Page 57 of Playing With Love

“Wasn’t there but I’ve seen the video of her last ride. The woman is fearless. I don’t know how Matt did it, sitting in the stands watching his woman get tossed around by a pissed-off three-thousand-pound bull while she held on one-handed for a full eight seconds. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she had to get off that animal and run for the rails before getting shanked by an angry bull horn.”

The pride and admiration in Tucker’s tone made my belly clench.

I’d never be brave enough to ride a bull. And I’d be hard pressed to get on the back of a horse. I was a city girl, horses weren’t my thing. They were big and kicked and had a mouthful of gigantic teeth.

I didn’t know what to say. Thankfully, his phone rang, saving me from having to come up with something.

Tucker tapped a button on his steering wheel and connected the call.

“You already at Matt’s?”

“Almost,” Logan answered. “But, fuck, I see smoke.”

“Smoke?”

“Yeah, I can’t see what’s on fire but there’s a fuckton of smoke coming from the direction of Matt and Chelsea’s. How far are you?”

“Be there in five.”

Tucker had said we were fifteen minutes out, less than five minutes ago. I glanced at the speedometer. Now that we were on the highway he was pushing eighty with that number inching up as he passed the Honda in front of us.

“See you soon.”

The call ended.

“Shouldn’t you call Matt?”

“Fuck no. Not until we have something to tell him.”

Right. That made sense. He was forty-five minutes away, his wife wasn’t answering her phone, and his alarm had gone off. A report of a fire that might not have anything to do with his house would cause undue worry.

“Chelsea’s smart,” Tucker told me. “If the house was on fire she’d get out.”

I assumed since she had horses she’d have a barn.

“If it was the barn?”

“She’d save her horses,” he gritted out and accelerated.

The next few minutes were silent.

That was, until billowing smoke came into view.

“Christ,” he growled and took a turn way too fast.

The SUV fishtailed. My hand shot to the dash to steady myself as Tucker righted the vehicle.

A moment later he repeated the too-fast-corner trick before he sped down a gravel driveway, the smoke coming from behind the house somewhere, but the source still unknown.

Tucker skidded to a halt in front of the house, then carefully turned onto the grass and parked off the driveway to prevent blocking emergency vehicles that were undoubtedly en route.

“We’ll clear the house first,” he said.

I jumped out of the Yukon and the smell of smoke immediately assaulted me.

I met Tucker around the back of the SUV and asked, “Shouldn’t we check the fire first?”

“Logan’s on that.”