Page 85 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

I watched the way his hands worked, steady and sure. Being around him made it easier to breathe. Maybe it was the calm in the way he moved, or the way he didn’t push too hard, didn’t demand anything from me. Or maybe it was because, despite the teasing and cocky grins, he felt safe.

When he glanced back up, his dark eyes caught mine. I wanted to tell him the truth. That I was tired of fighting a war against myself every day. That I was scared he saw through me, but even more scared that he might not.

I swallowed hard, willing my voice to work.

“I, uh, I have this thing about germs.” I started hesitantly, taking a small step deeper into the stall. “I get a lot of . . . anxiety when things feel dirty.”

Beau dropped his hand from Ginger, snapping his attention to me. He didn’t say anything. He took a step closer and met me halfway.

“It’s why you’ve caught me in the bathroom so much,” I admitted, holding up my hands as proof. “That’s why they look like this.” I dropped my gaze, staring at the irritated skin, the raw, red patches that still ached from scrubbing too hard, too often. “I know it’s weird bu⁠—”

“It’s not weird.”

His answer was immediate.

I looked up in time to see him pull off his hat, running a hand through his messy hair. He wasn’t looking at my hands anymore—he was looking at me, really looking, with an expression I couldn’t quite place.

I opened my mouth, unsure of what I was even going to say, but he beat me to it.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Fable.”

Something in my chest tightened, curled up in a way that was almost painful.

I wanted to believe him.

God, I wanted to.

I’d told him about Mike, but the accident? The only person who knew was Harleigh. Even then, I barely talked about it. Saying it out loud made it too real, made it something I had to face instead of something I could keep buried.

Beau held my gaze. “What can I do? I’ll stop the jokes. I don’t wanna be the reason you’re more anxious.”

A single tear slipped down my cheek before I even realized it, and I wiped it away quickly.

That was . . . kind. Thoughtful. More than I deserved. Yet, it didn’t surprise me—not coming from him.

“The bathroom’s right in the house,” he said gently. “When you want to go, we can walk up together. If this is too⁠—”

I shook my head. “It’s not too anything.”

I didn’t know why I told him. Maybe it was the way he listened, the way he didn’t look at me like I was fragile. I didn’t want to be fragile to him. I wanted him to see me fearlessly, like he was.

“I just . . . I didn’t want you to think I was weird.”

“Already told you—you’re not weird.”

I sniffed, trying to pull myself together. “Well, you are. Riding bulls for a living and all. That’s a weird job choice.”

He chuckled, and the sound curled around me like a warm blanket. “Alright. I guess we’re all a little . . . unique, then.”

“Sometimes it takes me a little time to work it out in my head,” I admitted, my fingers curling into the hem of my sleeve.

“Alright, so let’s work it out together.”

I nodded, hesitating before stepping forward again.

“One of the girls who helps out around here washed her a few days ago.”

Another step.