I groan, and she bumps her shoulder against mine.
“You’re gonna have to grow a thicker skin.” She points toward Axle. “That man is built like a brick house.”
I bury my face in my hands.
When I look back toward him, Axle is still helping the student, and once he’s finished, he clasps the back of the kid’s head and playfully shoves him back toward his gelding.
Sunlight catches the edges of his dark hair beneath his hat. And for a moment, I forget everything else.
Charli’s voice softens beside me. “If you’re going to love a rodeo cowboy”—I glance over, and her teasing expression is gone—“especially a bull rider, you’re going to have to learn to trust him when he says he’s okay.”
I sigh. “I know.”
She smiles gently. “I mean, really believe him, Jovie. Because if you don’t, you’ll drive both yourself and him crazy.”
I watch Axle turn and head back toward his horse.
“He’ll always scare you a little,” she continues, “and he’s gonna get hurt from time to time, but he’ll climb back on anyway. That’s who he is.”
My eyes stay fixed on him. “I know,” I mutter.
Charli smiles. “Just remember, you’ve already done your part to keep him safe.”
I look at her. “What part?”
Her gaze shifts toward Axle, then back to me, and her expression gentles. “You’ve given him something to love more than himself—something to live for.”
My throat tightens as her words settle over me because somewhere along the way, he became that for me too.
As if he feels me watching, Axle glances toward the fence, and our eyes meet across the arena.
His face softens. Then one corner of his mouth lifts, and he winks at me before swinging effortlessly back into the saddle.
And somehow, despite everything that’s happened—despite all the complications, hurt feelings, and uncertainty ahead—watching him look at me like that makes one thing feel absolutely certain.
I wouldn’t change a thing.
Not a single thing. Because in the end, it’s all worth it. Even the worry about him getting stomped by a two-thousand-pound bull is worth it just to see him look at me like that.
Axle
Ibrace a shoulder against the stack of lumber and slide another bundle toward the tailgate of the ranch truck. The Wyoming sun is already warm on the back of my neck, and sweat sticks my T-shirt to my skin.
Dad catches the other end. “Easy,” he grunts.
“I got it.”
We lower the boards onto the pile beside the barn.
For the first time in weeks, my mind isn’t racing quite as hard. Maybe it’s because I’ve been working since dawn. Maybe it’s because if I stop moving, I start thinking about Jovie, Cabe, Colorado, the rodeo circuit, the academy, and every damn mistake I’ve made this summer.
Dad reaches for another bundle.
Then the front door of the house opens.
I glance up.
Mom steps out first, smoothing her skirt. Uncle Albert follows behind her. Then Grandpa Earl and Grandma Evelyn emerge, looking exactly like they’ve looked every Sunday of my life—dressed in their best for church and determined to get there fifteen minutes early.
