Page 5 of Colt (The Bull Riders #2)

But having to deal with the indignity of my painful secret crush becoming my stepbrother almost killed me.

Okay, it didn’t almost kill me, but I was thirteen, so it felt about as fatal as anything can.

It still doesn’t feel great.

And our foundation is built on that crunchy, difficult, awful time.

He probably doesn’t even know why. And if I were really mature, maybe I would let my guard down and talk to him about it with some honesty. Because it isn’t like I…

Our eyes meet, I catch my breath, and look away.

No. It’s not like that. But it doesn’t mean I don’t know how beautiful he is. Even as messed up as he is right now.

“You need to take care of yourself,” he says.

“I’m taking care of myself,” I say, trying to keep the attitude out of my voice.

Someone in scrubs comes in with a cart laden with food, leaves a tray next to Colt, and then one next to me.

“Thank you,” I say, as I lift the lid on the tray, and am greeted by food that looks shockingly decent.

“I just have… I got lightheaded, because I haven’t eaten,” I say, indicating the plate of food in front of me.

“Well, you ought to eat,” he says.

“Yes. That’s what I’m doing.”

He looks over at the tray. “I’m not that hungry.”

“Probably because you’ve been on an IV drip. It’s very likely that you’re swollen with fluids.”

“Well,” Colt says. “Just when I thought I couldn’t feel any sexier, not only is my leg up in traction, and my head is stitched back together, and I think I have gauze packed into my stomach, but I’m swollen with fluids. Truly, this is a high point.”

I pause, my fork midway between the plate and my mouth.

I don’t want to tell him that he’s sexy.

The problem is, he is sexy. It doesn’t matter that he’s bedbound.

Doesn’t matter that he’s hurt. Or that he might be full of fluids.

He’s an attractive man. He exudes it. In a way that is theoretical to me, and not specifically personal.

He’s just aesthetically, and arguably handsome, and on top of that he’s got that charisma that makes people stop and look at him no matter what they’re doing.

“Somehow, I have a feeling you’ll have seduced a hospital employee before you get out of here.”

He barks a laugh, and my heart clenches tight. It’s the closest thing to a compliment I could give him without making it personal to me, or what I think of him. But now I’m forced to imagine him gripping a nurse by the hips and pulling her into bed and –

Nope. Don’t like that. I hate it. Thanks.

No more imagining Colt getting it on with somebody whilst still bound to his hospital bed.

Because if anyone could. He could. And I find that bothersome.

Even if I shouldn’t. Well, I know I shouldn’t.

I should be all for him getting his healing no matter how he finds it.

Sexual healing included. But it feels gross, and I don’t like it.

“I don’t know that I feel inclined toward seduction at the moment,” he says.

“Well, you deserve it,” I say. “As a little treat.”

“I would like to go back in time as a little treat and not be dealing with this.” He lets his head fall back on the pillow, a rueful expression on his face. “Sorry. That probably is the morphine talking. Self-pity really isn’t my jam, normally.”

“I think you’re allowed to have a little bit of self-pity,” I say.

My chest feels tight. This whole thing has just been… Awful. Terrible.

“I guess I’m going to be home for a while.”

His voice is rough now.

“Yeah.”

“We’ll be neighbors again.”

I rent a house from my mom in town, where I work at a jewelry store, while going to school for nursing.

Colt lives two doors down from me, but generally, he’s not there.

It’s essentially where he keeps his stuff.

I know that eventually, he plans on buying a ranch.

When he settles down and has time to run it.

At the moment, competing in the rodeo, he’s gone too much.

He helps my dad with his ranch, but he won’t even be able to do that.

My throat gets tight all over again. My emotions are decidedly all over the place, and I need to get a grip. Colt is the one who’s injured. He’s the one who’s entitled to difficult feelings. I need to get over myself.

“Yeah. Well. Once you get out of here.” That wasn’t all that encouraging. “Sorry. Hopefully it won’t be very long. I mean… You’re stable now.”

He laughs. “Stable. Yeah. I feel really stable.”

“Colt…”

“It’s fine. It’s fine. Because… There are all kinds of things in life you don’t choose. But you have to live with them anyway. Right?”

I feel like he’s actually asking me.

“Well. Yes.”

I don’t feel like I’m the right person to give him insight into anything.

“So, I just have to deal with this.”

“Yeah.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “You get to be mad about it.”

He seems to think about that for a long moment. “Not so mad I throw myself on the ground and get a concussion.”

I give him a hard stare. “You already had one of those.”

“Did you just want to match me? You could have just bought us bracelets. A friendship-concussion is a little over the top.”

“We’re not friends.”

Instantly, I regret it. I regret that those words came out of my mouth.

I regret that they were so ready, there on the tip of my tongue, that insane self-defense that I always have to do when I feel like I’m getting too close to him.

Like I’m a scared, solo traveler in a hotel room, desperately piling up furniture in front of the door to keep it from being opened.

There’s a door with Colt that I really want to keep closed. That I need to keep closed.

But still, I don’t need to be a bitch like that.

“Because we’re family.” Those words feel dragged out of the center of my throat. I don’t especially want to be family to that man. I never have. I can’t leave that clunky, awful sentence lingering in the air between us. Because it’s just terrible. It’s just way too mean.

“Yeah,” he says.

He’s spacing out a little bit, which is actually good.

His morphine drip must have given him another dose.

And I don’t need to keep talking. I don’t need to keep trying to dig myself out of this pit.

In fact, what I really need is to just let it all go.

I need to rest, because I also have a head injury.

Of all the stupid things.

Maybe that’s why I said that. Maybe it wasn’t me just being desperate. Maybe it wasn’t actually about all my complicated feelings that I shouldn’t have for my stepbrother.

But as he drifts off to sleep, and I look at the expression on his face, I worry very much that it’s exactly that.