Page 29 of Tame Our Wild

His dark chuckle raises the hairs on my arms. “Come on, Harlow Hartt, you’re trying so hard to keep up with us, so why would you stop now?” To everyone else, that voice is as smooth as honey, but it won’t work on me.

My teeth grind. “What makes you think I’m trying hard to keep up? Maybe you’re just not as good as you once were.” His eyes narrow at my retort, and I smile. “Have you looked at the rankings lately? I’m sitting in the top twenty. Only a few places below you, if I’m remembering correctly.”

For a second, it looks like he’s biting his tongue, but then he says, “Maybe you’re getting lucky.”

“Maybe I’m just good,” I fire back.

“This is an unforgiving sport. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

I don’t miss the way his drunken eyes graze my chest and linger on my breasts. The heat in his eyes melts my body from the inside out, and I’m not sure how, but that one look has a raw, unwelcome desire flooding where it shouldn’t.

My head tilts to the side. “I appreciate the concern, but me riding out there is no different than any one of you doing it.”

“Is that so?”

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, blowing out a condescending chuckle. “You and I both know the real reason why you hate seeing me out there.”

His fingers pulse into his beer glass, and for a second it seems as if he might back down. But I’ve watched this man ride even before I was a teenager. He doesn’t give up easily.

“And I’m not the only one thinking it,” he replies.

“Fuck you,” I spit, crossing my arms over my chest defensively.

Colson takes a step closer to me around the small high-top table. His dizzying scent of leather and spice creates a shield that blocks out the hint of smoke lingering in the air and the potent stale beer. When he leans over and his lips brush the shell of my ear, it releases a flurry of goosebumps that ghost over my body.

“You should save that mouth for the bedroom. You’re much more suited to be a buckle bunny where you can spread your legs for men like me instead of spreading them to get on a bull.” He raises his head and straightens, his mouth quirking into a smirk that floods my vision with red.

Rage seeps through my pores. Before I know what’s happening, my fist flies, nailing the man in front of me across the jaw. My pulse pounds as Colson hunches over, cupping his mouth. When he stands back up, a line of crimson is dripping down his chin.

He swipes his thumb across his split lip, my eyes widening as I take in the scene before me, my adrenaline instantly taking a nosedive into the fucking cement floor. He starts to say something, but the words fade into the distance as I sprint toward the door, not looking back.

“Well.” Mel sighs. “You’d better take extra safety precautions to make sure your body doesn’t betray you when you and Colson start getting acquainted more.”

I side-eye her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She rolls over on my bed, reaching for my nightstand. She opens the drawer and reaches in, pulling out something that is being thrown toward me as fast as she grabbed it. When I catch the object, it’s clear why she didn’t want to touch it longer than needed.

My gut swoops violently as I glance down at my purple vibrator. I mean, I know the nightstand is a normal place to keep something like this, but it still shocks me that she knew it was there.

I swallow, embarrassment flooding my cheeks. “How did you know—”

Mel holds up a hand to stop me. “Our headboards share a wall, and I don’t enjoy white noise while I sleep. The vibration of this is noticeable in the middle of the night.” She crawls off my bed, heading for the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go scrub the skin off my hands.”

I stare at the device clutched in my fingers. She’s not wrong. If I’m going to be there for five months, I’m going to need something to alleviate my stress. And possibly a desire I’m hoping will never make itself known.

I need to keep that boundary. Draw that line because I’m not there to “get acquainted” with him or even become friends with the man. He is offering his coaching services, and I have accepted.

That’s it.

If anything, maybe working with Colson will mute the chaos he seems to cause in my head.

I may have punched him in the face that night at the bar, but he got in my head and remained there until I found myself being bucked off and trampled into the dirt. My scar is a constant reminder that some battles aren’t worth fighting, but this one is.

TWELVE | COLSON

The crisp, early morning air glides against my skin as I walk across the trailer bed, pushing hay bales off into the pasture. Cattle march up the slight incline through the darkness, blanketed by a light layer of fog. Their excited snorts blend with the chirping of birds. The navy sky is quickly bleeding into the early remnants of day, giving way to a sliver of light peeking behind the Appalachian Mountains.

Tucked between valleys near Chattanooga, my family’s ranch still has that quaint, quiet atmosphere that settles deep into the marrow of your bones.