Page 102 of Tame Our Wild

My heart clenches behind my ribs hearing them say those words. Words that I haven’t heard in over seventeen years.

And as I wrap my arms around my mom, my dad joins us, and a subtle weight lifts off my shoulders. It’s a semblance of relief.

Taking the first few steps to move on feels a lot better than I thought it would.

FORTY-THREE | HARLOW

The sound of laughter fills my ears, the warm sound sinking into my bones as I push through the front door of the ranch house. Kicking off my boots and placing them under the bench where Colson likes them, I slowly pace forward toward the kitchen, adjusting my hat nervously.

I’m intruding on such an intimate morning. Colson told me at the lake that he hasn’t talked to his parents in three years, and here they are, stirring up the painful past that has deeply affected them in ways I’ll never understand.

I feel like I shouldn’t be here, which is why I went out on a morning ride with Cosmos. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure she was ready, but I took it slow, giving her plenty of treats, pets, and verbal praise as we reached each milestone.

The complete contentment I felt the moment I settled on her back with ease had tears springing to my eyes. Like Colson, she’s been through so much, and as we strolled through the lower field below the house, I could sense how happy she was. It was energizing. Inspiring.

As the soft, late-morning breeze blew through my hair and her mane, I soaked up the gratitude. The gratitude I have for Colson for trusting me to work with Cosmos. How incredibly grateful I am for the trust Cosmos has in me to work with her and help guide her back to riding. And at the same time, I was working myself back to something I love besides bull riding.

Making my steps faint and quiet, I pace toward the stairs, hoping Colson and his parents won’t see me.

Which is shit thinking on my part since it’s an open floor plan.

“Harlow, sweetheart, why don’t you come join us?” Colson’s mom says, reaching out to pat the barstool beside her at the kitchen island.

My eyes settle on the scene before me, watching as the two men command the kitchen. Now I know where Colson gets his cooking skills from, as he and Rich share the space so easily, focused on their own tasks.

Some kind of sauce has replaced my burning bacon on the stove, the scent of something baking hitting my nostrils, making my mouth water.

“Oh, no.” I shake my head, stopping. “I don’t want to interrupt.”

“Nonsense,” Rich says, stirring whatever is in the deep pan as steam rises into the air.

Colson glances up from cutting strawberries on the cutting board, his eyes magnetizing to mine. His lips tilt in a way that sends a bolt of desire down my spine. He paces toward the coffee pot, pouring a mug of coffee before he sets it on the island in front of the empty chair. “Get your ass in here, dust bunny. Brunch is almost ready.”

Sheri’s eyes dart between us inquisitively. “Dust Bunny?”

I blow out a nervous breath. Moving toward the barstool, I timidly take a seat. “Since our first year competing together, he has called me that.”

Rich turns off the burner and turns to face Sheri and me. “What does it mean?”

Colson reaches for his coffee, lifting the rim of his mug to those lips I can’t stop looking at. There’s something about the way he’s standing before me now that makes him look lighter. Like whatever conversation he had with his parents has lifted a physical weight off his shoulders.

Colson lowers his mug. “On the circuit, women who chase bull riders and try to get their attention are called buckle bunnies. Unlike them, Harlow here isn’t afraid to get down and dirty with us.”

I roll my lips, trying to suppress my smile. Sheri looks between us, a soft grin pulling at her features as she spins to face me more. “I must apologize for how we met this morning, Harlow. Rich and I were shocked to see you, considering the media has blown up your rivalry, and here you were, standing in my son’s kitchen, in only his T-shirt.”

Fire floods into my cheeks. “It’s been months of me living here, and I’m still as shocked as you are.”

“We’ve watched every ride of yours this season. You’ve had quite the comeback,” Rich retorts.

For a moment, I hang onto that part, surprised they have been watching this season, considering their past. I decide not to ask and push past my curiosity.

“I have your son to thank for that,” I say honestly. “If he hadn’t offered to coach me after my coach, Aaron, died, I wouldn’t be where I am now. Crazy to think this season is nearing the end, and soon I’ll be headed back to Arizona and have to look for a new coach.”

Something I can’t dissect flashes in Colson’s eyes as he stares at me, his parents looking between us with interested expressions. The look in his eyes vanishes as the oven timer blares through the kitchen. He moves toward the oven, his dad stepping aside so Colson can reach around him for a baking mitt. He pulls out a tray of freshly baked biscuits.

Both men load up four plates with eggs Benedict and fruit, and we all carry our food to the dining room table. My eyes widen every time I plop a piece of egg and biscuit into my mouth, savoring the hollandaise sauce that bursts on my taste buds.

Holy shit.