Page 7 of Ride Me Reckless

"I need this next deal," I said. "Bad."

"What you need," she said, "is to remember who the hell you are. You're Tessa freaking Walker. Reckless on the strip, cool under pressure, and sharp enough to know when a man's a distraction—not a destination."

I let her words hang in the air as I crossed to the window. The edge of the racetrack glowed under the floodlights.

"I've been thinking about Biscuit," I said.

Callie glanced up. "The horse?"

I nodded. "He still has her. I know he does. I told myself I'd figure out a way to see her while I'm back, but I don't know how to do that without…" I trailed off.

Callie filled it in for me. "Without Colt."

I didn't answer. Didn't have to.

"You want to see her?"

"More than I want to breathe."

Before Callie could say another word, there was a knock on the trailer door.

Not a tap. Not a pound. Just two raps—steady, sure. It seemed as though the person on the other side belonged there.

Callie froze mid-step.

My pulse kicked. "You expecting someone?" she asked.

I didn't answer.

She peeked through the curtain, then gave me a look that made my stomach clench. "Oh yeah. It's him."

Colt.

My breath caught. My body tensed. Like it knew trouble was standing on the other side of the door.

Callie lowered her voice. "Want me to say you're not here?"

I shook my head. "No. I've got it."

She slipped into the tiny bathroom without another word.

I opened the door, and there he was.

New Stetson, clean like it hadn't seen a full day's work yet. The boots were still cowboy but polished—too new, like they'd been ordered from some high-end Western outfitter and hadn't yet tasted real dirt. His shirt was crisp, pearl-snap denim rolled to the elbows, and that old belt buckle? Still there—familiar and worn, like maybe not everything had changed.

The man wearing it? He looked like someone who owned the damn sunrise. He smelled like sun and saddle leather.

Like yesterday.

He held my gaze. "Hey."

I swallowed. "Hey."

"Didn't mean to interrupt."

"You didn't."

"You ran a hell of a race."