Page 93 of Ride the Sky

Fallon obeys.

I jerk the lever. The barrel comes to life.

“Track him now,” I yell. “Sit up!” I lift the lever, causing the barrel to buck and Fallon to flail. “Shove your hips! Shove your hips!”

The barrel does what it’s supposed to do. Transform Fallon back to another time. A better time. She hangs on, teeth gritted in determination. Her eyes practically glow with each thrash of her body. She loves it. Fucking addicted.

The same can be said for me.

She’s so painfully beautiful and fierce. Trusting me to get her back on a horse.

It’s humbling as hell. To be that man, that person, for her.

“Faster,” she demands, and I roll my eyes. There ain’t no breakin’ when Fallon’s at the wheel. Hell, her life goal is to stress me out every minute of the day until it ends. Then she repeats it.

And I fucking eat it up.

At the slip of her grip, her pained wince, I stop the lever.

I won’t let her fall. Not yet. She’s not ready—and I sure as hell ain’t, either. If Fallon got hurt on my watch, I’d never be okay again.

She pouts. “Fifteen more minutes.”

Damn if I don’t cave. “You’re gonna hurt tomorrow.”

“I don’t care.”

She doesn’t. Ever since we started training together, Fallon’s gone hard. We both have. Between my job at the ranch and her PT, we’re exhausted. It’s also the best damn time I’ve ever had. In the evenings, we come together. Slipping into an easy rhythm. Scrounging dinners, drinking whiskey on the front porch of her cottage. Easy nights where Fallon falls asleep—and stays asleep—in my arms. The nightmares, the insomnia, gone for both of us. What this woman does to me—indescribable.

“Hang on, Trouble.”

I run her through one more ride. As I watch her technique, my heart hammers. She’s gonna do it. Prove everyone wrong and ride again.

It makes me proud.

It scares the shit out of me.

Finished, I shove the lever, halting the rickety barrel. Fallon sits there, breathing hard. Sweat drips down her face, her messy fishtail braid sticks to her cheek, but she’s smiling. A rarity. A goddamn vision.

She’s happier than she was a month ago. Happier than she was at El Toro, that’s for damn sure. And I intend to keep that smile on her face.

As is our habit, I reach up and she’s already twisting toward me, her good leg moving over the barrel. I hold her waist, and Fallon slides down the barrel. Her body sweeps mine as I settle her against me.

“Shit.” She grips my shoulders with her nails. Electricity arcs between us. “My body is Jell-O.”

“How’s your hip?”

We’re both feeling it. Sore muscles. Stiff joints. Exhaustion. But damn if it doesn’t have me happier than hell.

She wrinkles her nose, stretching her leg out the best she can. “Sore. I’ll survive.”

I examine the pretty, sharp angles of her profile. “Maybe you should use your walker tonight.”

She flushes, meeting my stare with wide hazel eyes. I’ve caught her around the house, hobbling without it when I’m not looking. “Maybe you should mind your own business,” she says.

“Ain’t happenin’.” I dip and grip her hips. Hard.

A gasp pops out of her mouth.

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