Page 130 of Danger

We have the gate between us, but I’m pretending I'm in the dirt. I breathe, channel every ounce of stubbornness I’ve ever had. The bull finally snorts, shakes its head, and backs up.

Danger claps, a single, sharp sound. “Not bad.”

I turn, triumphant, proud, and promptly step in a puddle of something I really hope is just mud.

“Shit,” I say, but I’m smiling like an idiot.

Danger shakes his head then flicks a piece of something off my forehead and says, “You’re a mess.”

“So are you,” I shoot back.

He looks at me long enough that my heart stumbles, then he shrugs. “Yeah. Always have been.”

By the end of this, I’m laughing, real, head-thrown-back, ugly-loud laughter. Danger watches me, and his eyes—gray, flecked with something brighter—soften in a way I have literally never seen on a human face.

He waits until my lungs finally give out, then says, “Didn’t think you’d enjoy my kinda fun.”

And it hits me in that moment that none of this was about bulls. He was just testing me, to see if I could handle him, his world, his hard edges and weird tenderness. I could. I do.

I square up, offer him the stick, and say, “Next time, I’m picking the animal.”

He grins, wide and wolfish, and then I see my favorite version of him. I think I see everything past the Danger everyone talks about. The Danger I know.

The drive back is quieter, but it’s a different kind of quiet. I lean my head against the cool window, and when he glances at me—just once, at a stop sign—I let him see that I’m not scared anymore.

If anything, this is just the very beginning of us.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

winnie

If heaven exists,I think it might begin somewhere like Stetson Ranch. Mornings hit differently here, the sky stretches wide and endless like it was made just for this place. Sunrise spills color across the land in soft pinks and golds, the kind of colors that don’t look real. There’s no noise, no horns or sirens—just a deep quiet that resets your soul.

The animals are still, the world at rest, and for a few perfect moments it feels like nothing bad has ever happened here… and nothing ever will.

Danger and Fisher are playing catch in the field. PJ and I are on her porch, overlooking the ranch. I drop into the furthest rocking chair. Benson Bone, their family dog—flops at my feet and lays his head on my shoe.

PJ hands me a cup of coffee and settles in beside me, her chair set to a slow, hypnotic rock. For a while, we just sit. I sip my coffee, tracing the rim of the mug with my thumb.

She finally says, “I’ve noticed that look in your eyes lately. I’m thinkin’ you finally met the real version of my boy.”

I tighten around the mug. “I don’t think most people really know him at all.”

PJ sighs, not like she’s disappointed, but like she understands. “You know what people get wrong about Danger?” She tips her chin toward the horizon, the light catching the lines on her face. “Town thinks he was born like that. All grit, rough. But he wasn’t. He was made that way. My fault, and his daddy’s.”

She glances at me then, sharp and soft all at once. “You probably heard the stories. I tried to get their father to leave a dozen times. Cops would show up and say he had every right to be here, that this ranch was half his.” Her thumb runs up and down the handle of her mug. “He was always real good about not leaving marks on my face, you see. Hurt me in other ways. I blacked out a lot of that.”

The sun paints the porch gold, and I watch as Fisher runs after a ball he missed. I want to look at PJ, but I can’t.

“The boys,” she says, “they were always hiding in their room. Listening. Scared to death. Danger used to put his brothers to bed and stand in front of their door with a baseball bat. Just a skinny little thing, but mean as hell when he had to be.”

“That’s—” I start, but the words clot in my throat. That’s awful. That’s more than I can stand to picture. I try again. “I’m so sorry you all were put through that.”

PJ gives a little snort, waves it off. “Life don’t deal everyone a good hand, sugar. But Danger stopped being a boy too early. And he never went back. He was so damn young.” She shrugs, as if to say maybe she wishes he had more time to be a child.

I stare out across the acres, the land so impossibly big and empty and loud all at once. My eyes sting, but I won’t let myself cry in front of her.

PJ takes a long sip, then slaps her knee. “But you see that?” she says quietly.