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“Just checkin’ on you. It isn’t like you to leave a horse out in the corral when you’re done workin’ it.”

Shit. He’d completely forgotten about the filly. Another example of his lack of responsibility. Tristan probably told Bill, or one of the other partners that he’d left without thinking about the animal he was responsible for.

“I’ll round up Grey and get right back.”

“I took care of the horse, Bullet, but I think we need to talk.”

“Yes, sir.” Great. Now he was going to lose his job too. “I’ll be right there.”

1968

Clancy never told him what happened with his mama. All he’d say was everything had been taken care of, and his mother and sister were fine. Clancy went on two more trips during the last year, and wouldn’t tell Bill where he was going. When Bill asked, all Clancy would say was that he had private business to take care of. And that wasn’t like Clancy.

Tomorrow most of the ranch hands were driving to Gunnison for Cattlemen’s Days. This was the first year Bill was able to join them. He’d been so anxious about going he hadn’t slept too well the last few nights. He wasn’t as nervous about competing as he was about seeing Dottie again.

At the ranch’s cook’s urging, Bill had written Sadie’s niece a letter. He’d fretted a whole week about whether she’d answer. When he and Clancy made their weekly trip to the McCoy post office, there was a letter from Dottie waiting for him. For it to get to him that quickly, she had to have written it the same day she received his letter.

They exchanged letters weekly. Bill didn’t know what to expect when he wrote that he’d be coming to Gunnison. He worried she might have a steady beau, so he came right out and asked. She wrote back she did, and his name was Bill Flynn.

He’d done well that week on bulls and broncs. Tie-down roping too. Dottie was his girl, and he intended to do her proud.

10

What the hell was he going to do now? If Bill fired him from the Black Forest operation, he doubted if any of the Flying R partners would offer to let him work at one of the other ranches.

Bullet needed to pull his head out of his ass, again, and pay attention to what was in front of him. His kids. His job. And forget about women for a while. A long while. Especially one woman. Tristan. The more he tried to impress her, the more he did the opposite. Why did it matter what she thought of him?

Last night, as he held her in his arms when they danced, he imagined himself holding her all the time. She felt so good. Unlike Callie, who was more than a foot shorter than he was, Tristan was tall. Her head rested easily on his shoulder, and her body fit against his, as though it was made to.

When he closed his eyes, he could remember how she felt, her scent, his body’s reaction to her. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman, but it was more than that. It was her. There were plenty of other pretty women at the bar last night. None of them did it for him. He’d danced with a couple. They didn’t fit. Not like Tristan.

Maybe if he could seduce her, sleep with her, get a taste of her, he could get her out of his head. He was sure that was her allure, that he couldn’t have her. When had he ever given up on the challenge of a woman he wanted? Never.

Bullet only hoped he was right, that once he had her, she’d be out of his head and he’d be able to pay attention to his responsibilities. He needed to get laid. It was that simple.

But in the back of his mind lingered the feeling that he was wrong, that getting Tristan McCullough out of his head wasn’t going to be simple at all.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving already,” pouted Liv.

“You’re the one who told me to hurry up and produce this line. In order for me to do so, I have to get back and talk to my father.”

“I know, I just like having you here.”

Tristan understood. Her friendship with Liv meant more to her every day. She was easy to talk to. And fun. She loved her father and grandfather, but she missed being around another woman. Biologically, Liv was old enough to be her mother, but their friendship wasn’t based on that. She had more in common with Liv than she did with Lyric, or Liv’s daughter, Renie, who were both her age.

“Damn stubborn,” they overheard Bill say to Dottie.

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“Yes, he is. Now go right back out the door you came in, and apologize.”

“Apologize? Over my dead body.”

Dottie laughed. “I can arrange that.”

They heard the front door open and close, and Dottie came into the kitchen.

“What’s going on?” Liv asked.

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