Rhett

Summer: Good luck tonight.

Rhett: I love you.

T he guys chatter around me as I tape my hands. I try to tune them out so I can slip into that zone where everything falls away, and the job I came here to do tonight is the only thing I see.

Except the only thing I see is a beautiful girl with freckles over the bridge of her nose, wide doe eyes that look at me like I’m worth knowing, and a sharp tongue that makes me laugh.

The past two weeks I’ve spent playing everything between us out in my head. The care she put into healing me, the energy she put into planning favorable interviews for me, the way she whistles in the crowd for me. I find her there every time, and there’s a twinge of regret in my chest knowing she won’t be here tonight.

I got a taste of what it feels like to have someone show up for you, and now I’m greedy for it. It only took two months of spending every waking moment with one other person or thinking about that other person to slip into a place where it feels like she belongs with me.

And I belong with her.

It’s the most insane, inexplicable thing that’s ever happened to me. Which is saying something, considering all the shit I’ve done.

“Ready?” Theo claps down on my shoulder, and I wince. The ribs aren’t as bad as they were. But they aren’t great either—not by a long shot. There’s really not any compensating for them, because my shoulder is still fucked, too. The tour doctors have pieced me together as best they can. And at least they didn’t ride my ass about not getting on tonight. “You’re not going to let Emmett win, right?”

A flicker of doubt flashes in my mind. I push it away. “Not a chance.”

I pulled a good bull. A mean bull. A bull that makes or breaks the men who take him for a spin. I have the benefit of riding last, which means I’ll know how hard I need to go to get that buckle.

The buckle I already have two of.

I haven’t been able to shake my brother’s words. How much is enough? That’s the question I’ve tossed around for weeks.

Turning it over in my mind from every perspective to see if I can answer it.

But I can’t.

I don’t know when it will be enough. All I know is that I still feel incomplete somehow. Like I’m not done just yet—like I’m still looking for something.

“I’m up first.” Theo grins. “Balls to the wall. Right, Boss?”

I smile, but it feels forced. Before that night he got knocked out, I never felt nervous for him. I’ve convinced him he needs to be wearing a helmet. That the buckle bunnies will still want him if he wears a helmet because they prefer the walking, talking version of him to the vegetable version of him.

I nod. “You know it, kid. Hit ‘em with the spurs.”

We clap hands in a firm shake and give each other a smack on the shoulder. Which, for me, really fucking hurts. He turns and leaves the room, heading down the tunnel toward the ring.

Normally, I’d head out to watch him, but I’m not in the right headspace, and I know it. I don’t need to watch other guys get chucked. I need to focus on myself right now. Mental walls up.

I watch them leave one by one, and mostly stay hunched over, elbows propped on my knees, hands dangling between them. My boots are worn, broken in, probably on their last legs.

We’re kindred spirits, my boots and me. I let my eyes wander over the sponsor patches on my vest, taking each one in. I’ve worn them with such pride, but today I can’t help but wonder if risking my life to keep them is worth it. It’s a thought that has genuinely never crossed my mind before.

I push it away.

The door opens and the sounds from the show outside filter into the room. The buzz of the crowd. The popping noises of the fireworks. The boom of the announcer’s voice. All so familiar, like the soundtrack to my life.

“You’re up, Eaton.” Theo grins at me from the door.

“Why are you smiling like a serial killer?”

He smiles even bigger. He reminds me of his dad. This place reminds me of his dad. That year we all watched him fall. A shiver races down my spine.

“Emmett didn’t beat my score. It’s you and me, old man.”

One side of my cheek pulls up, and I take in his excitement and enthusiasm. I think I used to be that way too. Now, I’m going through the motions.

“Proud of you.” I slap him on the back on my way past and walk down the darkened tunnel to the glitz and glam of the ring.

There are even cheerleaders at this event. It’s all a Vegas show.

I don’t do my stretches because I don’t think they matter tonight. Everything is tight and painful.

Three steps up and I’m at the staging area, pulling my helmet on, watching my bull, Filthy McNasty—a fitting fucking name—trot aggressively down the chute. He snorts and shakes his head, tail flicking against his side like a whip. Agitated.

And for the first time in my eleven-year pro career, I feel it.

Fear.

I push it aside as I climb up onto the fence and stare down at the bull’s broad, muscled back. Two thousand pounds of pure muscle. He rattles the panels as he crashes around.

“Hop on when you’re ready,” one coach says, giving me a thumbs up.

A thumbs up.

This moment doesn’t feel like a thumbs up situation. It feels like I’m about to spend eight seconds in excruciating pain.

I nod and climb down onto the bull, pushing it all away, trying to find that quiet—that calm. I run my hand over the bull rope, letting the bumps vibrate through my hand while watching the repetition of the motion, trying to get lost in it.

But the noise from the crowd picks up, and when I look up at the jumbotron, I see the footage of me leaping on top of an unconscious Theo playing. I haven’t watched it yet, hadn’t ever planned to.

I watch the bull hit me, tossing me into the air before turning back on a clown and leaving the ring. I land on my bad shoulder, and you see me roll over onto my knees, cupping my side.

It could have been so much worse.

That flicker of fear sparks at the back of my mind again. My stomach lurches.

I think about Summer. Good luck.

Shaking my head, I gaze back down and push my glove into the rope, tightening it until it’s just right.

But it’s not right.

A sharp whistle pulls my eye up to the stands. Before Summer, I was oblivious to the crowd, now I feel like I have a radar for her. And some asshole who whistles the same way is killing my concentration.

My eye catches on a flash of white, and the world around me goes fuzzy.

Summer’s here.

She’s wearing a white linen dress and sticks out like a sore fucking thumb.

My sore fucking thumb.

I blink. I blink again. Like she might not be real. Why would she come all the way here to watch me do something she clearly doesn’t think I should do?

Kip told me he fired her, so I know it’s not work.

I stare at her, and I think she stares back. Across the dirt ring.

Across the crowd. We lock eyes and get lost in each other.

She offers me a small thumbs up, one that makes my chest ache at the memory of being on the road with her. All I can do is stare back. I’m always fucking staring at her.

I want to spend the rest of my life staring at her.

Then she mouths, I love you.

My jaw clamps down and something snaps inside me. That fear hits me like a tidal wave, and I yank my hand out, reaching for the fencing to pull myself up.

The fame. The buckle. None of it matters. Not one bit. All I want is to hear those words from her lips.

I don’t want to spend my last moments on a bull. I want to spend them hearing her whisper that in my ear.

And then I’m off, swinging a leg over the fence.

“Eaton! What you doing?” one of the coaches calls out to me as I drop onto the landing and toss my helmet, reaching for my favorite brown hat instead.

“I’m done.”

“You’re what?” The guy looks genuinely fucking confused.

“Consider this my retirement notice. I’m out. That bull gets a night off.”

And Theo wins his first world title.

And I live to breathe another day. That part is pretty important too.

I stride through the staging area, heading straight for the door that leads out to the stands. It’s all a guess because I only have a general idea of where Summer is seated.

But I told her I’d keep coming back for her. That I’d never stop. And that’s what I’m going to do.

I turn up a flight of stairs and end up on the busy mezzanine, trying to decide between section 116 and 115. I choose 116, and shoot up those stairs, ignoring the stitch in my ribs as I do. I have tunnel vision, and I’ve overshot the section by one.

But I don’t care. Rather than going back down, I turn down one of the aisles. I see Summer standing, palms pressed against her cheeks, face white as a sheet. Eyes brimming with wetness.

I did that. I want to never make her cry again.

“Pardon me. Excuse me.” I smile and push my way down as people stand to let me pass.

“Can I grab an autograph?” someone asks.

“In a minute. Need to do something first.”

Murmurs follow me across the entire section, and then I’m at Summer’s aisle seat. Her back is turned to me, still facing down at the bull chute, standing on her tippy toes trying to see back to the staging area. Not a clue that I’m not back there anymore at all.

I’ll definitely go down in this league for the most dramatic retirement, so maybe that’s something.

And then I can’t stop myself. I’m reaching for her. Sighing when my hands wrap around her upper arms. It’s like all the anxiety that was coiling inside me just ebbs away.

Like I found what I was looking for—who I was looking for.

She spins on me, big brown doe eyes and perfect puffy lips.

“What are you doing?” she breathes, hands falling instantly to my chest as though she’s checking to see if I’m real.

“I could ask you the same thing, Princess.”

“Fuck my life, he calls you princess, too? Ugh. Unfair.” A lanky redhead standing behind her crosses her arms and rolls her eyes.

But she’s got a playful expression on her face. I like her instantly.

Summer ignores her, getting so lost in my eyes that she almost looks like she’s somewhere else for a moment. “I just . . . I had to be here. I couldn’t stand the thought of you being here alone. You’re . . .” Her voice cracks and tears well in her eyes.

“You’re it for me too.”

A stray tear streaks down one cheek and I swipe it away before gently combing her hair back behind her ear and cupping her head in my palm. “Please don’t cry. It kills me when you cry.” I pull her close, pressing her to my chest.

And it feels so fucking right. Her arms snake around me gently, fingers trailing carefully over the sore side of my ribs.

Always thinking about me.

Just like I’m always thinking about her. It took me a while to piece together why, what it means, and how I prove it to her.

Maybe I am just as dumb as Cade says.

“You need to go back down there and ride your bull. This is your championship to win.” She sniffles against my chest.

I can hear surrounding chatter and the announcer’s voice, but I don’t make anything out. The woman in front of me is the center of my attention. The center of my universe.

A wry smile touches my lips and I tip her head up to look at me. She feels small and fragile in my arms, and I don’t miss the way she trembles when I brush my thumb over her lips. “Say it. I want to hear it.”

Her lashes flutter, clumped together with the wetness of her tears. And then she takes that deep dive into my eyes again. My chest twists and I pull her closer so our bodies wedge together.

I don’t give a fuck who’s watching.

“I love you,” she says, her voice soft but sure.

I gaze down at her and wonder what the hell I did to get this fucking lucky. “I love you too. And I don’t need to ride tonight. Or ever again. Hearing that from your lips is the biggest win of my life.”

I take my hat, and I plunk it on her head. Just like I told myself I would.

And then I kiss her.

First soft and searching, before she grips at my shirt and turns things a little desperate. She moans and slips her tongue into my mouth. My eager girl is always the first to do that.

It’s the best kiss of my life. It’s the best moment of my life.

Because I found the piece that was missing. I have no idea what I’m going to do with the rest of my life, but I know I’m going to do it with Summer. I’m going to keep coming back, keep proving to her we’re better together.

So, we stand here kissing. With cameras rolling. In the middle of a huge crowd. No doubt raising some eyebrows. Making a statement and not giving a flying fuck who sees us.

Choosing each other. Finding each other. Showing up for each other.

And everything about the moment is flawless.

Epilogue

Rhett

One Year later . . .

I turn into the driveway at Wishing Well Ranch and take a deep breath.

Fuck it feels good to be home. It’s been two weeks on the road. Which is about fourteen days longer than I want to be away from Summer.

But I’m happy. I’m fulfilled. I’ve got it all. My health. A job coaching on the WBRF circuit. And the girl of my fucking dreams waiting for me a couple minutes down this gravel road.

She better be naked. Naked and ready. I can feel myself swell in my jeans at the prospect. At the thought of our video chats while I’ve been away.

Usually, this gig only takes me away for a few days at a time.

I fly in and I fly out, but I gave a clinic between weekend events this time to a bunch of young up-and-comers. It was fun.

But I miss my girl something fierce.

The road winds past the main house and then merges with a newer portion. Our portion. At the end of this driveway is our house. And I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of referring to it that way.

The only thing more satisfying would be being able to call Summer my wife.

“Mm,” I hum and slap my hand against the steering wheel of my new truck. The one Summer made me buy because it’s

“safer.” And because the old one kept breaking down because I never found the time to do any work on it.

But I think the new truck is worth it if only because it means that when I pull up to the newly constructed bungalow to see my girl sitting on the front steps next to . . .

My old truck.

But not my old truck. Because the one she’s sitting next to is painted the prettiest blue. A steely blue.

The blue of my mom’s eyes in my favorite picture of her.

The sight of it winds me. The girl I wish my mom could have met. Sitting next to a truck that now reminds me of her—that she bought for someone she loved.

Image 56

In the strangest way, it seems like so much more than a pretty girl sitting next to a pretty truck.

Pulling up, I park beside it and step out on wobbly legs. Jaw hanging as I stare at the vehicle beside me. The bridge of my nose feels awfully tingly, and my vision is only slightly blurred when Summer walks around the front of it, small hand trailing across the hood. Simple white tank top and cut-off jeans making her look effortlessly sexy. The best thing she’s wearing though is the soft look in her eyes and the tentative smile on her lips.

“Did I do okay?”

My lips press together as I try to suck in a centering breath.

My gaze bounces between her and the truck. “Okay? Summer this is . . . how did you pull this off? Is this even the same truck? Does it run?”

She treads closer, bare feet on the freshly paved driveway.

And before I know it, she’s wedged herself underneath my arm, hand slung in the back pocket of my Wranglers as we stand there hip to hip staring at my new truck.

She laughs quietly and just stares for a moment. “Yes, it’s the same truck. Every time you’ve been away this season, I’ve taken it into the shop to have them work on it.” A choked laugh bubbles up in my chest and she tilts her head against me, painting herself flush against my side. “I hated you being gone for two weeks, but it was the perfect opportunity for the guys to finish it up.”

“Wow.” She’s struck me nearly speechless. This was so far down my to-do list that I didn’t even see it coming. I knew I wanted it. One day. After the house was finished, and there were a couple adorable little Summer clones running around the yard.

“Is the color right? I spent a lot of time looking at pictures of her. Trying to find just the right shade.”

I wish I could say something to that, but I’m too choked up.

So, I just fold her into a hug, take a deep inhale of the scent on her skin—cherries, always cherries—and whisper into the crook of her neck, “It’s perfect, Princess. And so are you.”

Life has never been better.

Work. Family. House. Truck.

The fact that Summer is on top of me. Riding me. Hips swiveling, head tilted back, dainty hands massaging her breasts, sporting a light sheen of sweat all over her golden skin. Her lips are slightly parted, and that’s where my eyes snag. Puffy and pink and making the most delicious fucking whining noises.

She looks like a fucking goddess in the harsh afternoon light.

I’ve never loved her more.

“Did you miss me, Princess?” I ask, gripping her hips just above where those little creases form.

She stares down at me, eyes brimming with desire, cheeks rosy, hair in the messiest of buns. I remember the first day we met. Her bun was so tight that it looked borderline painful as she sat across from me in that boardroom.

But that was a year ago. And my girl has changed a lot since then. She’s all undone right now—just the way I like her. Undone and riding my cock.

“Yes, so much. I’m coming next time.”

I think I love her more with each passing moment.

A deep rumble in my chest sounds as I reach to rub at her clit. “You’re a business owner now. Can’t go following your boyfriend around the country.”

She stops now, glaring down at me. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”

I especially love her when she gives me attitude.

I thrust up with a smirk. “Ride harder.” I rub more firmly at her clit, knowing she won’t be able to resist moving again if I do.

I smile when I’m right. She moves again with a playful little shake of her head. “Such a good girl, Summer. Ride it.”

She moans, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m coming next time.”

“Baby, you’re coming a few seconds from now. Let’s see those tits bounce. Go harder. Take it all.”

“Fuck,” she breathes as her head tips back, the sun catching her hair and making it shimmer. I let my hand trail up her body, her waist, the light line in her abdomen from spending her days working out.

I stop when my palm rests on the scar over her chest. And now, the look she gives me is soft, full of love and tenderness. I spent two weeks on the road and she’s acting like I was gone for months on end.

“I hated being away from you,” I confess, loving the way her lips tip up when I say shit like that. “But I love you. And I love watching you come on my cock. Let me watch. Let me see it. Let me hear it.”

She bites down on her puffy bottom lip, and I almost explode on the spot. When she nods, I double my efforts, thrusting up to meet her, circling more tightly on her clit. Her wet heat clenches on me.

And then she’s crying out, “Rhett!” with her head tipped back, lashes fluttering shut, looking like a goddamn angel. It’s still the best sound in the world. And I follow, hand still on her heart, shooting up into her, while she falls forward on to me murmuring,

“I love you.”

“So fucking good,” I murmur back, feeling like I should pinch myself. Like I have no idea how I stumbled into having a woman like Summer choose a man like me.

But that’s just it. We’re here, choosing each other every damn day. And I want to choose her for the rest of my life.

I’d have married her that day in the stands when I retired.

Right there. On the fucking spot. But I’m greedy like that, and I know she needed time to sort her life out. Hell, I needed time to sort my life out.

Her sister still won’t talk to her. And that’s a wound I so desperately wish I could fix for her. But I can’t. Not yet anyway.

And her stepmom is lucky she doesn’t come around because I’d have more than a few words for someone who’s as cruel to my girl as Marina is to Summer. But she and her dad are closer than ever. And everyone in my family—hell, my entire town—loves her to pieces.

She’s become the golden girl of Chestnut Springs since buying out the local gym and transforming it into Hamilton Athletics. The place geared toward training athletes. Or torturing grown men as I like to call it.

It’s good for our small economy. And the ladies from town love it. They say they’re going for a Pilates class, but really just sit around and stare at the hockey players and bull riders who train there during their off-seasons.

Summer flops forward and kisses me, warm and damp and smelling like cherries, fingers tangling in my hair. “I said I love you.”

“I love you too, Princess. You know I do.” I feel her smile against the skin of my chest before she rolls off me with a satisfied sigh.

I press a kiss to the scar on her chest and get up to get a warm cloth.

Over the sound of the running water, I hear her voice. “How much?”

Chuckling as I walk out of the bathroom, I catch sight of her, and the air in my lungs stills. She’s heart-stopping, sprawled on our king-sized mattress. Right now, it’s just a mattress on the floor.

The unfinished floor. And she’s surrounded by drywall that needs painting.

Our expansive rancher is definitely not complete yet, but we couldn’t wait to move in. I was sick of her living in the studio loft above her gym. We built on our favorite hookup spot. The spot where we’d drive “the rust bucket”—as my truck has become lovingly known—toss a blanket in the back and make love under the stars. This spot has the best view of the mountains—and that’s what Summer wanted.

And I want her with me all the time. It’s fucking consuming.

But she’s my favorite human in the world. After a certain amount of time together, other people usually get on my nerves.

But not Summer. She’s my person. And I’m hers. Two halves of the same whole.

“Tell me. Tell me how much you love me.” Her lips tip up and her eyes dance.

“Woman, I’m wiping you with a hot washcloth after sex. That’s how much I love you.”

“Tell me more.”

I crouch down beside her and get to wiping, mind racing as I do, dick filling again being this close to her pussy.

I feel her eyes on me. She’s waiting for me to say more.

I slide her lacy thong back up her legs, because she looks fucking fantastic in expensive lingerie. “Turn over. I’ll show you.”

Her lips twist, questions dancing in her eyes, but she relents with a sigh, showing me her beautiful round ass.

I can’t help but pop a nice loud smack on it before walking back across the room to chuck the cloth in the hamper, pull on a pair of sweats, and reach for the bag I dropped in the bedroom before losing all my clothes with her. Swiping a pen, I walk back

over to her, catching the curious glance she gives me over her shoulder.

“Okay. Pay very close attention, Princess.”

She giggles and nods her head. “Okay.”

I straddle her, and it’s a terrible idea, because all I can think about is sliding my dick between her legs. But I focus, uncapping the pen.

And then I start writing. Connecting the dots on her back the way I often do with the pad of my finger when we lay together. Her back is like the night sky, full of constellations. She and I really are binary stars, stuck in each other’s orbit, drawn together by forces we can’t see or understand—but that we can feel.

What I’m writing today is four words. And I swear I can almost hear her thinking, her body just a little bit tense, her head canted as she tries to decipher it.

“There,” I say, right as I finish.

“Rhett?” She turns to glance over her shoulder now, but her eyes are less playful this time. More watery. “Did you just write what I think you did?”

I shrug and grin at her. “Guess you’ll have to go look.”

She shoots off the bed, and I watch her take quick steps across what is basically a construction zone, toward the bathroom. The creases under her ass, the lace framing it, and the words Will you marry me? written on her back.

It’s so fucking satisfying.

I dart to my bag and grab the velvet box I hid. I go fast, not wanting to miss the expression on her face when she sees it.

My eyes trace her as she turns her back to the small temporary mirror in the ensuite bathroom. She casts a glance over her shoulder and then . . .

She smiles that little smirk that used to piss me off and now drives me wild. She doesn’t even turn my way. She just stands there, staring at her reflection, smiling.

I drop to one knee and hold up the ring in my hand—a canary solitaire with smaller diamond points to make it look like a star—

and I might as well be holding up my heart.

Because this girl owns every bit of me. And she has from the first day she smirked at me.

When Summer turns back to me, her smile grows larger. She doesn’t even glance at the ring, she just stands there staring at

Image 57

me, her irises dancing with mine and speaking a language only the two of us know.

“Yes.” She nods, tears springing up now.

“Princess, please don’t cry.” She pads closer to me, wrapping her arms around me and pressing my head to her chest. Her heart beats are loud, strong and steady, and so fucking sure. Just like I am of this—of her.

“They’re happy tears.”

I reach up, swiping a stray tear from her cheek. “I still hate them. But I’m glad you’re happy. If these were your last moments, would you go happy?”

Taking her hand in mine, I slide the ring onto her finger, loving how perfectly it suits her.

We both spend a few seconds staring at it. Admiring it—but maybe more admiring what it means.

She grips my head, rubbing her thumbs across my beard.

“Yeah, but this won’t be my last moment. I’ve got too many things I want to do with you first.”

A huge grin bursts across my face and I surge up, scooping her into my arms. I carry her back toward the mattress.

“Me too, Princess. Like take you to the main house and introduce the future Mrs. Eaton. Maybe make out with you at The Spur tonight so that everyone talks about it. But first,” I toss her down onto the bed, thriving on the watery giggle that escapes her.

“First, I’m going to spend the afternoon listening to you scream my name.”

She laughs and holds her hand up to gaze at her ring.

Looking so fucking happy.

And seeing her happy?

Seeing her happy is everything.

And I’m happy too, because I get to be stuck in her orbit for the rest of my life.

Want to see Cade Eaton, the grumpy single dad, meet his match?

Keep reading for a sneak peek!

Pre-order Heartless here.

Have you met the Eaton brothers’ younger sister, Violet? Read all about her story in the Gold Rush Ranch series.

Start with Off to The Races.

To stay up to date with all the Elsie Silver news and to receive exclusive bonus materials subscribe to my newsletter!

Click here to sign up

Heartless Sneak Peek

Image 58