Page 72 of Knots and Broncs

I don’t know if I ever will.

The ride back to the house is a blur of mud and misery. The rain has stopped, but the world is soaked, dripping, weeping right along with me.

I ride my horse home, then make sure he’s safely back in the barn.

My arm feels a little sore.

Inside, I grab another beer from the fridge, the cap twisting off with a satisfying hiss. I don’t bother with a glass.

I just drink, standing in the dark kitchen, the cold liquid a numb comfort against the raw, ragged edges of my soul.

The anger is a physical presence, a beast pacing in my chest, and the only thing that quiets it is the bitter slide of alcohol down my throat. I drink until the room tilts, until the memories of her in that green sweater, of her face in the firelight, are just blurry watercolors.

I stumble to my room and fall into bed, not even bothering to take off my boots, and pass out into a dreamless, drunken sleep.

The next morning, I’m woken by an insistent pounding on my door. Not a knock. A pounding. My head is a lead weight, my mouth a desert, and the light slanting through the window feels like a knife in my eyes.

“Billy! Get up!”

It’s Tex. His voice is far too cheerful for the hour, for my hangover, for my entire existence.

“Go away,” I mumble into my pillow.

The door creaks open. “No can do, brother. Up and at ’em. We got work to do.”

“For what?” I groan, rolling over and squinting at him. He’s a silhouette against the bright hallway light, a tall, annoyingly energetic shape.

“Seth got a call from Rhett Dalton over at Wildflower Hollow,” Tex says, and my stomach clenches. “Some of their herd is looking a little peaked. They’re worried, and Seth thinks Rhett might panic and sell. So that means you and I are on duty. We’re helping Sedona. Who is already on her way.”

I sit up, the world spinning. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Nope,” Tex says, a wide, infuriating grin spreading across his face. He whistles a jaunty tune, turns, and walks away, leaving the door wide open.

“Fuck you,” I yell after him, but my voice is a hoarse croak. I curse him, the bed, the room, the whole damn world.

I finally drag myself out of bed, my body protesting every movement.

My boots are caked in mud, thanks to last night’s stupidity. I kick them off, my muscles screaming.

I check my phone. A few missed calls from Joey. I ignore them, making a mental note to take a shower instead.

I can’t deal with Joey’s rodeo drama on top of everything else.

The shower is a small mercy. The hot water beats down on my sore shoulders, washing away the grime and the stink of last night’s rain and regret.

I stand there for a long time, letting the steam fill my lungs, trying to wash the hangover out of my system. I step out, wrapping a towel around my waist, and run right into her.

Sedona.

She’s standing in the hallway, looking for something, or someone. She’s wearing a pair of worn denim overalls over a simple white T-shirt, her wildly curly red hair pulled back from her face in a messy braid.

She looks practical, capable, and so goddamn beautiful it makes my chest ache. The shock of seeing her here, in my house, so close, is a physical jolt.

“Oh,” she says, her eyes widening as she takes a step back. “Sorry. I was looking for Tex.”

My throat is tight. “Tex is probably in the barn,” I manage, my voice rough.

She nods, her gaze flicking down to my chest, then back up to my face. I look at her now. This beautiful siren was put on this fucking earth to torture me. Her scent is faint but present, cutting through the steam from the shower.