Except, if anything, it’s worse.
Her long red hair spills over her breasts, which she’s caressing herself, and her eyes roll as she slides up and down my cock eagerly, chasing her third orgasm as I rub my thumb against her clit. It’s a glorious sight, really, but I’m too distracted—especially since Briar’s got pretty blue eyes, and every time she looks down at me, I just remember the pain that flashed in Honey’s eyes that night.
Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with me?
I managed to keep Honey out of my mind for nine yearsyet I have a couple of strained conversations with her and the dam holding back all my memories comes crashing down.
‘Hey.’ I still Briar’s hips.
She tips her head down to me, breath shuddering out. ‘Everything okay, Nash?’
‘Yeah, look, you’re great—believe me.’ My eyes rake over her body, and I mentally berate myself for doing this, for giving up. ‘It’s just my leg fucking kills.’
‘Shit, sorry.’ Briar climbs off, and she sits beside me in bed as I hoist myself up, silently enjoying the relief for my leg. ‘Is there a position that’ll hurt less?’
‘No, I—’Fuck.I let out a sigh and smother my face with my hand. Slowly, I pull the empty condom off and deposit it on the nightstand. ‘Think it’s probably best if we just stop. How ’bout you lie down, and I’ll finish you off again?’
Patting my shoulder, Briar chuckles, then leans back onto the pillows next to me, stretching out like a cat. ‘Sawyer, it’s cool. You didplentyalready. That’ll keep me going until next time you’re in town.’
‘Right,’ is all I can respond.
She says it like I’m going to be gone by tomorrow, which would be the usual way things worked—in town to hook up then off on the road again as quickly as possible. She says it like she doesn’t know I’ve been holed up here for the past month, relegated to the bottom floor of the large cabin-like house I’ve been forced to live in, as opposed to my apartment in town I lease out to Wolfman and usually crash at because there’s too many stairs up to reach it.
I haven’t a clue when the next time Iwon’tbe in town is now.
Five months.
That’s how long the doctor said I need to stay off the bulls for. Five months—that’s the next time I’ll be able to leave.
Until then, I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future, nothing but goddamn resting and patience-testing physiotherapy to fill my time, as opposed to all the rodeos my agent’s been trying to get me to attendto keep up appearances.To show people I’m still standing. To give my sponsors some hope too, I guess. Honestly, the idea of parading my broken leg about, letting everyone see the weakness plaguing me when they’ve always known me as a champion, as the cowboy with no fear, makes me sick.
Besides, I’ve got a massive ranch to try to figure out what to do with, now my father’s been gone for two months. No chance I can run away from that burden.
Fuck my life.
‘You doing alright, Nash?’ Briar sits up again, angling her head at me. ‘You’re kinda freaking me out being all quiet. Usually, I’m trying to get you to stop chatting so much shit for once.’
I snort, knowing she’s not wrong. ‘I’m just tired, Bri. Haven’t been sleeping much ’cause of my leg.’ It’s not a lie, but it doesn’t feel like the full truth either. Not that I’d want to dissect that with Briar—feelings aren’t part of our arrangement. Or part of my life.
‘That’s fair. Well,’ she starts, pivoting off the bed to grab her clothes that are scattered across the floor of my downstairs bedroom—what was once a guest room, ‘I had fun, anyway. Hopefully I’ve tired you out enough that you’ll sleep better tonight.’
I wish.
As she gets dressed, I pull my underwear up from where it was around my knees—I didn’t bother trying to drag it over my cast when we started, eager not to have to go through that struggle in front of Briar. I pick my T-shirt off the floor, throwing it on, before grabbing my crutches and lifting myself up. Thank God I’ve got good upper body strength to manage with these damn things.
I see Briar out the house, watching her drive away. Once I’m back in my room, I collapse on my bed and brace myself for another night of interrupted sleep and dreams of the one woman I never thought I’d see again.
The next morning, I take my pain meds with a strong as fuck coffee—needed since I barely slept again. I’ve always struggled to quieten my head, but bull riding gave me something to focus on and helped somewhat. Now it’s just me and my damn restless mind.
I sit out on the front porch of the house with my dad’s old retriever, Trixie, at my feet, ready for another day of wondering what I’m going to do with my day. My life.
One of the few good things about being back in my childhood home is the views. Lucky Star Ranch is one of the biggest cattle ranches in Willow Ridge, surrounded by swathes of never-ending pastures that bloom rich green and gold grasses throughout the year. Mountains shoot up in the distance, dusted with snow that somehow perseveres even through the hot summers. Sunshine breaks through the clouds, leaving patches of golden light across the mountainfaces. Aspen trees line the trails that bisect the land, alongside thick clusters of pine that provide shelter from rain.
When night falls and the sky is clear, wherever you are in Willow Ridge, you can always find Lucky Star Ranch situated under the brightest of stars in the sky—hence the name. Like a beacon of life for the town, especially for the forty-or-so employees that work here, and the other ranches we lease land out to.
Dotted throughout are a few buildings, all mimicking the same cabin-like appearance of the main house—bunkhouses and private residences for the workers that stay on the land, as well as the mess hall, where Bertha, the ranch’s sixty-something in-house cook, works. She moved here before I was born with her husband, who used to be a rancher until he passed away about twenty years ago, but she stayed and is one of only a few employees left from my childhood.
The main house was always far away from the working ranch, keeping our lives relatively separate when my dad wasn’t working—my dad used to blame it on my mom, not wanting to be a part of everything, but I always guessed he was the one who desired the privacy. Can’t hear the cries of a beaten up wife or kid then.