Page 79 of Slow Burn

“Does she have a name?” I ask.

Beck chuckles softly. “No. We don’t name them. It’s harder if you let yourself get attached.”

“Well I think we should name her,” I say. “It’s tough enough being all alone in this world, imagine not even knowing who you are.”

Beck sighs. “You’re going to want me to keep her, aren’t you?”

I nod. “Of course. She’s essentially an orphan, Beck. I know what it’s like to be an orphan, and I won’t let her go through this world alone. She needs a family.”

Beck’s expression softens. “Okay, Trouble. What do you want to name her?”

“Dolly.”

“As in Parton?”

“Yeah. I think Kenny Rogers could use a friend,” I say, with a beaming smile.

Beck lets out a belly laugh, throwing his head back.

“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” he says, wiping his eyes as his laughter settles. “But it’s very on brand for you, so I love it.”

“See? I told you you’re a softie.”

“I already knew that Lyla, you didn’t have to throw me a bunny yoga birthday party to prove it to me.”

His hand comes to the side of my head and he leans in, placing a soft kiss on my temple. It’s only brief, because anyone could walk in here at any moment and we both know it. But in this stolen moment, the feelings I’ve been having for this man have solidified.

I made the mistake of letting myself feel everything, because I wanted to experience all of this, all of him to the fullest.

I made the mistake of falling deeply in love with my brother’s best friend.

Chapter 30

Beck

The sun beats down on the back of my neck as Willow and I wait our turn in the staging area. The heat is hard and relentless, beads of sweat rolling down my temples. I adjust my hat, the brim doing fuck all to provide shade where I’m standing.

I’ll endure it without complaint, because the prize pot up for grabs at The Buck River Rodeo is substantial. I’ve already bagged almost eight thousand through the preliminary competitions over the course of the weekend. If I win today, I’ll be taking home the whole damn thing. Enough to completely cover the flood damage to the barn.

We’ll be able to move forward, finally. I’ll be able to focus on the future of Wild Sage, instead of treading water and hoping we don’t get pulled under and into the current. We’re so close, I can fucking taste it.

Yet, thinking about the fate of Wild Sage, and the fact that so much of it hinges on my performance today, is exactly what is throwing me off my game. I don’t want to consider the decisions I’ll have to make if I don’t take home the lion share of the winnings today. The kind of cutbacks that will be inevitable to make ends meet.

It could mean subdividing and selling off a portion of the land. The realtor who contacted me the other day has been up my ass since I responded.

Part of me wonders if that might be best. If all of this is more trouble than it’s worth. We aren’t talking about piddly small town rodeo winnings here. We’re talking more money than I can even fathom. Millions of dollars for a small parcel of land. It would solve a lot of my problems for years to come, not just a bandaid fix.

Guilt needles at me, shame washing over me that I even entertained the idea before I gave myself a chance to earn the money myself. Even as I hit send on that text message, I knew I’d made a mistake. Selling would mean turning my back on my family's legacy. Everything that every Hollis has ever worked for before me.

Not only that, but deep down a part of me knows it would be a betrayal to Lyla, too. All the work she’s put into the ranch, her brother’s livelihood, all of that would be gone. All for nothing.

But every rodeo is getting tougher. It took this whole month to get my shoulder back to my full range of motion after the last rodeo. Even practicing for this one has set me back.

I stretch my arm over my head, making a circle to test it out. A twinge of pain radiates from under my scapula. Nothing like what it was, but still, enough that it could cause problems today.

I’m last on the draw today, which has given me plenty of time to overthink it and somehow not enough time to do my pre-run ritual. Anxiety mounts within me as I watch the cowboy two ahead of me start strong out of the chute.

I absentmindedly run my hand over Willow’s shoulder as we wait, because I know she can feel my stress. Her ears flick back and forth as if she’s attuned to everything going on around her, like she’s assessing her competition the way I should be.