaled, scooching up on the bed a little, my head resting in my palm. “I’m not really a breakfast guy.”
Whew…this was stereotypical.
Most of the time, I at least made the gal breakfast. I loved breakfast.
She twisted her lips. “Ah, come on, Wyatt. I’ll make you French toast.”
I raised a brow. “Do I have eggs?”
I could see her move in the kitchen; the apartment was that small. The studio was perfect for one person, two if they didn’t stay long. The living room and bedroom blended into one, the kitchen having a small peninsula island large enough for one person to eat. The only two doors in the place led outside and to the bathroom. Home sweet home.
