Page 3 of Wild Lies

A spark of panic flares in my gut, and I dart a glance at Wyatt to find him pulling the buckle bunny into his arms on the other side of the table. It’s only when I’m certain that he won’t know who I’m texting that I reply.

Kade

Yeah. I’ll be there.

Last year, I did something I promised my father I never would: I rode in my first ever rodeo. It was an accident. Not literally, but I wasn’t meant to be there. I’ve trained with the guys a few times over the years—always in secret—but I’ve never set foot in the arena as anything but a spectator.

My uncle, Kurt, rode in the rodeo and I’d beg my dad to take me every time. Even though I was only ten years old, my dad knew how badly I wanted to ride and follow in Kurt’s footsteps. There was something almost freeing about seeing him under the big lights as the crowd cheered for him. We were there when he had an accident, but more importantly, I saw what the loss of his brother did to my father and so I didn’t argue when he made me promise to stay away from riding in the rodeo.

Then, one day last summer, when Wade Maddox, one of the state’s best rodeo riders, had an accident, I said I’d fill in for him. The words were out of my mouth before I could fully comprehend them. And the next thing I knew, I was mounted up, riding a horse as it bolted out of the chute.

It was exhilarating.

And wrong.

If that wasn’t enough, I’ve chased that thrill at every opportunity. When I’m on the back of a horse being thrown around, I forget about everything; my world narrows to holding on and lasting until the timer goes off. That feeling, it’s become an addiction, and I crave it every time.

Sure, keeping it a secret from my family and wearing a bandana to hide my identity has left me riddled with guilt because it feels like a betrayal to the promise I made to my father. I know I should stop. But when the euphoria rushes through me, as I hold on for dear life, it feels like letting go of this is the last thing I can do.

“Now who’s wasting time?” Wyatt jests, breaking through my thoughts.

Pocketing my phone, I shake my head in the hope it will scatter the ever-growing guilt. I assess the table, lining up my shot. Of course, I miss, and the ball bounces off the cushion, knocking one of Wyatt’s into the corner pocket.

He lets out a holler that draws stares from the other patrons, and I dip my head as heat fills my cheeks. “Beers on you, Kade. Get to buying, brother.”

Exhaling heavily, I drop my pool stick onto the worn, velvet-lined table and head in the direction of the bar. I need to stop. This can’t go on. It’s not the losing to Wyatt, but the lies that have been eating me up inside for a year now. It’s almost too much, but there’s no way I can come clean to my family, so the only thing to do is to stop riding.

Leaning against the bar as Titan, the owner of The Wildflower, finishes serving another patron, I scrub a hand over my face before cracking my knuckles. I turn to scan the room, giving myself something else to focus on. There’s a lot of people in here tonight, and the crowd is littered with faces I don’t recognize. Although, there are still a hell of a lot who I’ve known since I was a baby running around in diapers.

When my eyes land on a woman with honey-blond hair and an unreadable expression, I straighten, my feet ready to move even if my mind can’t figure out what I’d do when I get there.

It’s her. The woman from the ranch. The one I thought I’d never see again but who I’ve been reeling from ever since I watched her car drive away earlier.

“What are you having, Kade? The same?” Titan calls, and I reluctantly drag my gaze away from her, my eyes wide like I’ve been caught about to do something I shouldn’t.

“Uhh.” I glance over at her again, but this time our eyes lock, just like they did back at the ranch. Breath gets lodged in my throat, and I struggle for air. Within seconds, she looks away, and the space she leaves me with feels louder than the bar. She’s apparently unaffected by the sight of me as I gasp for air.

“You okay there?” Titan asks, concern etched into his features. He reaches below the bar-top and pulls out a glass, filling it with water as he eyes me cautiously.

“Just two more beers, please.” I grab the water, more to give myself something to do as I stare at the bottles that line the wall in front of me, and chug it.

What the fuck was that?

It’s only when I’m certain that I won’t have a repeat of moments ago that I dart a glance in her direction again. There’s a guy talking to her now, his hand close to hers on the bar top as he towers over her. I shake my head and huff out a laugh. Just because she arrived at the ranch by herself doesn’t mean she isn’t taken. A woman like that being single is about as rare as Wyatt turning down free beer.

Even from this distance, I can hear the frustration tinged with a hint of worry when she raises her voice and says, “I said, leave me alone.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I move, my eyes locked on her. I don’t stop, even when the wall of muscle from the guy who looks like he’s been dropped in town straight from a frat party is in front of me. Instead, I grab his shirt and push him back, the momentum forcing him to move. I don’t stop until we’re on the other side of the room and far away from her.

Caught off guard, he stumbles, his arms flailing as shock registers on his face. It quickly morphs into anger, and he grunts, “The fuck?”

“She said, leave her alone,” I grind out, the warning clear in my tone.

Pushing my arms away, he steps closer, until I feel his breath on my face. He’s clearly used to his brand of intimidation working, and where most would cower away, I stand tall, ready for the first hit. Craving it. “And what are you gonna do about it? It’s none of your damn business, bro.”

I open my mouth to speak but I’m pulled back, and Wyatt steps between us. My chest rises and falls with a chaotic, wild anger that feels foreign to me, and it’s only as I get the emotion under control that I register just how quiet it’s grown; you could hear a pin drop and only the low thrum of music fills the silence.

“We got a problem here?” Wyatt asks, his six-foot-four frame towering over the guy.