Page 88 of Ride the Sky

My stomach twists into knots. “No. It’s not your job.”

His bottomless, light-blue eyes stare up at me. His nearness makes me lightheaded. “It is my job. We’re in this together, Fallon.”

“Because you’re my husband.”

“Wow, you actually said those words without an eyeroll.”

I laugh then just as quickly sober. “And Dakota,” I say in frustration. “She wants to talk.”

“About?”

“About everything.”

Wyatt says gently, “Maybe you should.”

Ignoring that, I go on. “And I have a long road with PT. My leg isn’t healing as well as they’d hoped.” I bite my lip. “I fell today and called my therapist a fuckface.”

He swears. “I shoulda gone with you.”

“No. You’ve done enough.” I give him a small smile. “Looks like you’re stuck with me for ten more weeks.”

“Ain’t so bad,” he says roughly. “Even if you do snore.”

I scoff. “You’re such a goddamn liar it’s embarrassing.”

His throat works. “Call me next time, okay?” His voice is so serious, so stern, I have to fight like hell to keep tears from falling. “Don’t make me worry about you, Trouble. I can’t do it again.”

I bite my lip to keep in the emotion. “Sure. Okay.”

In slow motion, Wyatt removes his hand from my knee, and then he does that thing I’ve come to expect, okay, a thing I kind of love. He places his big palm on my cheek, testing my temperature.

More please, I think and instantly hate myself.

A cocky, lopsided grin. “All good.”

“I could have told you that,” I sniff.

He withdraws his hand then gives me half of a pain pill. Dutifully, as if I can make up for my tantrum, I swallow it contritely.

“You’re not stupid.” His voice is a rasp, his blue eyes locked on my face.

“What?”

“What you just said about being so stupid. It’s not your fault, you know. Your leg. The bulls.” His throat works, pain in his eyes. “Aiden.”

His words are a caress. Healing, heating, some hard spot inside of me. I don’t know if I can accept it. Not yet. Rage,rawness, still burns bright, but for a brief second, it helps. I believe him. This arrogant, good cowboy.

He drops his hand onto my arm, whisks a callused thumb over the inside of my wrist. “You scared me when you left,” he says, his voice so guttural my stomach bottoms out.

I tilt my head back to take in his tallness. His muscle-bound chest and bright-blue eyes. “Today?”

“Not today. Nine months ago.” A soft grin tugs at his lips. A laugh shakes out of him. “Hell, you’re a nightmare of a woman, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Never have, and I never will.”

I want to ask why, why didn’t he come for me then, but I don’t. The letter’s in the past. I’m learning to leave it at that.

Slowly, his fingers drag down the inside of my wrist until they’re in my palm. I lift my fingertips, touch his. His body tenses as he drags in a breath. Then Wyatt leans toward me, and I find myself leaning forward, angling my head, aching. Waiting.

Ready to break all my rules for just one cowboy.

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