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“Well,don’t you look like you’re glowing,” Tully says as I walk up the bleachers to watch my man. Since I landed back in Arrowleaf, life has been a whirlwind, in a good way. We’ve seen a lot, gone through a lot, and made it out stronger than ever. Lane and Lawson did most of the legwork, handing off the evidence to Fletch, their friend, who did the Lord’s work. Which meant it took time, too much time with the way Lane was grumbling a week later. He and Lawson cornered him in a back alley, beating Paul Sherman Junior like he did many of his other victims. Lane told me how badly he treated other women, not only beating them but beating them into submission to get his rocks off. He was also sexually assaulting women. Yes, women, lots of them, apparently. Some got away, similar to my circumstances. There were others who had it way worse,so much worse, and a few women didn’t survive it. So, yeah, while I wasn’t thrilled with how they handled it, I accepted it, and now the dust has finally settled. My name and the Johnson name are nowhere near connected to Sherman in any way. We’re now free to move on with our lives.
“Who me? Look at yourself. How was your first week at the clinic?” Tallulah didn’t hate the interview at Herbert’s Veterinary. She said it’s a stepping-stone, one to get a rapport with some of the ranchers before she starts her own thing.
“Well, if you consider putting your hand up about fifty heifers to see if they’re pregnant or not as fun for an introduction, then it was great.” The sarcasm is rolling off her in waves. My nose wrinkles because that’s a visual I’ve seen a handful of times, and I know what comes out of the glove she wears.
“Well, I think I’ve lost my appetite. Want some?” I offer Tully some of my funnel cake. The drink, she’s on her own. I’m entirely too thirsty to even think about sharing my lemon-lime soda.
“Sure. Nothing fazes me after a day at the office.” She grabs a big piece of the fried batter saturated in powdered sugar. I do the same before gluing my eyes to the arena.
“I didn’t miss anything, did I?” We’re sitting at the front of the railing, a place for our feet to rest while also getting an up close and personal view of the Johnson brothers doing their thing. Today, each brother will be in an event. Saddlebronc riding is Lane’s area of expertise. The rest of the brothers disperse through other events, such as bareback riding, steer wrestling, tie-down roping, team roping, bull riding, and finally, steer roping. The only thing they don’t do is barrel racing, which, hey, maybe Case will do it one day.
“Nope, Lane is up next. And the event after will be Dean.” Oh, okay, it seems the attraction between the two may be mutual after all.
“And what event is Dean doing today?” Some of the brothers will switch up, but not Lane. He’s always been on a bronc of some kind, saddle or no saddle. The man knows what he likes and sticks with it.
“I think steer roping.” Tallulah won’t meet my eyes.
“Well then, I guess we better get to watching.” The announcer starts talking, shutting me up from finishing any kind of conversation Tully and I were going to have. I hear Lane’s number, ninety-nine, his stats and how long he’s been riding. My eyes are glued to the chute, trying to get a glimpse of Lane. When I left him, he was cinching his chaps. On the chair was his vest, and then last were his gloves. Everything else, Lawson would help get him ready. The two of them have always been close. The events these past few weeks have made their bond even stronger. I tried to give him a quick kiss before hitting the concession stand, but in true Lanefashion, he had no problem displaying his affection for me. It was toe curling, panty melting, and swoonworthy. Him in his gear, looking like the cowboy he is. Tall, dark, rugged, and he’s all mine. And the best part is he has no problem showing everyone in the arena I’m his.
“You can do this, baby.” I pick up the necklace around my neck, holding it in my hand, a new adornment Lane surprised me with this morning. The gold heart-shaped pendant is smooth in texture and has a diamond in the center. But on the back, well, that’s the showstopper. Lane had our initials engraved as well asAlways.I swear he has been full of surprises lately. When he came back from Colorado with Lawson, the trailer had a mare and a foal. Maple, a palomino quarter horse with her baby, Willow. I was starstruck, and every spare minute, you can find me with them. Of course, Rocky comes right along with us, and thankfully, I’m healed and not in any pain, so I can ride at a slow trot. Lane’s orders, overprotective worrywart that he is.
“He’s got this, Birdie.” The buzzer rings, it’s go time. The chute opens, and the bronc is already bucking, ready to throw Lane off him. My eyes stay locked on him the entire time, making sure his spurs are set above the horse’s shoulders until the horse’s front feet hit the ground after the first jump out of the chute. His gloved hand is holding on to the thick rein, keeping his body off the horse in order not to be disqualified.I hold my breath, watching as his white cowboy hat flies off on one particular nasty-as-hell buck. My eyes check the countdown in big red numbers. The crowd starts to go wild. Lane has five more seconds, and this horse is giving him a ride that I don’t like, but I know will help his numbers in the standings.
“Four, three, two, one,” the crowd chants together, and the buzzer goes off.
“He did it, folks! Lane Johnson, coming in with a score of ninety-five point five, taking first place.” I’m out of my seat and rushing toward the railing as Lane jumps off the horse. A rodeo clown hands him his white felt cowboy hat. He takes it, saying a quick thank-you without so much as a sideways look. Lane’s eyes are on mine, and he’s moving quickly. His sole focus is on me, not the crowd cheering, not the arena workers slapping him on the shoulder and congratulating him on an epic ride.
“Lane.” I’m laughing and crying at the same time.
“Baby, come ’ere.” His hands meet the outside of mine, he’s lifting himself up, and I’m getting with the program when one of his leaves the metal bar and goes behind my neck, pulling me to his lips. I dip my head and let Lane have his way with my mouth, much like he does with my entire being. A sigh leaves me, and Lane uses it to gain entrance. He takes over, dominating the kiss. My eyes close, and I enjoy the adrenaline hehas pumping through his body, knowing the minute we’re alone, Lane is going to have me naked and bent over the nearest available surface. “Fuck, I gotta get back.” Lane pulls back, and the crowd is going wild in the distance.
“Okay,” I whisper in a daze. Arrowleaf may be small, but we sure do have a lot of townspeople, and the rodeo attracts others from the surrounding areas. I can feel my cheeks flame with heat.
“Always, Birdie, always.” He plants another kiss on my lips, hops down, and takes off to the other side of the arena to get out of the way for the next event.
“And that, my friend, is how it’s done,” Tallulah says when I finally take my seat beside her again. It’s then I notice she’s eaten the rest of my funnel cake and drank all my drink.
“You’re lucky I love you, or I’d make you go stand in the concession stand line,” I grumble.
“Please. I’ll wait till Lane comes back and tell him you’re hungry. He’ll do the rest. And I’d be jealous of you if you weren’t my best friend.”
“If you’d open your eyes, you’d see there’s a cowboy with hungry eyes staring right at you,” I reply. She shuts her mouth rather quickly and looks up. “Finally, she pays attention.” I settle back and enjoy the show. My best friend could potentially become my sister-in-law. Let the matchmaking begin.
EPILOGUE
LANE
Two Weeks Later
“Birdie,I think it’s time we talk.” I walk through the house after a day of mending fences. I swear to fuck, if that big mean bull doesn’t quit trampling the barbed wire to get to the heifers next door, I’m going to take him to the auction myself. It seems like once a freaking month, I have to fix his fuckup, and then we have to call Herbert’s, who sends out Tully to clean up the wounds we can’t. We could bypass the whole process and put the money in Tallulah’s back pocket, except she’s one headstrong woman.
“What do you mean we need to talk? Is something wrong with the family?” she asks, standing at the stove making dinner.
“No.”
“Rocky?” Lately, he’s been glued to my side when I leave after doing my morning work.
“Nope.”
