Page 85 of Ride the Sky

I rear back. “I don’t want to do this right now.”

Her voice drops. “Then when?”

Never.

Panic has its fingers around my neck, making it hard to talk. To breathe.

I’m saved by the jingle of the door chimes. But when I glance over, I’m anything but saved. It’s my father. He shakes hands with a fishing buddy then heads our way.

I groan and bury my face in my hands. This fucking day. “Shit.”

I’ve only seen him a handful of times since I’ve been home. Whether it’s him keeping his distance, or me, I can’t tell. We’re both stubborn.

“He’s mad at me,” I tell Dakota.

“He’s not mad at you, he’s—”

“Disappointed.”

That’s even worse. The thought of letting my father down when I’ve worked so hard to make him proud of me. And maybe that’s my mistake. I’ve been doing it for him when I should have been doing it for myself. But that’s a lie, too. Because I love being a cowgirl. I’d never give it up. Not for anything. My whole life, it’s been a balance that kept me in check, made me happy. One thing I’ve never had any doubt about.

The rodeo.

Dakota shoots me a look and then stands.

“Hey, Daddy,” we both say together.

“Girls.” He gives Dakota’s arm squeeze, nods my way. “I need a few honey buns for the guys down at the legion.”

“A man after my own heart.” Dakota gives me aplay nicelook. “One second.” With that, she hurries to the pastry counter.

“How’ve you been?” my father asks me. His gaze drifts. “Leg healing like it should?”

Using the bars of my walker as leverage, I push myself up. “Making some progress in PT.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Hoping to be back on a horse by fall.”

“Ain’t sure that’s a good idea.” But he says nothing else, just looks to the counter where Dakota’s boxing pastries.

His cold shoulder, his avoidance, triggers anger in me.

I hobble forward without my walker, trying to meet his eye. “Do you want to talk about it? Me and Wyatt?”

My father blinks at my straightforwardness then sighs. “Not sure what there is to talk about.”

“Clearly there’s something, Dad. I mean…” I lift my hands, let them fall to my side. “You’re mad at me.”

“He’s a cowboy, and he ain’t for you.”

“But who decides that?” Not sure why I’m pushing this. Why I’m bothered that he’s bothered that I married Wyatt Montgomery.

“I just thought you had better sense, is all.”

I flinch as if struck.

“Oh, Dad.” Dakota stands behind us.

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