Page 50 of Drifter’s Heart

“You shouldn’t ever feel the need to apologize to me, Winnie. That’s not how I want this to be between us. I’m not him.” His thumb brushes across my spine. “But seeing someone else hold you…”

I smile gently. The tremor in my hands stop as I understand what he needs. “Billy is a friend. He’s got no interest in me. From what I can see, he’s fighting with a different sort of girl and she’s high-maintenance.” I think of the booking agent Cord prefers to use for the Invitational, who is all straight blonde hair, high heels, full makeup, and elegant as all get out. “Trust me, I am not ever going to be in the realm of what Billy likes, nor do I want to be. Plus, he’s a good four years younger than me.”

A muscle ticks in West’s jaw. “And I’m four years older than you. I don’t stay in one place, and I made a promise to your brother that I’d never, ever touch you.” His hand on my back freezes but doesn’t retreat.

You stayed by my brother’s side for a decade when he needed you. That’s worth everything to me.

But those aren’t words that come out of my mouth, because that’s not the sort of relationship we have. Instead, I smile brightly at his glowering demeanor, which doesn’t scare me one little bit.

“Why stop at one broken promise? Let’s shatter them all!”

“You are in a bratty mood. We’ll have to do something about that later,” West murmurs, dipping his head. His lips brush mine gently.

Fireworks ignite all along my spine. A shiver starts inside me that I’m glad is something that only I feel—and maybe him too.

“West, there are people—” I whisper against his mouth when his tongue slides across my bottom lip, seeking entry.

“I’m gonna stay with Dylan here, for the week,” Dustan announces.

West draws back. “You’re staying with the competition?” His head is back in the game, our kiss forgotten in an instant. Those eyes that I adore narrow. “And his name is Dylan?”

Damn. This man is death on a dust horse.

The blond cowboy tips his head to one side, his arm braced across the truck behind Dustan’s head. “Got a problem with my name?” he asks easily.

Dustan and Dylan… I close my eyes and try not to giggle. They’re too damn cute together. Plus, West is right. I am in a mood.

“Nothing at all.” West, when I pry my eyes open, has his poker face fixed on straight.

Mine sucks. I don’t need a mirror to know that.

“See you in a few days for training.” Dustan sends me a saucy wink and sashays away.

None of us are under any illusions of what this sleepover will entail.

“A few days,” West grumbles. “A few days?” He glances back, but Dylan is already helping Dustan into his truck, throwing the other rodeo rider’s pack in the back of his pickup.

“It’s dust country out here. Come on. Isn’t it time to go see my brother and clear the air?” I slap West’s arm and hurt my hand.

He turns his head—only his head—and stares down at me. “Are you good there, brat?” he asks in a low voice.

“Fine. I’m fine,” I manage not to squeak a second time.

He grips my hip and squeezes, finding a spot that sends sensation coursing through me. The squeak I’ve been suppressing slips out. “Better,” he murmurs, apparently satisfied with the raw sound, boosting me into his truck.

West pulls out of what used to be a vacant block that now houses the new sports stadium for this year’s Valiant Peak International. In the months we’ve been gone, so much has changed already. I dived into yet another road trip with West this morning, expecting to be able to see my daughter, catch up with my brother, and maybe throw some Band-Aids on their relationship. Maybe fix some of my own while I’m out here. Hell, it’s what I do for a day job. Why can’t I do that in my private life too? But that’s not how it’s ever worked for me, and this road trip is about to become anything more than simple.

My professional life works at surface level and my personal life is a shambles—except for those few serene hours when West is present.

Donkey to my racehorse, anyone?

The image leaves me in a fresh round of giggles that, in the relative safety of the interior of his truck, I don’t have to keep in. But I’m far from an elegant racehorse or anything so graceful, and declaring that West is a donkey will earn me another spanking at the very least.

I cast him an amused glance sideways. Actually…

“What are you giggling about, Rand?” West’s fingers lace through mine. His touch is warm and firm, though tension underlies what should be easy contact as Valiant Peak recedes behind us and my brother’s property grows closer.

And the decision to play family matchmaker seems like the worst of my entire year.