Page 45 of Tame Our Wild

His head slants, watching the mare pace back and forth. “I do most of the work in the winter, but have a few people who take over on the weekends when I’m gone. In the summer, I have a team that works for me full-time.”

I nod as his focus drops to the container I’m holding.

He wants to ask, but he doesn’t, so I hold it out to him. “This is another hobby I picked up. My mom used baking to distract me and keep me busy while I was in a wheelchair, and then the first month when I was finally back on my feet with crutches.”

The smooth expanse of his throat moves. His jaw tenses before he grabs the container and opens the lid, staring down at the lemon-blueberry crumble muffins.

This was a recipe I perfected.

His disbelief is almost humorous. “You made me muffins?”

“Apology muffins,” I add. His gaze roams over my face, my skin heating in his wake. “I felt bad about suggesting that we go on acting like we completely hate each other. I put two and two together when I kept wondering why you said those things to me before our first round in Tacoma. You were more aggressive than usual, and I took it as a hint.” I mean, it took me a while to figure out he was pissed at me, but I eventually came to the realization. “You’re doing a lot for me, coaching and all, and I wanted to show my appreciation in some way.”

He exhales. “Well, if we’re exchanging apologies, I’m sorry for what I said. Not just this last weekend, but two years ago when you punched me in the face at the bar.”

His apology slams straight into my chest. Honestly, I figured he would never say sorry for that. He was firm in his feelings, and there was no convincing him otherwise.

“I was drunk and crossed the line.” His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, and I track the movement with the laser focus of an owl observing its prey creeping through the dark. He catches me, and I don’t miss the way his eyes drop to my mouth. “If you haven’t noticed already, you drive me crazy, Harlow Hartt.”

My response is instant. “Well, you’re the cause of my crazy, Colson Payne.”

His mouth quirks.

The crunch of gravel below tires grows louder, and I glance at the open entrance of the stable. I may be interested in who’s arrived, but Colson isn’t. His attention doesn’t waver from me.

I point toward the crack in the stable doors. “Who’s that?”

“Hank Matthews, a local contractor who owed me a favor. Figured the quickest way to get you moving up the rankings and block out your fear is to practice on the real thing.” I study Colson hesitantly, hoping he’s saying what I think he is. “Want to train on a few bulls today?”

NINETEEN | COLSON

Tearing off another piece of the muffin, I toss it into my mouth, nearly groaning at the way it melts on my tongue. The lemon-and-blueberry flavor dances on my taste buds, and I’m not one to exaggerate and shit, but they are magic.

There were four muffins in the container Harlow brought me. I’m devouring my third.

They’re addicting as hell and quench my hunger from working all morning since I was avoiding the house. Her. Whatever.

Fine. I’ve been avoiding her for days and have done a pretty damn good job of it.

I shouldn’t have been such an ass about her request to keep up with our animosity toward each other in the arena, but I said what I said, and the regret that filled me after was unexpected. I wanted to take it back, but it was too late.

“Maybe this crowd will think you can keep up with us, even though each ride, you’re securing your place at the bottom.”

As much as I hate it, she’s right. It took me days after we got home to figure out that keeping up this rivalry is beneficial for both of us. There are no official rules against a rider coaching another rider, but it doesn’t mean it wouldn’t raise hell if our situation came to light. We need to keep our distance, but I went overboard with teasing her in front of the guys. I’m supposed to be helping her avoid distraction, but that night, I was the cause of it.

I affected her riding.

I’m glad we’ve cleared the air, but I can’t help but feel like some things are being left unsaid. It’s like batting a hand around to clear those tiny black gnats that are a nuisance in the summer. Waving them away only works for so long before they come back and hover, reminding you they’re there and there’s no getting rid of them.

“Hey! Are you even watching me?” Harlow stands, dusting the dirt off her chaps.

Marching over to her bull rope, she bends over and snatches it off the ground as Hank and his horse chase down Teddy, the bull, in the practice arena I built outside the stable years ago with the winnings from my first World Finals win. I’ve never been able to use the old one in the pasture again, below the small barn, after Paisley’s accident.

I watch as Hank secures the lasso around the bull’s neck, gently guiding him back to the chutes. Don’t let his name fool you—that beast is far from a teddy bear.

“I was watching.”

“Uh-huh. Sure, you were,” Harlow grumbles, taking off her helmet with that sass that has my blood thickening in my veins while I ignore the small amount that flows to my cock. It’s been misbehaving a lot more lately, and not even fucking my fist in the shower or in my room at night can stop her face from appearing in my fantasies.