Page 103 of For Cowgirls and Kings

I groan, rolling my eyes. Not only do I stillhatethat term for what I do, but I hate the question. Because no one likes the honest answer, not even myself.

“I’m not a mob boss,” I grumble, finishing the glass of whiskey, the burn almost non-existent at this point.

“Sorry. King. Emperor? Chief? Don?”

“Knock it off,” I growl, but her eyes twinkle at my irritation, and I can’t find it in me to actually be upset.Not when she’s looking at me like that.

“I’m waiting,” she prompts.

“I don’t know Dale. I don’t love what I do, but if I don’t do it, who will? It’s my family's legacy, passed down for literal generations.When I die, could I really face my father, and grandfather, and his father? Could I face myself? Knowing I’m the one who put it under?”

“Why the fuck are you worried about facing dead people? You’re alive now.”

“Yes, and if I’m the kind of man who lets his family down, who lets down all of the families that rely on my business to support their own, am I worthy?”

“Worthy of what?” she asks, confusion written in every line of her face.

How can I explain this to her? How can I say how I feel without using words I know will no doubt scare her away? Although, if anyone is going to understand familial pressures, and personal desires, it’s Dale.

“A home, a family, a wife.” That’s not exactly it, and her eyes soften, like she knows.She fucking knows and that should terrify me.But it doesn’t.

Seeming to sense my growing discomfort with the truth shimmering between us, Dale shifts once more, smiling softly. “I, too, want a home different from the one I currently have. I love my little house, but someday I want to build one. A big adobe thing, with a fenced courtyard in the front, and a pool with cactus all around it!” Her face lights up as she describes her dream home.

And I lean forward, hungry for more details, even as my heart shatters.

Because I have no idea how to give her this life. Not when I have to run my family's ranch, and casino.

“Sounds like a nice place,” I say wistfully, my heart stuttering with want. I want to give her such a life. I want to give myself the freedom to wish.

She nods enthusiastically. “I want to have a small plot, just enough to have a herd of longhorns and a couple horses. I likegenetics and think it would be really cool to do show longhorns or something exotic, but also like, so Texas.”

I can picture it too. I can picture her by the pool, topless with a giant hat shading her face and a book splayed open on her stomach. I can picture her riding the fence lines, or racing through the fields trying to beat me back to the house. I can see her in the front yard, elbow deep in soil, planting her cactus garden, kittens playing on the hot sidewalk.

Fuck.

She pauses, her smile melting away. I blink, trying to dispel a very real, and very unwanted film of water that’s currently threatening to spill from my eyes.What the fuck is happening to me?

“You’re drunk,” she teases, but it’s tight. And again, I knowshe knows. Whether she’s not saying anything for my benefit or hers, I don’t know.

I clear my throat, ready to change the subject, even if I wish we could dive deeper. “Would you like to go upstairs?”

Her pupils instantly dilate at the implication, the alcohol removing any hesitancy or reservation, and for that I’m grateful. It’s plain to see she wants me, and fuck, I want her.

But not just in bed.

I want her forever.

THIRTY-EIGHT

ADALENE

March 7th, 2025

I’m barelypast the threshold of the glamorous hotel room, when Mateo’s giant hands grip my hips. He yanks my back to his front, his breath—tinged with whiskey—fans hotly against the column of my throat.

I groan, leaning into him. I don’t have it in me to even pretend I don’t want this,want him.

“What do you want, Dale?” His voice is all husk and fire, and I want its heat to devour me. I want him to say all those filthy things I know he keeps buried beneath his perfectly pressed shirts and professional masks. I want to hear him go wild.