Page 112 of Homebound

“You scowlin’ ’cause my little girl’s still talking to that prick out there in the arena?” he asks, gesturing to where Boone and Dakota are standing too close for my liking.

I take a long swig of my beer. “You don’t like him either?”

“Never have. Never will,” he grunts, gripping the metal railing. “I had to keep my mouth shut when she wanted to marry him ’cause she had to make her own mistakes to learn. There are some men that’ll be boys until they’re eighty. Boone’s one of ’em. You aren’t. You’ve always been more man than boy.”

I straighten under his compliment. “Thank you, sir. That means a hell of a lot coming from you.”

“Just tellin’ the truth, son.” He pats my shoulder. “That boy was always a pit-stop, and she knows it. You’re her destination. It just took her a little longer since she took the backroads to get to you.”

I laugh a little. “She should’ve taken the highway.”

“Yeah, but the scenic route always makes for a better story,” he says with a grin, his swagger carrying him away.

I turn to find my family in the bustling crowd. The stands are alive with energy, everyone buzzing with anticipation for the bull riding to start. My chest throbs with pain as Dakota prepares to climb onto the back of a raging bull, strapping on her chaps, dusting off her boots.

The black bull thrashes in the chute, and I hold my breath as I watch her strut up to the metal corral. It never gets easier watching her face off against a bull, and as much as it scares the hell out of me, I can never look away.

Because I’ve always been hers, and this time, she’s mine.

“Get ready,” some guy drawls next to me, nudging his friend. “This one’s gonna be a wild ride.”

“Yeah, all two seconds,” some other asshole says.

“Eight seconds,” I state, ignoring them, even though my heart is thrashing around in my chest like the damn bull. “She’s got this. I know it.”

I repeat the phrase like a prayer, lifting that mood ring to my lips like I do before every ride. I kiss the metal, thinking about the day I got down on one knee and asked her to marry me. She said no, but I promised to keep the ring, and keep it I did.

And once I move back to Texas, I plan to get down on one knee and give it back to Dakota.

“Wyatt! Over here!”

I spot Alanna with my mom, who’s gently pushing Vi in her stroller. I make my way to them and scoop my daughter into my arms. Her tiny hands clutch the stuffed longhorn Dakota gave her weeks ago.

She never lets go of that thing.

We all take our seats on the bleachers of the crowded rodeo stands. Alanna’s sitting beside me, her eyes glued to the arena, and my parents are squeezing each other’s hands, eagerly waiting. We’re all keeping our fingers crossed that she stays on for those eight seconds as we wait for her to ride.

The mustached cowboy next to me leans over to his friend, scoffing, “Twenty says she falls off in the first five seconds.”

Look at that, another asshole.

“Thirty says she only stays on for three,” the other chimes in.

Make that two assholes.

I lean over to them, pulling out the crisp bill I got from the ATM earlier. I hadn’t been to an ATM in over a decade, but I went just for today so I wouldn’t have a repeat of last time. “One hundred says she stays on all eight seconds and then some.”

Lana digs through her Prada purse—which I only know because she made sure to tell me—and pulls out two crisp hundreds. “Make that three hundred on our girl.”

My mom digs into her jeans and adds a twenty. Mama adds her own five-dollar bill, and I’m shocked we’re all carrying cash. But then again, we are a family of poker players. “Make that three-twenty-five.”

I take all the bills and shove them in the cowboy’s shocked face. “Guess we’re going all in.”

Our entire group has matching smug-as-hell smirks as we glare down the mustached cowboy.

He frowns. “You’re willing to go all in on a bet for Kodie Cutler?”

“I’ll always bet on her,” I add, leaning down to kiss Vienna’s cheek. “Isn’t that right, baby?”