Page 81 of Ride the Sky

Of course, I’m a fucking sucker.

I’ve always been a sucker for Fallon McGraw.

But I also know her.

She needs riding to survive. She’ll never accept no. She’s strong. She’s a cowboy. She’ll try again. With or without me. Which means, it has to bewith. Because nothing can happen to her. Not again.

It’s my chance to make up for the last three years. To be there. To support her like I damn well should have from the beginning. The sad, desperate truth of the matter is I missed her so much I’ll do anything to keep her in my orbit.

Everyone will want to kill me after this, but I take a deep breath, and say, “Okay. I’ll help you.”

A spark of light returns to her eyes. “You will?” That fierce flare of life in her eyes is what I crave. Tells me I’ve made the right decision.

“I will. But not right away.” She snaps open her mouth to argue, but I level a stern look at her and she closes it. “We train when I say it’s time. Not you. You don’t ask questions. You don’t bitch. You just fuckin’ listen.”

Her pretty face settles into its typical complacent coolness. “Okay. I will.”

I sit there, pissed off about how she just convinced me to train her, pissed off that I have no goddamn willpower when it comes to this woman.

Fallon knocks her shoulder to mine. I look down at those fierce hazel eyes, look down at our linked fingers, and my heart tumbles.

A rare smile flits across Fallon’s face. “Looks like we have another secret.”

“Great,” I mutter, my gaze flicking to Ford and Charlie burning up rubber across the pasture. Our families will kill us. Again.

I jolt awake and look at the clock on the nightstand.

Awake. I’m awake for a reason.

I lie there, in the silence, the dark, waiting. My mind races.

After a long day at the ranch, Fallon crashed when we got back to her cottage. I spent the evening with a glass of whiskey and an idea in my head before I barely drifted off myself.

I’m shoving back the covers to sit up when a scream pierces the night.

Blood-curdling terror.

Fallon.

Fuck. Fuck.

I vault from bed and launch myself into the hallway. I race across the hall and slam into her bedroom.

Fallon sobs, twisting in the sheets. She screams again, and it vibrates my skull, lances my heart, and carves up every piece of me.

Heart hammering, I drop on the bed beside her. Her face is white as death. I grip her shoulders and hang on. “Fallon. Wake up.”

Like she’s heard me, her eyes shoot open. “Wyatt,” she gasps, reaching for me.

I gather her shaking body in my arms and crush her against me. “Baby, you’re okay.”

She loops her arms around my neck, a stranglehold as she trembles. “Fuck. Fuck.”

I hold her tight, letting her shake in my arms. When her body relaxes, I pull away from her, cupping her face to test her temperature. All her gorgeous angles, high cheekbones, rest in the palm of my hand.

Beautiful. So goddamn beautiful.

Inhaling a deep breath, I wipe a thumb over her damp cheek. “You were crying.”

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