Page 168 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

“You’ve been watching this place?” I ask, keeping my phone at my side while I judge the distance between us and the open parking lot beyond him.

“Long enough.”

His eyes never leave mine.

“You should’ve left when you had the chance,” I tell him. “The sheriff already has enough evidence to put you away.”

A corner of his mouth lifts, though there’s no humor behind it. “That doesn’t matter.”

My mouth goes dry. He isn’t talking like someone trying to get away. He’s talking like someone who already decided how today ends.

“You came back to finish what you started.”

“I came back because Red should’ve paid for what he did.”

I hold his stare. “You mean the accident.”

His mouth twists. “You still call it that.”

I shake my head. “You did that yourself.”

His shoulders stiffen. “I was the best bronc rider on that circuit. Sponsors wanted me. Every rodeo wanted my name on the posters. Then one ride took everything.”

“You climbed onto that horse after drinking.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’d had a couple.”

“The officials told you not to ride.”

“Everybody keeps feeding me that line,” he says, a bitter laugh escaping him as he shakes his head. “You all cling to it because it’s easier than admitting what really happened.”

His stare locks onto mine. “They chose him.” He jabs a finger toward the arena. “Red got the ride, the sponsors, the sympathy, the whole damn future, and I got left behind because nobody cared enough to stop me.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue.

“They all chose him,” he says. “They crowded around Red while I was lying in the dirt.”

“They were trying to save your life.”

“They were protecting him.”

I step back a little. “Red blamed himself for years.”

Another bitter laugh escapes him. “Good.”

“He carried guilt that never belonged to him.”

“It belonged to both of us.”

“It belonged to the man who ignored every warning because he thought he knew better.”

His eyes burn into mine. “You’ve never watched your whole life disappear.”

“I’ve watched people destroy their own.”

He shakes his head. “I watched Red keep winning. He built a ranch. Built a name. Built a life. They all looked at him,” he continues, and his gaze never wavers from mine. “They were loading me into the ambulance, and all anybody cared about was whether Red Bronson was all right.” A cold smile pulls at his mouth before fading. “Tell me that isn’t twisted.”

I hold his stare. “People were trying to save both of you.”