Page 51 of Ride Me Reckless

Perfect.

Rhett slid through the door. Ball cap pulled low, hoodie zipped up, and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder like he was auditioning for a heist movie.

“You look ridiculous,” I said.

He tossed the bag onto the bed. “I’m tryin’ to look inconspicuous.”

“You look like someone tryingwaytoo hard to look inconspicuous.”

He unzipped the bag, revealing my jeans, boots, plaid button-down, and—hallelujah—my battered old Stetson.

“Glad you didn’t forget my old hat,” I said, plucking it out and slapping the crown back into shape with one palm. “Man’s got taste.”

“Man’s got bad ideas,” Rhett muttered. “You sure about this?”

“As sure as I’ve ever been about anything stupid.”

I grabbed the jeans and started changing right there in the room, not caring that every muscle in my back protested. Rhett turned to face the door like a gentleman, or more likely, to avoid watching me try to shimmy into denim with a new lumbar fusion.

“Damn boots shrunk while I was laid up,” I grunted, tugging the second one over my heel.

“Yeah,” Rhett said dryly. “That’s the problem. Thebootsshrank.”

I glared up at him. “Keep talkin’ and I’ll make you pull ‘em off in the morning.”

With a final tug, I put on the last boot and stood up slowly. I adjusted the hem of my shirt before settling the hat on my head. I looked in the mirror over the sink.

Not exactly steady. But I looked like me again.

I grabbed the hospital gown and slung it over the back of the chair like a white flag left on the battlefield. “Thanks for the hospitality. I’m ridin’ out.”

“You look like a wanted man,” Rhett said, opening the door a crack and peeking into the hallway.

“Iama wanted man,” I said, tipping my hat. “Just not by the rehab ward.”

We slipped out like teenagers sneaking past curfew. Rhett kept glancing over his shoulder, and I had to admit, the whole thing made me feel about ten years younger, minus the fresh surgical scar and the occasional hitch in my step.

By the time we reached the parking lot, my legs were aching and my ribs felt like they’d been used as a punching bag. But hell if I was gonna let it show.

Rhett opened the passenger door of his pickup and helped me climb in.

“You sure about goin’ all the way home tonight?” he asked, shutting the door after me.

I leaned back with a grin. “Got a bed with my name on it, and not one nurse waiting to poke me with a needle.”

He climbed in behind the wheel, reached into the cooler behind the seat, and handed me a cold bottle of beer.

“For the road,” he said. “Figuratively.”

I cracked it open with a smile, and the familiar hiss of the cap sounded like music. “Reckon this is the most rebellious thing I’ve done since that midnight bull ride in Amarillo.”

He laughed and threw the truck in drive. “Yeah, and that ended with a broken collarbone.”

I took a sip and leaned my head against the cool window as we pulled out of the parking lot. The hospital faded in the rearview.

I wasn’t just leaving a building.

I was taking my life back.