Page 142 of For Cowgirls and Kings

“Didn’t we just talk?” I tease.

“I told you we’d talk again soon. It’s soon.”

I smile, the early morning light streaming through the front window warming my skin. “What’s up?”

“I need a favor. Gus is busy today, and I can’t do anything on my own until this peanut pops out at this point.” She’s due any day, and Gus has been running himself ragged, trying to prep the horse rescue for a short break. They’ll still get fed, of course, but no one will be riding for a week or so, and I know they’re both worried about it. “Gus, bless his neurotic soul, isfreaking out, packing every baby item we own like we’re moving into the hospital, in preparation for the baby to come.”

“Sure, what do you need?”

“Fuck!” she hisses. “He just came down the stairs, carrying two separate car seats. I thought we returned one of those!” she shouts, not for me, I realize. I remain half frozen in the entry.

“Stet? How can I help?”

I hear her smirk through the line before I have a second to reconsider my offer. “Great. Well, Mateo’s out on his property, doing god knows what today. I need you to run out there and make sure he doesn’t need help.”

“Uh—” My mouth hangs open, words evading me.Quick, think of an excuse.

“Gus is worried about him.” I instantly snap my jaw closed with a clank, shooting her a death glare through space.Gus doesn’t worry about anything.

“I—”

“Sooner the better. He hasn’t come back through here since yesterday morning.”

Her words tumble around my brain, nothing making any total sense. He’s been out in the pasture, doing what, since yesterday morning? Is he okay? Why hasn’t he called anyone if he isn’t okay?

My heart instantly begins to race, the idea of him being hurt almost too much to bear. Every other rational thought flees my mind, and I’m already grabbing my keys before I have a chance to think through it more clearly.

“Great! Call if you need anything,” Stetson says cheerfully, but it barely registers.

My car jostles over a path that seems far more well worn than I expected it to be. Almost like a road—how often does Mateo come out here?

I tried calling him, only for it to go straight to voicemail,twice,so I didn’t bother stopping as I raced past Stetson sitting on the porch, leaving her in a cloud of dust. I can’t think about anything beyond the concern that Mateo might be hurt.

If he is, I’ll never forgive myself. Not for the way I left things on the phone the other night. He deserves so much better. The truth is, when I heard his voice I wanted nothing more than to crawl through the line and demand he take me back. I’d be with him, anywhere, any way, if only he would love me again.

These last couple months have shown me how happy I can feel, and how unhappy I am when I’m not with him. I’m healthy, stronger, and braver than I’ve ever been, but it feels pointless when I can’t share it with Mateo. My best friend, and the man I’ve loved for far longer than I want to admit.

Has it always been him?

His fence line quickly comes into view, the Texas sky a hazy blue backdrop to the green plains.

And the house that sits there, surrounded by a fenced in yard, and a covered outdoor arena to the side with someone riding in it. The car slows beneath me, breathing completely forgotten as I take in the unfolding scene.

My hand trembles as I bring it to my mouth, the roar of my heart filling my ears. And just as the car comes to an almost stop,I ram my foot on the gas, racing the rest of the way.This can’t be happening.

I slam my foot on the brake, turning the ignition off a second before I’m out and stomping toward the indoor arena, and the man lopping circles within. He’s in jeans, dirt clinging to the sides and tops in patches that indicate he may have been doing something on the ground—they mold to his thighs and stretch over the round curve of his ass so sinfully I have to force myself to swallow the dryness coating my mouth.

To make matters worse, he’s shirtless, his skin covered in a pornographic sheen of sweat, the muscles rippling with each practiced movement of the horse beneath him. His normally perfect hair flops around his face, and instead of having his normal trimmed facial shadow, there's a thick beard that covers his cheeks and chin.

I all but fucking melt at the sight of him.

It’s not that he’s as hot as fucking god like this, although that certainly doesn’t help, but it’s the sight of him at all, when all I’ve done for the last three months is dream of him. In his normal perfect gentleman attire, or in a T-shirt and gym shorts on the couch, or naked and sleeping in the bed next to me. But the sight of him like this—dirty and raw—completely oblivious to my ogling, is better than anything I could have imagined.

And it’s enough to shatter my resolvecompletely.

“Mateo!” I bark, and he instantly pulls up on the reins, the horse bouncing beneath him before he stops. Slowly, as if he’s afraid of what he’ll find, Mateo turns in the saddle, his face tight. Crossing my arms, more to keep my pounding heart contained in my chest, I stare at him.

We stay locked in a silent battle of wills for several excruciatingly hot moments, before Mateo pats the horses neck, and jumps off the saddle. He strides toward me, his head held high and confident. But his eyes tell a different story—they’re full of awildness that matches the turmoil racing through my own veins, and it calls to me.