Page 24 of Let Her Buck

“I told you, I don’t—”

Then I hear it.

A voice behind me. Loud. Ugly.

“You mean that tight little thing from last night? The Dawson girl…I always got my eyes on her. Damn shame she’s lettin’ some drifter cowboy break her in first. Coulda had a real man.”

I don’t even think.

Don’t even blink.

I spin on my heel and drive my fist straight into the guy’s face.

He goes down like a sack of rocks, his beer splashing across the dirt as he hits the ground. His friends shout, but I don’t care. I’m over him, fists clenched, chest heaving like a bull that’s just broken the gate.

“Say one more word about her,” I snarl, “and I’ll break more than your nose.”

Someone grabs my arm—Sadie, I think—but I’m locked in, rage pulsing through every vein.

Because they don’t know Laney. They don’t know her sweetness. Her fight. The way she holds the world on her shoulders and still finds a reason to smile.

They don’t know what it’s like to have her hands in your hair, her mouth on your skin, her heart in your goddamn hands.

But I do.

I let out a breath and step back as security rushes over. The guy’s groaning, holding his face. People are staring now. Whispering. Probably recording.

Let ’em. Like I give a damn.

Sadie steps between us. “You good now? You get that out of your system?”

I look at her. Really look at her. The fire in her eyes. The way her jaw clenches like she’s trying not to cry.

“She means something to me,” I say. Voice hoarse. Raw. “More than I expected. More than I’ve let myself admit. But it’s real.”

Sadie studies me for a beat. Then two. Finally, she sighs, shaking her head like she’s annoyed at herself.

“There’s an old trail by the north pasture,” she mutters. “Used to be her favorite spot with her dad. Little hilltop with a swing tied to an oak. She still goes there sometimes. When she needs quiet.”

I don’t wait for more.

I’m already running.

Boots pounding the dirt, wind slicing across my skin, adrenaline still buzzing in my blood. The fair blurs behind me, just noise and color and chaos. All that matters is her.

Laney.

I’m coming, darlin’.

The trail’s a dusty ribbon cutting through the field, overgrown in spots, but I know I’m close when I spot the lone oak tree rising against the sky. A tire swing sways lazily from one of its branches, creaking in rhythm with the wind.

And there she is.

Laney. Sitting on the edge of the hill with her knees hugged to her chest, hair tumbling around her face like the storm she’s trying to weather alone.

My boots crunch on the gravel, but she doesn’t look back. Maybe she already knows it’s me. Maybe she’s just too tired to care.

I stop a few feet away, heart beating louder than my footsteps. “Laney.”

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