Page 40 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

Fable spun around, her eyes sharp. “No. Please, go back inside with your friends. I’m fine.”

I stopped a few steps away, watching as she paced across the gravel in front of the bar. Her boots crunched with each step, the sound somehow louder in the quiet night.

“You don’t look fine, Cowgirl,” I said, leaning back on my boot heel as I studied her.

“Seriously,” she snapped, holding her hands up like a shield. “I’m fine.”

The tiny tear slipping down the side of her face told me everything I needed to know. Fine wasn’t pacing in the cold with wet cheeks and trembling hands. Fine wasn’t whatever this was.

She waved a hand dismissively, almost catching me in the face. “This? This is just fine.”

“Baby,” I crooned and took a small step closer. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” she repeated, her voice rising, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “What’s wrong?”

She flung her arm out, gesturing wildly around the parking lot. My eyes followed, trying to make sense of it.

“The . . . tree?” I asked, confused, glancing at the lone, scraggly thing swaying in the wind.

“No, you fucking idiot,” she cried. “I’m in this tiny-ass town in Texas with no home, no family, no boyfriend, and I lost my damn job!”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she looked away, her shoulders slumping like the weight of it all had finally caught up to her.

“The event went well, but they fired you?”

She sniffled, swiping at her cheek. “The fucking asshole prick of a boss hit on me and got pissed when I said no.”

My eyes practically popped out of my head. “Say less.” I reached for my phone, already planning to blast the guy on socials or call in some favors to make his life miserable⁠—

Fable’s hand closed over mine, gently pushing the phone down. “Stop. Thank you for whatever you’re thinking of doing, but it’s not worth it. It’s a change.”

“You don’t deserve that. You deserve good things. Better things than what that asshole tried to pull.”

She didn’t respond, just looked away toward the darkened road, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“Sometimes . . . change is good,” I added, stepping closer, careful not to push too far. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but it can be. Every weekend for me is a change—a new arena, a new bull, a new town. You know what? It scares the hell out of me sometimes. The unknown is heavy, but it’s also the one thing that keeps me moving forward.”

She glanced at me then, her expression softer, but still guarded.

“I’m not saying it’s easy, but maybe the thing that scares you the most is the same thing that’s going to push you toward something better. You’re stronger than you think, Cowgirl.”

She sniffed, her eyes searching mine for a long moment before she finally spoke. “I don’t feel strong at all.”

“You don’t have to feel it,” I said, a small smile tugging at my lips. “But it’s there. I can see it, even if you can’t.”

“You don’t even know me,” she whispered.

I didn’t, but I wanted to. I wanted to know her like I knew how tight I liked my bull rope wrapped around my wrist. I wanted to learn her rhythm the way I learned to anticipate the first jolt out of the chutes.

“Come on,” I said, sliding my phone back into my pocket. “I think I know where we can go.”

She shook her head. “No. I’m not going anywhere else with you. I know how that ended up last time, and I’m not in the mood.”

I chuckled because she was right. As much as I’d like to get her back to my place, Fable was someone I couldn’t touch twice. She wasn’t built for casual, and I wasn’t built for anything more. My imagination? That was another story—it could run free, conjuring up all kinds of possibilities. But reality? I was too busy for someone who wanted more than a one-time thing.

“Then why don’t you come back inside? I’ll even buy you a beer.”

She eyed me skeptically, her lips pressing into a thin line like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to trust me—or throw that beer in my face.