Page 84 of Knot my First Rodeo

I wanted her before the feed store, before she punched somebody over me, before the kiss.

Jesus Christ, the kiss.

The memory hits hard enough that I stop pacing for half a second, elbows braced against the porch railing while rain blows cold across my face. I can still feel the way she grabbed my shirt, the split second she kissed me back instead of shoving me away like she should’ve.

The rain comes down harder while I push off the railing and start pacing again, porch creaking under my boots.

She’s nineteen.

Still young enough to get excited over Dr. Pepper and dragon books. Young enough to get weirdly excited over stupid roadside snacks during rodeo weekends.

And us?

I’m twenty-six, same as Tripp, and Clint’s twenty-five.

Too old.

She should be with somebody her age. Somebody who texts her dumb shit all day, and takes her on dates somewhere that doesn’t smell like livestock half the year. Somebody who isn’t dragging her into ranch life, rodeos, and whatever the hell we’ve got going on here.

Her scent matches, that’s who she deserves. Not three cousins in Montana with busted work schedules, and horses that cost too damn much.

The thought settles ugly in my chest since none of it changes the truth.

I still want her.

And instead of helping, I walked out.

The memory of her face when I left the kitchen punches me in the chest. The way her shoulders tightened, and her eyes followed me to the door for half a second before she looked away.

Which makes me mad at my damn self.

I’m doing this for her own good.

Can’t she see that?

The thunder cracks loud enough overhead to shake the porch while I pace another lap, hands shoved into my hair hard enough it probably looks unhinged.

She’s in heat… her first heat. Probably scared out of her damn mind. That’s not something you screw around with.

Her first time.

Shit. Fuck. Damn.

The words barely leave my head before muffled voices carry through the rain from inside the house.

“Am I not good enough?”

Everything inside me goes still.

Autumn.

The words make my stomach drop.

Not good enough? Jesus Christ.

My hand curls hard around the porch railing.

She thinks I left because I don’t want her. She thinks I walked out because she isn’t enough.