Page 1 of Ride Me Reckless (Millionaire Cowboys of Lucky Ranch #1)

Chapter One

Reckless Temptation

Colt

I 'd told myself I wasn't gonna go.

Three times, maybe four, I walked past that flyer on the counter. Crumpled thing. Edges curling like it knew it had no business tempting me the way it did. I'd tossed it in the trash once. Dug it back out a few hours later like some damn fool.

There it sat now, under the glare of the kitchen lights—bold red ink screaming Tessa "Reckless" Walker across the top like she still had the right to be inside my house. Like she hadn't ghosted out of here with a trail of dust and a half-shattered heart she left in my chest.

I'd wondered, more than once, if she'd taken more than just her boots when she left. Hell, some part of me still remembered what that damn palm reader said all those years ago—drunk off my ass at a county fair in Billings.

“You’ve left something behind,” she’d whispered, eyes cloudy like fogged glass. “Something breathing.”

I’d laughed at the time. Figured she was talking about a horse. Now I wasn’t so sure.

I stared at the photo on the flyer longer than I should've.

Her dragster—a flame-red beast called Reckless —sat cocked on the line, ready to eat pavement.

Chrome shining. Tires curled with smoke.

And there she was, helmet tucked under one arm, wild ponytail whipping like she owned the wind.

She looked the same. Maybe even better. Hell, maybe that's what pissed me off the most.

I hated the name of that car.

Not because it was arrogant. Not because it suited her—which it damn well did.

But because it was the name of the bull that wrecked me.

Reckless. The same thousand-pound brute that slung me clean off his back and broke two discs in mine. That ride ended my career, sent me home too early, and turned me into a man with a limp I tried like hell to hide. And now, she was out there burnin' rubber in something named after me.

It felt like a slap.

Still, I couldn't stay away.

I grabbed my hat—a brand-new Stetson, tan with a leather band around the top. Bought it last month, but hadn't worn it yet. Seemed too nice for everyday work, too personal to waste on no one. Today, though? Seemed like maybe I needed the edge.

I caught my reflection in the glass door on the way out—collar pressed, beard trimmed tight, jeans riding just right. I looked like a man on his way to see a woman.

And maybe I was.

Outside, the sun was low and gold, stretching shadows across the long fence line.

From my front porch, I could see the rise of Lucky Ranch, all that land I shared with my best friends and fellow Powerball winners: Rhett, Easton, and Sawyer.

Each of us had our own spread, our own barns, our own privacy.

Mine was the quietest.

Still, I liked it that way.

In the distance, Biscuit lifted her head from the grass, her ears twitching like she'd sensed my attention. Her coat shone like warm honey, and even from here, I could tell she was healthy. Happy.

She was still hers.

Tessa'd left Biscuit with me when she lit out and told me to keep her safe, like she knew she wasn't coming back. There were other things I thought she might’ve left behind, too. But no letter ever came. No phone call. Just silence, and the kind that knew how to cut bone-deep.

I never asked why. Never had to. A woman like Tessa didn’t hand over her horse unless something inside her was looking for something more that I couldn’t provide.

I stepped off the porch and crossed the gravel, boots sounding against the walkway. The air was dry and sweet, the kind of spring dusk that makes you ache for something you can't name.

As I climbed into my truck, I looked down at the flyer still clutched in my hand.

Don't go, I told myself. Leave it alone. Let her be.

But the engine was already rumbling beneath me, and the road was waiting.

"Damn, woman," I muttered, tipping my hat low as I pulled out.

"Always did know how to make me chase her."

The place was packed with locals, shoulder to shoulder with out-of-towners, all crammed against the fence line like they were waiting for the rapture. Dust kicked up from boots and tires alike. The air smelled like exhaust, fry grease, and adrenaline.

I parked my truck out past the last row of pickups and walked in slowly, keeping to the back of the crowd. Didn't need to be seen. Didn't want to explain myself.

I found a spot near the end of the bleachers and leaned against the top rail. One hand curled over the fence post, the other curled around the thought I should've stayed home.

Engines screamed down the straightaway, one after the next, all noise and muscle and smoke. A few decent drivers. Some just loud for the hell of it.

But none of that mattered.

Because then she stepped onto the track.

Tessa.

Helmet under one arm, swagger in her hips, like she hadn't missed a day. Her car— Reckless —waited at the line, low and mean, built for speed and trouble. Its sleek curves caught the light like polished steel, sharp and unapologetic. Just like its driver.

She slid into the seat and pulled the harness tight. Ponytail flicked once behind her, like it knew it was being watched.

God help me; she looked better than she had any right to.

I clenched my jaw and looked away for half a second—just enough to pretend I wasn't affected. Didn't work.

Crowd went quiet. Lights dropped. Engine rumbled like a storm on a leash.

I didn't breathe until she launched.

I'd just started breathing again when I heard the sound that always meant trouble—boots with a purpose and a grin behind them.

"Must be fate," Rhett drawled from behind me, voice already full of mischief. "Lady Luck’s still got her claws in you, huh? But I didn't take you for a stalker, brother."

I didn’t answer. Because maybe she did. Maybe she never let go.

I didn't even look at Rhett. Just let my eyes track Reckless as Tessa slowed at the far end of the track. Tessa had won again—no surprise. The other car hadn't even come close. The crowd cheered like they hadn't known the outcome before it started.

"Ain't stalking if I'm standing still," I muttered.

Rhett Callahan came to lean on the fence beside me, arms folded like he had all the time in the world.

He smelled like soap, cologne, and the kind of trouble that smiled too wide.

His pearl-snap shirt was crisp, his jeans tighter than mine had ever dared to be, and he wore a pair of sunglasses like he'd just walked off a goddamn billboard.

We'd been friends long before we'd bought that lottery ticket. Before the Powerball hit and changed everything. Now we were millionaires with too much land and not enough sense—and Rhett? He was enjoying every second of it.

I didn't turn to him. Didn't need to.

"I mean," he went on, drawl thick and lazy, "you drove all the way into town, parked where no one could see your truck, and posted up at the edge of the stands like a man who didn't want to be seen—but here you are."

"Spit it out, Rhett."

He laughed, low and knowing, and clapped me on the back. Hard. "You came all this way just to watch her eat asphalt?"

"She didn’t lose the race,” I said, eyes still fixed on the track.

"Maybe not on the track." His voice dropped just enough to sting.

I turned my head then. Slowly. Let my gaze cut sideways until it landed on his smug-ass expression.

His smirk faltered just a tick.

Good.

I went back to watching her. Tessa had pulled into the pit area now, popping out of Reckless like she hadn't just made the entire grandstand hold its breath.

She was all lean lines and confidence, dragging the zipper down on her fire suit like she didn't care who was watching.

But I knew better. Tessa never did a thing without intention.

That zipper was for someone. The question was, who?

"You know," Rhett said casually, "I always liked her. Hell of a driver. Too bad she had to break your?—"

"Don't."

He held up both hands like I'd just pulled a gun. "Alright, alright. You don't wanna talk about it. Got it."

I rubbed my thumb along the edge of the fence post. The wood was old, sun-bleached, and cracking from years of exposure to the sun and wind, just like the place. Just like me.

It wasn't that I didn't want to talk about her.

It was that I didn't know how to talk about her without tasting bile in the back of my throat.

Tessa looked right at me.

Or at least I thought she did.

Hard to tell with the lights and the noise and the smoke curling in the air like ghosts. But for one hot second, I swear Tessa's eyes locked with mine across the crowd, dead-on, sharp and cutting, like they used to be when she was about to tell me exactly what she thought, no filter, no sugar.

Then she turned.

Fast. Too fast.

Like I wasn't even there.

She headed toward the edge of the pit, hips swaying with purpose, helmet swinging in one hand. Her fire suit hung half-open now, exposing a black tank top stretched over those curves that still haunted me in the middle of the night.

Yet, it wasn’t the way she walked or the way the crowd parted for her that caught me—it was something else. Something in her face. Like she'd seen things since me. Lived through 'em. Lost something, maybe. But Tessa Walker didn’t wear grief out in the open. She buried it deep, same as I did.

She didn't wave. Didn't nod. Didn't stop.

Just kept walking.

As if I were a groupie in the bleachers, not the man who used to know her better than anyone.

I let out a slow breath that felt like it rattled right down to my boots. That look—or the lack of it—cut deeper than a clean break. It felt personal, even if it wasn't.

Hell, maybe that made it worse.

Rhett gave a low whistle beside me, his voice pitched with something between amusement and pity. "Well damn, son. That was colder than a dead snake in snow."

I didn't bother answering him. What was there to say?

He shifted his weight, folding his arms again, but he didn't press. That was the thing about Rhett—he could be an arrogant jackass, but when it counted, he knew when to shut his damn mouth.

The roar of the next heat echoed down the track, but I didn't care who was racing now.

The crowd surged with fresh energy, but my gaze stayed fixed on that silver trailer at the edge of the pit—hers.

Tessa's sanctuary. Her fortress. The place where she'd slam the door, lock the world out, and pretend none of this ever touched her.

I'd known she'd be here. I'd stared at that damn flyer until the ink bled into my memory. But I hadn't been prepared for what it would feel like to see her again.

Not like this. Not looking through me like I wasn't even dust on her boots.

I ran a hand over my jaw. Thought about the way she used to tease me about my beard. How her fingers would scrape over my jaw before she pulled me in.

That was a long time ago. A different man. A different life.

I kicked at a patch of dirt by the fence post and watched the dust scatter into the air like it had somewhere better to be.

"Tessa," I muttered under my breath. "Still knows how to knock the breath outta me without sayin' a word."

My hat sat low on my brow, but I tipped it down tighter like it might shield me from the truth that was gnawing in my gut.

I'd told myself I wasn't coming here for her.

But the truth was—it wasn't just the race that had pulled me here.

It was her. Always had been. And maybe some part of the universe had brought her back to test what was left of me.