Page 24 of Maverick (The Bull Riders #3)

I blink. “Yes. They were. They were hard on Harmony and me. But that’s what makes people great. Success doesn’t come from nothing. And it doesn’t happen spontaneously. You have to be pushed. Because you can’t push yourself as hard as you need to.”

“Not going to lie, that sounds like the kind of propaganda extremely strict parents spread.”

“I mean, I don’t have a great relationship with them.

I’m not going to say that they were perfect.

But I don’t know what the alternative is.

I don’t know, because I don’t know anyone whose parents work like that.

We went to a school where academics were important, where everyone was getting pushed.

I was also terrible at school. Sometimes I wonder what I did to make myself the undesirable child, but if I’m honest, I do know the answer to that.

I couldn’t pay attention in school. I got bored of doing the one thing.

And it is doing the one thing over and over again that makes you great.

I know that it is. It’s doing the one thing over and over again that makes you exceptional, and if you can’t do that, then you can’t excel.

And I wanted to excel. I still do. Anyway, I want to get back into this.

On my own terms. I don’t want all those years that I spent learning it to be wasted.

I let it get lost in my own bad feelings. ”

“I don’t think we waste time in this life.”

“You don’t?”

He shakes his head. “No. I don’t. I mean, I think you can.

If you’re stoned out of your mind, not dealing with the things around you, then yeah, I think you’re wasting the experiences that come your way.

But as far as what you’re talking about, learning something, pursuing it, it’s not wasted just because you don’t get all the way to the end. ”

“Is that how you feel about the rodeo?”

I feel a little bit mean asking that question. He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “It’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because I told her I was going to do it. So God damn, I’m going to do it.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Then I just keep trying until I can’t walk anymore.”

I snort. “That sounds super reasonable, Maverick.”

“I don’t know who you’ve been talking to. I’m a very reasonable guy.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while as we keep on driving.

The trip to the barn is short, but it’s lovely.

I can understand why he chose this place.

Though I do have questions. If he’s from here, this area, if he met Sadie here.

How he met Sadie. I think that he doesn’t especially want to talk about her with me.

Or maybe it isn’t me specifically. Maybe it’s anyone.

But I hold the conversation until we get out of the truck. After which I’m immediately distracted by the excitement of getting to ride Frank. “That was mean,” I say as we head into the barn. “Giving that beautiful animal a nickname like Frank.”

“I’m mean,” he says, looking at me with a smile on his face that makes my stomach flip.

Maybe he is mean. But he’s sexy as hell.

Also, he’s not that mean. He has a beautiful house that he was creating a beautiful life in.

He’s loved someone before. He grieves that person.

He makes sure that I have three orgasms before he even has one.

He’s really not mean.

He’s guarded. Hard. He doesn’t want to be immediately available to anybody, and I understand that. He’s his own whole thing.

But mean isn’t it.

“I bet you love him.”

“Oh, come on.”

“You do. You love this horse.”

“This horse is a pain in my butt. A millstone around my neck. Another obligation I have to fulfill.” And I can tell that what he really means is that he loves the horse.

We make our way down the stable aisle, and go to where Frank is. I stop along the way and greet Cloud Dancing. I love the smell. Hay and dirt. Horses. The smell of shavings, even if they aren’t strictly clean. This is in my blood.

He is right about one thing: nothing about it has ever been a waste of time. Nothing about this deep, intense love that I have for these animals has ever been a waste.

He goes into the tack room and appears with a blanket, saddle, and bridle. He sets the saddle across the sawhorse and then gets Frank out of the stall.

“Nice to have a groom to handle all this for me again,” I say as I watch him get Frank prepared.

He looks up at me, and those eyes hit me like lightning.

Honestly, this is so hot. Watching a man do this is just…

Glorious. I can’t help it. I’m a horse girl unto my soul.

Yes, my parents got me into it, yes, at this point in my life, that’s complicated.

But it’s part of who I am, and makes up my DNA in much the same way my blonde hair and blue eyes do.

Things that have been handed down to me, that I didn’t get a say in, but that are real nonetheless.

And apparently, I really like a man who knows his way around the horse, too. For one brief moment, it’s easy for me to imagine myself with him here. Forever. Living on his ranch, kissing him on his couch, letting him thrust inside me in the shower.

I’ve never really thought that far ahead. To love, marriage, children, but he has. He wanted those things at one time. But I can see it. Here. With him. That’s terrifying.

Virginal bullshit, honestly. The kind of thing that young women who have sex for the first time often end up fantasizing about, or so I’m given to believe.

And that’s all I’m doing here. I’m making this into something bigger than it is. Making him into something bigger than he is.

It’s a fool’s errand, honestly.

I know better.

But for a brief moment, it was a rush of dopamine. To imagine that life, to imagine him that way.

I choose to push it aside, though. I think I’m a little bit more realistic than some. I think.

I watch as he grips Frank’s reins and leads him out of the barn. The picture that he makes with the horse is something. Makes my heart beat faster.

Yeah. I didn’t really expect for this part of it to be an aphrodisiac. But it sure as hell is.

“We’re going to use this arena,” he says, gesturing to a large covered space to the left of the barn.

I’m impressed with the facility. My parents’ is one of the best in the area, and in Sonoma, that’s really saying something.

They do clinics there on all kinds of things to justify the expense of how elaborate it is, but for a facility where I assume none of that is going on, his is spectacular.

“How many boarders do you have?” I ask.

“About fifteen. Not only does it provide a little bit of income, they all pitch in and do a bit of work. Rotate out mucking stalls and things like that. With me being gone so much, that’s extremely helpful.”

“A great way to get a semi-working ranch going when you can’t afford to be a full-time rancher.”

“Part-time rancher. Full-time cowboy,” he says, looking at me. And damned if that doesn’t make my heart turn over on itself.

“Well. It’s smart anyway.”

“I said I wasn’t nice, I didn’t say I wasn’t smart.”

I can’t tell if he’s flirting with me or what. I assume that for him, this is flirting. It makes me feel breathless. Makes me feel fluttery. But then, that’s him. He makes me feel just a little bit too much, all the time.

But then we are in the arena, and I know that I have a job to do.

It’s been so long since I’ve done this. Saddled up in this way, focused on this kind of style, these routines.

I’m suddenly overwhelmed by insecurity. What if I can’t show him what he needs to see?

What if I don’t give exactly what he needs me to?

It’s entirely possible that I won’t be able to.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says.

“What?”

“I don’t expect you to be perfect. I just want to see what your chemistry is with him.”

“Oh.” I realize then that I don’t know how to not be perfect. I mean, I do. I’m imperfect often. But I guess I don’t know how to do it for an audience. Or at least, I’m always going to have that anxiety, particularly around something like this.

Dressage. Oh, the dressage of it all. It’s just going to be loaded. Always. There’s not a whole lot that I can do about that.

Except heal, I suppose. Which is the one thing I haven’t really been doing. I’ve just been pursuing this kind of excellence on a different plane. Trying to make myself as essential and important as possible in my new venue.

Not making friends, not taking lovers.

Nuance. It’s something I really struggle with. Apparently.

Of course, now I’ve jumped into having a lover headfirst.

I take a deep breath, and try to still my nerves as I take over leading Frank. I bring him into the center of the arena, and Maverick walks to the periphery.

Then I mount the horse and let out a long, slow breath.

The first thing I do is urge him to walk.

Nothing more. A clean high-step around the arena.

His gait is beautiful. His movements are flawless.

It doesn’t take long for me to feel like it would be easy to ease him into a trot.

We move back and forth like that in the arena, and then I attempt a passage.

He does it. Exquisite.

He executes a flying change perfectly.

It’s like I’m discovering something beautiful again. A dance that I forgot the steps to, and I relish the relearning of them. Without my parents watching me, judging me. Maverick is, but for some reason, that feels different.

I’m not perfect. I can feel all kinds of little form and technique things that are slowly coming back to me, but feel like they are rusted. Hinges that haven’t been moved or used in far too long.

But I’m getting it back. I’m getting myself back.

And this horse is a dream.

I feel giddy as we move through the arena, as time loses all meaning. As I make music in my head and a routine on the fly, performing for myself and no one else.