Page 183 of Lost Trust

Only pride.

“I loved all those years on the road with my brother. We were just two dumbass kids chasing rodeos across the country. Overnight road trips in busted-up trucks. Sleeping in shitty motels. Eating whatever we could afford.”

I laugh. “And charming questionable women,” I remind him.

His grin turns wicked. “Thank God we both got that out of our systems.” Then his expression softens. “But he isn’t going to be doing that anymore.”

He looks toward the arena doors. “His life is going to be flying first class. Photo shoots. Commercials. Five-star hotels. All the shit that comes with being where he belongs.”

I watch him quietly.

“I wouldn’t trade those years with him for anything,” he says. “But we aren’t eighteen anymore.”

He turns back to me. “And in case you haven’t figured it out yet”—he reaches for my hand again—“I’m willing to do damn near anything for you, Rina.”

My heart squeezes. “Why?”

His smile is slow and devastating. “Because I love you. And I want to build a life with you.”

He pulls me against him again.

“A family?”

It’s all I’ve ever wanted.

His eyes spark with heat. “Sure thing.” His hands slide to my ass. “We can start right now if you want.”

I push his chest. “Oh, no, cowboy. I have a few buckles to win before we do that.”

“Okay,” he says, pulling me into his lap. “But you know, I’ve heard that practice makes perfect, so what do you say we get in all the practice rounds we can before then?”

He kisses my neck.

We can definitely do that.

Royce

Four Months Later

The bucking chute is barely big enough for me, Micah, and a four-year-old with enough excitement to power the entire damn arena.

Ryder doesn’t seem to notice.

He stands between us, staring at the sheep in the chute like it’s the greatest damn thing he’s ever seen. His little cowboy hat is pushed back on his head, his boots planted wide, his eyes shining with the kind of fearless excitement that makes my chest tighten.

“Okay, little man,” Micah says, crouching beside him. “You remember what we talked about?”

Ryder nods solemnly.

“Hold the rope.”

“That’s right.”

I kneel in front of him and demonstrate one more time.

“Wrap your hand around it tight. Thumb over the top. Keep your fingers out from underneath.”

Ryder copies me, his little fingers carefully working around the rope.