Page 67 of Drifter’s Heart

“No, you implied you weren’t breaking up. I said I want to be here with you.”

I frown. “I’m beyond confused right now.”

“Me too.” She hiccups. “I just want to know that I’m safe, with you and Sally, and that I’ll never break down and lose it.”

My hand cups behind her head as I drag her to me and crush her against my chest. “I can’t promise that won’t happen, Winnie. I can’t promise you’ll never experience any of that in your life, with or without me in it. But I can promise that if we try this thing, we push together for as long as it takes. That you don’t have to go it alone when you don’t want to and that I’m here. If that’s scary, then fuck it. I’ll be scary.”

“You are scary. Shit scary, Wilder West. And hot and gorgeous and beautiful too.”

My arms relax a little. “Scary enough to break up with or scary enough to stay?”

Winnie burrows into me in the shadows behind the stadium where no one else can see us. “Stay,” she whispers into my chest. “I want to stay.”

Funny. That’s the same thing that I want too.

TWENTY-TWO

WINNIE

All the Glittery Lights

Send me goss. I’m questioning my choices of not coming tonight. You’re out of snacky snacks.

It’s crowded as all get out. You made good choices. Get delivery.

Hard agree. Do NOT let Cord get on a bull. NO MATTER WHAT.

I promise I won’t let him ride a woolly. Send you pics if I can get Billy on one, though. West and I have a standing bet.

Ha. That’s a picture. Let me know when Jesse wins.

All our money is on Dustan.

???

You don’t know him, but you will. Valiant Peak’s newest fixture. I promise.

Trixie’s horse flies around the barrels, wobbling one but not knocking it over, before her ride ends to the sort of applause every rider dreams of at a rodeo. Her ovation lasts minutes, punctuated by catcalls and whistles, showing up the other riders who haven’t had a chance to show off yet. She’s by far one of Valiant Peak’s most popular riders, and she knows it. Levi hauls her denim-clad ass up to the mic to talk to give him a break for a bit, though I swear he can go all night without coming up for air.

We end up with the Valiant Peak workers who have spent the last month erecting the stadium that, it turns out, will become a permanent fixture in the town. West is in his element, talking with other engineers and designers who worked with Cordell on the project, while I spend my time cheering on riders I barely recognize. There’s more new talent than I expect on the circuit, with Dustan playing general pinup boy and holding hats while the boys ride. Most of the boys field their share of buckle bunnies, who try each rider on for size and steal more hats than Dustan can control.

Some get lucky early in the evening. Even Cord brushes off his fair share of women who cling to him, his irritation clear when he finds Billy standing guard over me as I watch the riders, pushing away the talent who aren’t familiar with Rand’s rules.

That lasts until West comes back and glowers at everyone. Then the hats are collected with a modicum of decorum and apologies.

“Marking your territory much, Mister West?” I snark at him, not entirely disappointed in his behavior. Rand’s Rules needs to go up on a poster somewhere. I swear I’ll have them made up for the next Invitational just to annoy my brother.

“I’m makin’ sure you’re not bothered by the randy young ones when I’m not around,” he mutters. “Especially if I’m helping out over the next few days, once the event’s done and dusted. Dustan won’t need training unless he’s moving on to the next event in the circuit, and the season is on pause for a few weeks. That was always the point of the Invitational. It was designed as an out-of-season exhibition ride for new talent. Cord hand-picks a stack of riders and allows a few wild-card entries. Last year it was Jesse Duke. This year, I’ve brought in Dustan. There’ll be at least one more, maybe two for the final round.”

“Wow.” I blink. “And here I thought you all just wanted to piss off some bulls.”

“Nah, that’s what they do during the season.”

A tall, dark, and lithe cowboy dressed all in black nods to us, leaning forward to clap West’s shoulder. His build is the opposite to West’s. Where my guy is tall and barrel-chested and all shoulders, this man is so much leaner in muscle. His arms look lanky, but from the way he handles the bulls in the enclosure next to us when he’s called to jump in and sort a small rumble out, he’s far from out of place in the melee.

“That’s Easton East. He’s a good operator. Clearly knows his stuff,” West tells me while I’m still stuck on his name.

“His name is East East?” I clarify.