Page 127 of Reckless Hearts

Maybe it’s just giving her a reason to believe she could have it.

This time, I let her go when she pulls away and take a seat on her bed. I watch her run a brush through her long copper hair, the strands glowing in the dim lamplight, each stroke making it shine a little more. There’s peace in the mundane.

I can picture it so clearly, sitting like this every night. Her in my room. Us getting ready for bed.

Slowly, a pink flush takes over the skin at the nape of her neck, not immune to my attention. My gaze doesn’t stray.

She huffs and turns, waving the brush at me. “Why are you staring at me?”

I shrug, a loose smile tugging at my lips. “Just makin’ sure this isn’t a dream.”

She crosses the room and leans in. Her kiss is soft, reverent, and I sink into it like something I’ve needed for years. She pulls back but just barely. Her breath brushes my skin.

“It’s not.”

Barely a whisper, but it still runs straight down my spine, leaving goose bumps in its wake.

Does she know?

That I’m already picturing a life she doesn’t believe we can have?

Her in this house. Our kids running wild. Maverick fixing fences while I wrangle horses.

It’s the sweetest goddamn dream I’ve ever had.

I already know I’m not strong enough to let it go.

The part that guts me most?

She might be strong enough to leave it behind.

She kisses me again, deeper, needier. My arms go around her, anchoring her to me. Her mouth moves against mine, and I swear I feel her shaking. A low groan escapes me, unfiltered.

Then she pulls back.

Something flickers in her eyes, something distant.

Like she’s already slipping out of it.

Already pulling away from the fantasy.

Chapter 43

Callie

Hard to believewe leave tomorrow.

Two weeks at Colt’s family farm, gone in a blink.

We head back for the next ride in the morning. Maverick’s in. Colt’s still sidelined, no matter how much he hates it.

The round pen isn’t much anymore, just weathered rails and half a gate hanging off its hinges, but the moment I see it, something in my chest pulls tight. I wander closer, boots dragging through dry grass. We must’ve ridden a thousand circles in this pen growing up, but I was barely old enough to tie my own shoes when I climbed into the saddle first. Back then, we were only allowed to ride with our parents watching, but I snuck in anyway, daring the boys to follow.

Colt and Maverick climbed the fence rails, wide-eyed and hollering advice like they knew better. But they didn’t dare climb in until I did. I still remember the look on Colt’s face when I took off at a trot, equal parts terrified and impressed. Maverick followed the next day, jaw set like he had something to prove. And after that, it was always the three of us.

Colt trails behind, his crutch slowing him down, but he’s steadier now, moving better than he was even a week ago. He tossed his sling a week out of the hospital, stubborn as ever. Determined to ride in the championship, whether he’s ready or not.

Maverick walks beside him, close enough to catch him if he stumbles. The air between them isn’t tense anymore. It’s warm. Quiet. Full of something unspoken. Lingering glances. The kind that say more than words ever could.

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