Page 72

Right!
I was up before the sun, coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, running down lists of horses, riders, and transport schedules. The ranch was already alive with hurried movement.
Horses needed to be exercised, brushed out, leg-wrapped, and hauled into town by the weekend. The Wilder stock—fast, strong, well-bred—would be competing in everything from barrel racing to team roping to reining. A few of the rougher ones would be in ranch bronc riding, where real cowboys like Jace tested their guts on ranch-broke broncs, not rodeo circuit stock.
Why the hell would he kiss me? And why the hell did it feel so good?
This was the biggest event of the yearfor us in Wildflower Canyon. The rodeo was more than just prize money and bragging rights. It was where deals got made, where buyers watched and took notes, where a good ride could mean a sale.
That mouth of his had changed and the way he kissed was more refined, but his taste remained the same addictive deliciousness.
Ben oversaw the stock horses, making sure every gelding, mare, and stallion were primed and ready. I handled the competitors, talking to riders, running last-minute vet checks, and making sure our horses were assigned to the right events.
And in the middle of all that, I had Fiona breathing down my damn neck. Fiona had been harping on meetings all morning, dragging me into conversations I didn’t have time for, demanding reports I had already given her.
At least she was dressed for the job now. After two weeks on the ranch, she’d ditched the heels and designer suits and was wearing designer jeans, boots, and a shirt. It didn’t make her fit in, but at least she wasn’t tottering through the dirt like a lost tourist anymore.
And that body of his? He was all hard muscle. I was used to men who worked with their hands and bodies…but Duke was…God!
Stop thinking about him, Elena, and get to fuckin’ work!
I had just finished checking the weight on a gelding for the team roping event when Miss Bitch marched up, tablet in hand, expression tight with frustration.
“Elena, I need the final numbers on the horses being entered.Now.”
I didn’t even look up from my notes. “Already sent them to Duke yesterday.”
“I want them from you.”
I breathed out slowly, steadying myself as I flipped through my tablet, checking the paperwork. “Two in reining, three in barrel racing, four in roping, four in cutting, and three in bronc riding.” I looked up. “Anything else?”
Fiona crossed her arms. “Who’s riding?”
“Ben, Jace, Caleb, and a few others.”
She tapped a finger against her tablet, frowning like I’d personally offended her. “And you?”
I paused. “What about me?”
“Are you competing?”
I arched a brow. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“These are notyourhorses. They belong to us, so?—”
“Us?”
“Duke and me,” she said with a broad smile.
“Duke, yes. You, no.”
She let out a short, irritated exhale. “Since Duke and I are getting married, it isus.”
The barn behind had been full of activity—men saddling horses, the sound of hooves scuffing against the dirt, the hum of conversation. But the second those words left Fiona’s mouth, a few of them went quiet.
She noticed.
She didn’t care.