Her trim shoulder lifts. “Besides, it’s how this rodeo shit goes, right? Get busted up, get back on?”
She’s right. It’s the way of the cowboy. Living dirty, decrepit, and destitute. But I don’t want that life for her. The curse of rodeoing. Living cheap, scraping by. Fallon deserves better. Is better. It hurts my heart to think of her struggling.
“You need to take care of yourself,” I tell her softly. Davis’s words from years ago ring in my head.
It’s only a matter of time before she’s hurt.
“Yeah. Well.” Her eyes go to that faraway place they’ve been going the last year. “There’s nothing you can do to help me.”
The statement hangs heavy in the air between us. Like there’s more to it.
The solution hits me like a brick.
“Let me,” I blurt.
That sharp brow of hers arches. “Let you what?”
“Help you.”
“How?”
“Let me marry you.”
She physically recoils. “What the fuck, Wyatt?”
“For the insurance.” I lean in, sliding a hand up her toned thigh. My heart races. “Listen, Trouble, I don’t want you hurt. Think of Stede. Of Dakota.”
Her face clouds up. Her nose wrinkles.
I go on. “Hell, if you had some insurance, at least you’d at least be okay moneywise. A bad injury could knock you out of a run for a season if you can’t pay your bills.”
She stiffens.
That’s it. What gets her.
Rodeo.
The love of her fucking life.
Her hazel eyes consider me. “For the insurance only?”
“Insurance only.”
We stare at each other. Finish our drinks at the same time and breathe out the sting.
“Marry me,” I repeat.
A pink flush stains Fallon’s cheeks.
“Yes,” she whispers.
Stunned silence. Big eyes. Everyone’s mouth has dropped to the fucking floor. I’d grin if Davis wasn’t frowning.
Footsteps as Dr. Joy walks away.
Ford’s the first to speak. “Alright, I’m a little buzzed, but I think I can still break this down.” His finger moves to me then to Fallon’s hospital door. “You and Fallon are married?”
“We are.” I exhale, chest tight. “She’s my wife.” I haven’t said that word aloud, but damn if I don’t like the way it sounds.