Page 55 of Lost Trust

“Yeah,” he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear. “One song.”

I don’t trust myself to say anything else. I turn on my heel and head back toward Ryder, resisting the urge to glance back over my shoulder.

The last thing I need is to entertain the thought of another reckless night with Royce Trust.

Especially if I plan to stay in Wildhaven.

Royce

I’m three drinks in when Cabe starts talking about bulls.

“Bryce is serious about it,” he says, leaning against the edge of the bar. “He’s already looking at a piece of land behind the academy for another outdoor arena.”

Micah’s eyes light up. “For the stock?”

“Yep. Wants to get into the bull business.”

I take a drink and half listen.

“Buy young bulls, train them, chute-break them,” Cabe continues. “Get them used to the noise, the lights, the gates. Then practice bucking them and see what they’ve got. If they turn out, sell them or haul ’em to events himself.”

“Doesn’t his ass have enough going on right now with the school and his new broadcasting gig?” Micah asks.

Cabe grunts. “I know we do—with the ranch, rodeo academy, Dad and Grandpa’s new herds, and Harleigh breaking ground on the guest ranch. He’s gonna have a hard time convincing Matty to take on yet another project of that size.”

I nod at the right moments, but I’m not really listening anymore.

Because across the barn, Marina is laughing as she chats with Porter and Harleigh, and I can’t seem to stop watching her.

She’s standing near the buffet table with a crystal flute in her hand. Her hair falls over one shoulder, and every time she smiles, I remember what that mouth felt like against mine.

Fuck.

“Dude.”

I blink.

Cabe is staring at me.

“What?”

His grin spreads. “You haven’t heard a word we said for the last five minutes.”

“I have.”

“Bullshit.”

“Bulls. Bryce. Matty,” I mumble, then take a swig from my glass.

Micah looks between us and follows my line of sight.

He lets out a low whistle. “Oh my. Who is that?”

I give him a warning look.

Cabe chuckles. “Well, well, well.”

“Shut up,” I grit out.