Page 106 of Reckless Hearts

As the sun sets, we end up back at the motel parking lot.

Someone hooks up a speaker to the back of a pickup, and before I know it, half the circuit’s out there, boots stomping dust, music spilling into the evening air.

Colt holds out his hand without a word.

I take it.

And he spins me into a two-step so smooth it steals my breath.

We dance until the stars come out. Until the crickets sing loud enough to drown the music.

Maverick leans against the truck, arms crossed, watching us with a look in his eyes that makes my stomach flip.

When I hold out my hand to him and say, “Come on, cowboy, I know you know the steps,” he gives in. He joins us.

And for the first time in forever, it feels like nothing is broken.

Nothing is lost.

It’s just the three of us, spinning under the stars.

I don’t know how long we stay out there.

Long enough for my cheeks to ache from smiling.

Long enough for my feet to blister inside my boots.

Long enough to forget there’s a clock ticking down somewhere out of sight.

When we finally stumble back toward the rooms, Maverick’s arm slung around my shoulder and Colt’s hand warm against the small of my back, I think if this is all I get, it’ll be enough.

Even if it tears me apart later.

As we reach the steps, I glance at them, laughter still clinging to my ribs.

Colt tips his hat low, smiling in that soft, crooked way that wrecks me.

Maverick catches my gaze and holds it, something raw and unspoken flashing between us.

I turn back around, pretending I don’t feel the way the world’s about to tip again.

Because tonight is ours.

Tonight, the world is gold.

And tomorrow… Tomorrow can’t touch us.

Chapter 36

Callie

14 Years Old

It’sthe first time I’ve come out to the pen in the week since my dad’s funeral. I’ve been locked in the house this whole time, and Maverick and Colt finally convinced me to come out.

Maverick’s trying to rope a young steer that’s too wild, too fast for him, and even from across the arena, I can tell it’s not going to end well.

“Maverick, don’t,” I call, but he just grins over his shoulder, reckless and golden and fourteen years old, like nothing bad could ever happen to him.

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