Page 15 of Drifter’s Heart

I feel responsible for both times. Once because I was his trainer. Once because I didn’t stop the madness when I should have.

But I was never his keeper.

“Again.” My voice is hoarse with a decade’s worth of penance I’ll never be able to repay.

Dustan rides until we’re all exhausted. The damn bull too. Every surface, whether it’s made of skin or fucking fur, is coated in dust and bruised in ego if not in person by the time the session is over. But he’s determined, and he has the same high energy that marks Jesse Duke as Coyote Fall’s next best thing.

The crowd will eat Dustan up, assuming I can get him in front of one. If Rand doesn’t bump his name at the gate when he sees who trained him.

“We’ve got extra weeks of prep.” I can sell this to the kid who wants that championship buckle at least as much as I do, though not at the expense of his physical health. “If you have the time to train, I have the bull and the schedule to get you there.”

“Appreciate it.” Dustan holds out his dirt-encrusted hand. The easy smile is ready on his face despite the hours of training that must leave him hurting in every crevice he forgot he had.

Hell, I’m hurting for him, and I haven’t even been on the bull.

Dustan’s infectious smile and startling eyes remind me so strongly of a younger Cordell Rand that for a full minute I can’t respond beyond grasping his hand too tightly.

Look how well that turned out.

It’s not the same rider and won’t be the same outcome.

I nod as Dustan finds his way to the office and shower beyond, his hands tucked into his pockets. And pray that this is a cowboy-in-training who will stay on the bull and walk away from his eight seconds under Valiant Peak’s lights, unlike the last one.

“Arm up. Toes out. Knees in. Lock your knees. Hold it—” I count another second off his tally, toward the coveted eight mark. Just one more second, please, God⁠—

Dustan eats dirt.

Fuck.

The bull trots off, head held high. He gives a nasty little celebratory kick right at the kid’s face as my phone vibrates in my pocket. Too close. Dustan shifts away from the hooves in time as I ignore the call. They can leave a message or catch me later. I shift my numb ass cheek on the metal railing where I’ve been perched for the last two hours. The sun has warmed my back, turning my neck redder than usual while Dustan etches a shadow of his dusty namesake on the produce store dirt.

“One more for the day.” Dustan stretches his arms over his head and fails to hide a wince when he rolls his shoulder.

I shake my head and jump from the railing. “You’re done.” My ass isn’t the only thing that’s gone numb. My feet don’t work the way they should. My protégé’s smirk irritates the fuck outta me. “Hey, if you stayed on the damn bull, you’d hurt less, and we’d be sharing a beer right now. Go get cleaned up,” I snap.

The cocky smile disappears off Dustan’s face. “Yes, sir.”

Dammit.

I have no intention of breaking the kid’s spirit, but him getting hurt tops my shit list. I drag my hand over my face. Hell, maybe I’m too hard on him.

Maybe I’m getting soft.

Either way, I don’t want to end up with him in hospital because we didn’t put in the hours together.

I watch him walk away, relieved when his step gets a little jauntier, and he boot scoots his way across the parking lot to music only he can hear in his personal flirty style. My phone buzzes in my pocket, the extra distraction I don’t need right now. My voicemail flicks up a message. I press play on speaker as I herd the bull in that looks a whole lot happier now I haven’t shoved a rider onto its back.

Cord’s voice fills the empty, dusty space, and I freeze.

“It’s a handful of weeks away. The Valiant Peak Invitational. Just wanted to see if you’re coming back. If Winnie will be with you. I haven’t seen her for a while either, though we’ve… talked. It’d be good to catch up, see what you’ve been doing with yourself. Anyway, the ranch is good, not the same without you. Weather’s good. Should be a good show that night. Give me a call back, let me know if you’re headed up north. You’re welcome anytime.”

The voicemail ends, the little triangle beneath my thumb tempting me to hit replay.

Then my senses slam into me with a solid dose of reality. I’m welcome back? Christ, he’s so full of shit. The last words between us glide through my mind.

All my damn life.

Everything I gave him. Just everything.