Page 83 of Ride the Sky

A flicker of sadness crosses Fallon’s expression. “I don’t want you to have that guilt, Wyatt.”

“I didn’t protect you,” I say bitterly. “And I should have.”

Her lips curve. “That wasn’t your job.”

“It is now,” I rasp, pressing a kiss to her brow.

Fallon tries to shake her head, her eyes fluttering. “You worry too much…”

“Shhh.” I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “Go to sleep.”

She grumbles something in disagreement, but she’s already fading.

I lie there, awake, listening to the heavy rhythm of her breath, her heart. Guilt, darkness swirls inside of me. Nothing will stop me from protecting Fallon. This woman who means everything to me.

Every head snaps up when I enter Dakota’s bakery. Conversation hushes. Eyes bug. Old Clyde, my father’s poker buddy, rushes to hold the door for us as I approach with my walker. “Still the fastest cowgirl in the west,” he says in a stage whisper.

I force a smile, even though I wish someone would punch me in the face before I scream. “Bang, bang,” I say dryly.

“Thanks, Clyde,” Dakota says, ushering me inside.

He gives a brisk nod and pats his pockets for his keys.

“Fallon, honey,” a voice chirps from behind a massive cinnamon roll. “You look worse for wear. How’d you hurt your leg?” Town busybody, Agnes Peebles, is eyeing my walker as she licks a piece of frosting from her fork.

“Well, Agnes, I think it was a goddamn bull,” I reply.

Dakota flinches.

Agnes’s eyebrows shoot up. “Will you ride again?”

“Fingers crossed,” I grit out. I force a wobbly smile at my sister as we weave around a table. “Why’d you bring me here, Koty?” Clearly, my sister’s determined to punish me for all the hell I’ve put her through.

“You can’t avoid the world. And you can’t avoid Agnes Peebles.” Clearing her throat, she helps me into a chair. “Sit here, try not to kill anyone.”

Pretty face flustered, my sister heads to the front counter to relieve her employee.

“No promises,” I mutter. My leg’s killing me. There’s an echo of pain in my hip and lower back, made worse by today’s physical therapy session. With Wyatt needing to be at the ranch for morning sessions, Dakota took me to my PT appointment. Just another thing to feel guilty about. Everyone has their own lives, and here I am cramping them. Being babied, being chauffeured. I hate it.

I shift in my chair. My gaze stays fixed on the glossy countertop. I can still feel eyes on me. Judging. Smug.

This is what I am.

Fallon McGraw, Resurrection’s wild child who finally burned out. Who came crawling back—but can’t even do that right.

Stede McGraw’s daughter. Broken, busted, still a bitch.

Nostalgia sweeps me up as I scan the bakery, once the former Corner Store. It’s a relief it’s not mine anymore, but keeping the ancient brick building in the family means everything. My sister’s gone above and beyond to make The Huckleberry a jewel in Resurrection. Decadent pastries, an old school country playlist, light-purple and white décor. It’s everything she’s wanted.

While Dakota wraps delicate pastries in purple boxes, I check my phone. Frown.

Except for a few texts after I left the hospital promising news of what’s next, I haven’t heard from Pappy. I’m not an idiot. I’m aware I’m worthless if I can’t ride. No sponsors, no endorsement deals. But Pappy sticking by me gives me hope. That all is not lost.

“Here. Breakfast is on me.” With flourish, Dakota sets a plate in front of me—a cinnamon roll on steroids—and joins me at the table. “You did good today.”

I snort and poke the mound of sugar with my fork. “Yeah, right.”

Today’s PT session started with me losing my grip on my walker and landing face-first on the mat. It ended with me telling my therapist to go fuck themself.

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