Charli is originally from Texas but moved to Montana when we were in high school, where she lived with us until we graduated. I’ve known her most of my life since our moms barrel raced together.
She was hanging with a rough crowd in Texas, and her mom thought it would be a good idea for her to live here. There isn’t much trouble to get into when you’re on a ranch fifty miles from the closest town. Dad calls her a little fireball made up of 90 percent attitude and 10 percent caffeine. We love her. She makes life fun.
I groan and throw my head back. “Charli, please don’t make me stay.” I have a habit of giving in to her.
She gives me a grin, knowing she’s already won the battle. I walk over to Zip still tied to the trailer. I bend down and clean his feet out so I can put him in his portable pen. I guess I won’t be loading him into the trailer. Good thing I didn’t take the pens down yet.
I’m buying time even though I’m going to tell her I’ll stay. She starts tapping her foot impatiently.
“Fine, one more night,” I say.
She claps her hands in celebration while walking away backward, still eyeing me.
“I’ll be back in an hour. Get your ass ready and you better look hot when I get back,” she demands.
Saluting her with two fingers, I say, “Yes, ma’am.”
I’m longing to get back to the ranch. But I guess one more night won’t kill me.
Our ranch has been in my family for eight generations. It spans across thirty-three thousand acres throughout the Pryor Mountains with some of the most stunning views in all of Montana. My role is handling the financial aspects, such as bookkeeping. When I’m not in the office, I help the ranch hands from time to time, but my major project now is the guest portion of our ranch. Or what some might call a “dude ranch.” We don’t call it that though because more than anything the Saxxon Ranch is a full working ranch. Dad runs the guest portion when I’m gone. My oldest sister Sutton and her husband Ryder manage most of the operation. Ranching is what they love to do and they hardly ever leave the ranch.
Sutton never got into rodeo as much as me and my youngest sister Sable, so she had a lot more time to work on the ranch and learn the ins and outs. She didn’t like barrel racing, said there was too much drama, and she wasn’t wrong about that.
Sable did breakaway roping when we were kids and throughout high school, but nowadays she doesn’t rodeo much at all. Last year she moved to Billings with Mom. She enrolled in a few courses at the university and said she wanted to live in the city for a while. We all miss her so much, but I have a feeling she’ll be back eventually.
I sure as hell would never live in the city. The only reason I ever go to Billings is to visit Mom and Sable or for business. The ranch is my favorite place in the world. If I’m not on the road rodeoing, there isn’t much that can call me away.
I finish putting the horses up, and I look down at my watch to see I only have thirty minutes left until Charli is back. When I look up, I see the silhouette of a tall cowboy in all black and my heart feels like it’s going to run out of my chest. I make a run for my trailer and sink into the closed door with relief when I’m safely inside, double checking to make sure the door is locked.
2
SORREL
Imove through the living quarters of my horse trailer like a mad woman as I get ready. Space is tight, and it’s hard to keep organized, but it’s my home away from home. I’ve made it as cozy as can be, but it’s not nearly as cozy as my cabin back at the ranch.
I rinse off the arena dirt and sweat sticking to my neck and face. It’s been a long day, and between the heat and my nerves from earlier, I’m a hot mess. I throw on some makeup, a clean pair of jeans, and a baby-pink tank top. Next, I work on the rat’s nest that’s my hair. My braid came undone during my run, and my hair is all tangled. I start at the bottom brushing through my long blonde hair. I work at the knots until it’s smooth.
I’m a natural toe-head blonde—been that way since I was a kid. I stick out like a sore thumb compared to my sisters. I’ve always found it ironic I was named Sorrel, considering it was after my mom’s favorite sorrel horse. I’m pretty sure my parents were just trying to think of unique names starting withS. They admitted to having more boySnames picked out in hopes at least one of us would come out a little cowboy. But after the third girl, they gave up on trying for a boy.
Dad realized he would just have to raise us to be tough enough to work on the ranch, and he did just that. Each of us girls is as handy as the ranch hands that are hired. Especially Sutton. She’s as gritty as they come and one of the hardest workers I know. But I think Sable would prefer not to work at all if were up to her. It’s not that she isn’t handy, but she enjoys doing her makeup and shopping more than she enjoys ranch work. I think I fall somewhere in the middle.
Dad finally got his boy of the family when Sutton and Ryder had their baby boy, Trotter. I’m so obsessed with my nephew. He filled a space in my heart I didn’t know was missing. He’s already a hardworking little cowboy like his mom and dad. That was one of the many reasons I couldn’t wait to get back to the ranch. I hate being away from him for too long.
I hear footsteps walking up to my trailer. My chest twists—for a moment I worry it might be Huck and he’s found me. I peek out the tiny window on the front door and let out a breath when I see it's just Charli. She’s back early and I flip the latch to unlock the door.
Fuck, I can’t keep living on edge like this, and I know it’s just a matter of time before I run into him at a rodeo now that I’m entering again.
Montana’s pro rodeo circuit has thirty-two sanctioned rodeos. All of which I had planned on entering this summer. After my breakup with Huck, that didn’t happen. I was so hung up on him and everything that happened between us. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him.
The first rodeo I entered, someone mentioned he was there, and it anchored me where I stood—I froze up. I couldn’t breathe and my chest was on fire. Charli helped me through a huge panic attack. She loaded up my horses, and we hauled ass in my truck and trailer as far away as we could get. She let me cry the entire drive and listen to depressing country songs aboutstupid cowboys who cheat and break hearts. It was actually quite therapeutic. We decided that night to camp out in the middle of nowhere. We drank two bottles of wine, cried, and sang our hearts out all night long. After that, I decided I would jackpot and work on the ranch the rest of the summer. I couldn’t handle another panic attack like that, or a hangover for that matter. No more wine and crying over cowboys for me.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t hide forever. I hadn’t been winning shit at jackpots and I needed to enter a few pro rodeos to stay in good standings and keep my pro card. Then Charli convinced me to enter the Livingston Roundup this weekend. It’s the biggest rodeo of the summer. But I knew the odds of running into Kenzington were growing by the hour.
I’m ready just in time, as Charli swings the door wide open. She does a little twirl and hair flip, showing off her outfit. She has on a denim miniskirt and a halter shirt that makes her boobs look amazing. Paired with her “going out” cowboy boots that give her height a little boost. They’re squeaky clean and not covered in horse shit. The sunset makes her golden brown skin glisten.
I give her a whistle. “You look amazing. Have you been working out? Your quads are massive.”
“I have a new trainer at Mountainrange Fitness. His name is Kody,” she says, eyebrows dancing.
