Page 26 of Eight Seconds

“You’ll see,” is all he gives me as we finish up boarding Vesper for the night. His enigmatic smile never falters as we head back to his truck and begin driving out of town.

* * *

We wind through trees and along beautiful vistas for nearly forty-five minutes, the houses becoming more spread out and beautiful mountains filling in the space between. Paved roads begin turning to gravel when Wilder finally signals left. The dirt road leads away from the main road into stately fir trees and tall grasses, a flat parcel leading into gently rolling hills. Deeper on the horizon stands a mountain, verdant and lush with trees. When Wilder slows the truck to a stop, he rounds the hood to open my door.

Standing in front of the truck with a beaming smile, Wilder stretches his arms wide at the flat land. It has stakes and electrical boxes, as though the expanse has been surveyed. There’s a poured slab of concrete and wooden framing on the sides, the setup for a residence. I can’t help but smile back as I think of our whispered conversations in the deep of night: Wilder’s dream.

“It’s beautiful,” I tell him honestly. The land has enough flat space to build whatever home and outbuildings are needed, and there is plenty of clear space to build trails and explore. The sky has a brilliant cerulean, fluffy cloud traveling lazily across it, visible over the tops of the trees. “Do I hear a creek?”

“The property has some creek frontage and butts up against the shore of a smaller lake.” Wilder nods. He walks to the back door of the truck, pulling out a plaid blanket before reaching out a hand for me. “C’mon, I want to show you around.”

We wind along a footpath through the trees, breaking from the line to glimpse the edge of a lake with crystal-clear water lapping at the shoreline before dropping into inkier depths. Wilder spreads the blanket out in the thready shade of an aspen near the shore, settling comfortably and indicating the spot next to him for me. I pull my hat off, placing it behind me, next to where Wilder has his. Something about being here, with that image of our hats together, crawls into a part of my brain I know I won’t ever be able to get it out of. It’s filled with promises and dreams and things you don’t think about until you meet someone you want to share them with. But as the easy silence stretches between us, I can’t help but feel as though I have met that person, and I don’t hold back when a question tumbles from my lips.

“Is this place yours?”

“Yeah.” Wilder smiles so brightly it ignites the light blue fractals of his eyes and consumes his whole face before he gives a huffing laugh. “I mean, it will be, so long as I can keep up with the mortgage payments.”

“And is it everything you hoped to have when you were growing up? Did little Wilder want a ranch in the mountains?” I bump his shoulder, enjoying his happiness and thinking of what Wilder was like as a kid. He’s never really talked much about it, and I’m not one to push. My own complicated relationship with my parents makes me respectful of people’s family dynamics.

Wilder’s throat bobs, and he swallows thickly, the joyful look on his face draining away to be replaced by a more somber, contemplative one. Unease settles heavy in my stomach, prickles of awareness that we’ve entered new territory set my emotions on high alert. I move to backtrack, offering to change the subject when he gives me a sad smile and shake of his head.

“I grew up with a father who loved his relationship with Jim Bean more than he loved his relationship with me or my mother. She disappeared before I was five; a kiss on the forehead goodnight and a whisper of loving me forever is the last thing I remember about her. Pretty sure I got her eyes and her will to survive.”

He watches the water at the rocky shore, clearly lost in another time, another place, with people who hurt him. The sad, wounded little boy alone in a broken family. I want to reach out, wrap him in my arms, and erase the pain with promises of the love I feel for the strong, kind, brave man in front of me. But I don’t. I sit beside him, allowing myself to cover his hand with my own and wait until he’s ready to continue.

“I ran away when I was fourteen.” He swallows around the confession. “Stole everything in the old man’s wallet when he was passed out for the third night in a row. He was supposed to have bought groceries and an oil change for the truck. I’d never been so grateful he went to the bar instead. It was enough to get me to the next county and hide until I talked my way onto a crew. I harvested hay for a whole year, moving from place to place, sleeping in bunk houses, and hiding my pay in the lining of a worn Resistol hat I found in a barn.”

I can’t stop my sharp inhale. It’s hard not to compare that with my own life at fourteen. My teenage rage was wrapped up in being told I couldn’t enter another junior rodeo because I had to study for finals. I wasn’t scraping out an existence because my parents couldn’t be bothered to buy food for the house.

“At sixteen, I went with some of the other workers to the rodeo in Tulsa.” Wilder’s mouth lifts at the corner. It’s not quite a smile, but I can tell his story is turning, becoming brighter as he talks. “First time I ever saw anything like it. Sure, I’d spent plenty of time with horses, even helped with a few stock drives when the opportunity presented itself and I needed the money. But when Curtis Stanton went eight seconds on a bronc named Lock, Stock, and Velvet? It was like I had been drifting and finally saw the shore.” He tosses a rock into the shallow waters of the lake, the ripples fanning out and clashing with the small waves. “I didn’t watch any other event. I spent the whole night trying to find a way to talk to him. When I managed to, I begged him to teach me.” Wilder laughs, soft and tender. It’s filled with wonder, like he still can’t believe what happened. His hand underneath mine flips, his large fingers threading between my own, squeezing with reassurance. He looks at me, his other hand coming up to brush a thumb along my cheek. I lean into the touch. “I don’t know what he saw in me, but he changed my whole damn life. Instead of telling me to get lost, he took me to Colorado. He found me a spot on a ranch and started teaching me how to ride.”

He lets out a long exhale, a wry smile teasing at his lips before he readjusts us, pulling me tight against him. I lean in as his fingers trace up and down my arm in a steady, soothing pattern, as though he’s trying to erase my sadness.

“Hell, Charlie, I’m kind of sorry for all that,” he says, a shrug jostling me a little. I twist to ask, but he expects the question. “You asked if this was what I always dreamed of, not about my shitty childhood. I just can’t think of what I want in my life without also considering what’s led me to here. How badly I don’t want to see that past ever come to light again.”

“I’m so sorry you went through all of that, Wild,” I tell him earnestly. I’m still facing him so I can look him in the eyes. He gives me a small nod, lips pressed firm, before he seems to blink it all away. I take it as permission to continue, “It wouldn’t make sense for you to feel certain of what you want when certainty isn’t something you grew up with.” I settle against him once more, wrapping his arms around me. “You don’t have to have it all figured out right now.”

“Can I figure it out with you?”

My heart kicks up at his whispered words. His life before might not have been what any kid should have to endure—a sad and scary existence compared to mine. But he has what he wants now. He’s worked for every dollar, every ounce of peace he has, and I wish I had that kind of strength. My life is planned out for me if I can’t win and earn enough to stand on my own two feet, a bitter motivation to keep being the best. It’s been hard and lonely. Only now, with the summer air floating the smell of pine and possibility along this tiny shoreline, I don’t think it has to remain that way.

I lean forward, pressing a soft kiss against Wilder’s lips. He kisses me back, equally as gentle at first, before his mouth moves more firmly against my own. I gasp at the urgency I feel when he brackets my face, angling me exactly where he can devour everything I’m giving him. As his fingers slip into my hair and my own find the hem of his shirt, I know this is the kind of moment that can change a life.

15

CHARLOTTE

SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH — MID SEPTEMBER

“Turn and burn, baby!” I shout into the arena, whooping for good measure, and wave my hat in the air.

“That boy ain’t meant to actually ride a damn horse, Charlotte. He’s meant to get his ass thrown off them,” Travis, Wilder’s closest friend says as he steps next to me. He has a bemused smile and sharp hazel eyes on the action in front of us. They watch Wilder awkwardly round the final barrel in the practice ring, encouraging Vesper to hustle to the far end and stop the timer. Wilder doesn’t appear to be fully comfortable in the saddle the way I would be, but Vesper responds to his every command.

“Seems to be doing all right.” I laugh in return. Travis looks from me to the practice area and back again, clearly not impressed. One eyebrow cocks up. I sigh and lean against the rails. “I’m sure his ability has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Vesper loves him more than I—more than she loves me.”

Travis levels me an assessing look, like he knows exactly what I was about to say. I hold his gaze, unable to withhold a subtle chin raise in challenge. I receive a small nod in return, and I’m satisfied that my slip-up will be kept between us. It’s not that I’m ashamed to admit that I love Wilder McCoy. Far from it. I just haven’t mustered the courage to say it to the man himself yet.

We’ve been inseparable since July, traveling together and staying at his property in Idaho during breaks. He went with me when I visited Ace High’s corporate office for my first promotional photoshoot. He smiled off camera, cheering me on and chasing away any possible insecurities before they could pop up. Wilder brought light and laughter and magic to the experience.

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