Page 174 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

She crashes into me hard enough to rock the feed bucket beneath me, then wraps both arms around my waist and hangs on like she’s scared I’ll disappear if she lets go.

“I’ve got you,” I murmur, sliding a hand over the back of her head.

She buries her face against my shirt. “I thought…”

My chest tightens. “I’m okay.”

She tips her head back just enough to study my face, her eyes glassy from tears she fought all the way over here. “You said you’d stay where it was safe.”

“I thought I was.”

A sad little shrug accompanies the words, and it hits me harder than any bruise Travis left behind.

Behind her, Emmett reaches us with Willy beside him.

Emmett looks like he’s gone three rounds with the arena. One shoulder of his shirt has ripped open, dirt streaks across his sleeve, and a bruise has already spread beneath his cheekbone.

Willy’s left forearm is wrapped in fresh white gauze, and somebody somehow managed to leave the bright orange participant wristband sitting over the bandage like it belongs there.

“You two clean up terribly,” I say.

Willy glances down at himself before brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “I was going for rugged.”

“You overshot.”

“I hate when that happens.”

Despite everything, his grin pulls the corner of my mouth upward.

Emmett doesn’t smile. His eyes move over my face, stopping on the scrape near my temple before drifting lower to the bruises already blooming across my arms. “You hurt?”

“My head hurts, my neck’s going to complain tomorrow, and Travis owes me a shirt.”

“I’ll bill him,” Willy says. “Might take a few years to collect.”

Emmett barely hears him. “You sure you’re okay?”

I reach out and squeeze his arm. “I’m still standing.”

He searches my face another beat before finally exhaling, and it sounds like the breath’s been trapped inside him since the fencing gave way. “Good.”

Red steps forward and claps Emmett’s shoulder. “You got everybody out.”

Emmett looks toward the arena where volunteers stack broken lumber while another crew crawls over the damaged supports. “It could’ve gone another way.”

Nobody argues.

We all know how close tonight came to becoming a story this town would’ve carried forever.

Willy scratches the back of his neck before looking around at the rest of us. “Since everybody’s determined to brood, I’d like credit for rescuing Mrs. Parker’s emotional support casserole.”

I blink. “Her casserole?”

“It was sitting all alone.”

Red folds his arms. “You carried a cooler.”

“It contained the casserole.”