Page 12 of Ride the Sky

I’ve never trusted the guy. Heard horror stories about him on the rodeo circuit. I know what a bad trainer does. And Pappy’s a bad trainer to a T. But Fallon doesn’t care. Most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.

“When was the last time you talked to her?” Ruby asks Dakota.

I stiffen, grip the table.

Dakota’s voice is soft, hesitant. Her eyes flick to mine. Hold. “She called, maybe two months ago.” Her lower lip trembles. “Right after Lainie was born.”

Holding my breath like I’m drowning, I force the words out. “Do you know where she is?”

“No.”

Fallon’s become a ghost. Social media account managed by someone else, phone calls sparse. All we know is she’s out there, alive. I track her on the rodeo circuit, follow her in small competitions, but where she’s posted up is a secret.

Davis grunts and crosses his arms, biceps bulging. “Still think we should have traced her call.”

Dakota shakes her dark head then swats his arm. “We can’t betray her trust.” She looks down at her plate. “I wish…I just wish she wouldn’t have left. That we could have helped her.”

Guilt, regret, twists my stomach. I sit here, feeling as empty as a drum.

A memory washes over me of the last time I laid eyes on Fallon. The last real conversation we shared. The night of Reese’s birthday party at Nowhere. Fighting with her about allthe ways she was acting up. I called her an idiot, she called me an asshole, and we were done.

From the charger comes the crackle of the two-way radio. “Head’s up, boys,” Tina says. “Cows are out.”

Time for me to go.

I slug down the rest of my whiskey and snag one for the road. “I’m on it.”

Ruby and Charlie exchange a look of concern.

“We have staff for that,” Davis says.

“You worked a full day, kid,” Ford says carefully.

“I got it.” I stand and give my brothers a grin I’ve perfected over the years. Casual, cool, when inside I’m a fucking riot.

“See you, kid.” I ruffle Duke’s dark hair and then lope down the hall to the front door.

Outside, I mount Pepita and grip the reins.

“Hyah, hyah!”

The speed’s reckless, but hell, I’m wild. Wind in my hair, whiskey on my lips, I close my eyes. I push Pepita faster and faster until my surroundings begin to blur.

Nothing to catch me but the ground.

Fucking perfect.

Something about seeing a horse running free makes me think of heaven.

Bareback, barefoot, I race Lawless across the hot Arizona earth. Plumes of dust kick up. The ground shakes.

Every day, I chase them down.

These wild horses.

One thousand miles from Resurrection never felt so fucking fabulous.

“Hyah, hyah,” I shout, and Lawless switches her rhythm into a gallop. My grip tightens on the reins. I focus on controlling my breathing, on the rush of the wind through my hair. Grit and sand sting my eyes, fill my mouth, but I’m not phased.

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