Page 40 of Stay Wild Darlin’

Like that, she was gone again—bare legs disappearing up the path, that cropped sweatshirt swinging above her waist with each step.

I stared after her for a beat too long, chest rising and falling, dust clinging to my sweat-soaked skin.

Beau clapped me on the back, grinning like he couldn’t wait to get another dig in. “Man, you got it bad.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, peeling off my helmet, vest, and spurs and stuffing them into my gear bag along with my rope.

“Sure, sure,” he said, hands up. “Tell that to your face, lover boy.”

I ignored him and slung the bag over my shoulder. “Thanks for the practice,” I called, waving half-heartedly as I jogged up the path toward the house.

My boots kicked up dust, heart still pounding—not from the ride this time, not even from her. Not entirely.

I couldn’t explain the feeling, but it sat heavy in my chest, like something cracked open, something I didn’t usually let anyone touch.

I’d always been the outsider.

The one who didn’t quite fit.

People smiled, clapped me on the back, cheered when I rode well—but deep down, I always knew what they thought. Dalton Culpepper. The fuckup. The one who got shipped out in high school because even my own parents thought I’d be better off somewhere else. Anywhere else.

They let me go. Let me stay here and train with Beau and Papa Banks like I didn’t matter.

Beau loved me, sure. Papa Banks too, but I’d never shaken that weight off me. That silent expectation that I’d mess something up eventually.

Maybe I would.

But when Poppy had looked at me—from across the fence, sunglasses lowered, eyes shining with something close to pride—it didn’t feel like I was fucking up.

It felt like, for once, I was getting something right.

18

Poppy

So. Hypothetically . . .

What if you’ve been through a lot, and for the first time in a long time, you feel kinda . . . okay? But it’s with someone you definitely shouldn’t feel that way about.

Is it real? Or is it because it’s new?

And if it is real, what the hell do you do with that?

I waited a few moments, listening to the crickets in the distance while the responses populated on the Daily Thread.

@AnxiousButTrying: Babe. It’s real. Trust me. New doesn’t mean fake. Feeling safe isn’t some fluke. Let it be good. You deserve good.

@TrashGoblin420: Sounds like you’re in love. Or in heat. Don’t overthink it unless he starts texting you wyd at 2am.

@SpiceReader: You could let yourself feel it? Like, be soft for five seconds and see what happens? (I know. Terrifying. But may be worth it.)

@PettyPrincess99: If he makes you feel calm, that’s your man now. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.

I closed my eyes and let the warmth from the fire wrap around me, the screen from my phone lighting up my face as responses rolled in. I giggled and pressed the screen to my chest for a second.

Dalton was inside putting Cora to bed. I wanted to give them space, that little moment that wasn’t mine to take. I’d stepped out back, started a small fire in the pit, and curled up in one of the old Adirondack chairs with a blanket over my legs and the stars above me.

It was peaceful.