Page 10 of Ride Me Reckless (Millionaire Cowboys of Lucky Ranch #1)

Chapter Ten

The Turnaround

Tessa

I hugged Callie for working so hard to close this deal. Then we watched as the ink dried on the signature line, but the weight of what we’d just done settled a lot slower.

"There," I said, capping the pen and sliding the contract across the makeshift desk inside Hale Performance's trailer. "Signed, sealed, and officially too legit to quit."

Callie whooped behind me. "And broke no more, baby!"

Someone reached into the tiny fridge beneath the trailer counter and pulled out a dusty bottle of cheap champagne. The kind we used to joke about drinking when we finally "made it."

We both burst out laughing.

Callie poured some into the uneven paper cups and handed one to me. The bubbles frothed over the rim like they were trying too hard.

“I hope you guys pay on time,” I said, holding mine up to the Hale crew.

“You can count on us,” someone added, faux champagne cups held high.

The champagne was warm and tasted faintly of tires and metal, but I didn't care. For the first time in forever, we weren't running on fumes.

Hale Performance's deal wasn't huge by national standards, but it was enough to see us through the season. Enough to upgrade the trailer. Add parts we'd been duct-taping together for months. Enough to stop panicking every time we hit a gas station.

Enough to breathe.

We stepped outside into the late afternoon light. The track behind us shimmered with heatwaves and celebration, other racers toasting victories or plotting their next moves. But none of them had clawed their way here quite like we had.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Callie asked.

"That we might not have to siphon gas out of a lawn mower next week?"

She grinned. "That, and… we made it, Tess."

I nodded, but my smile faded quickly.

Because even in this high—this rare, golden win—my mind tugged at the loose thread I'd left back in Lovelace.

Mom.

"I need to call someone this week," I said quietly, running my thumb around the rim of my cup.

Callie didn't need to ask who.

"We've got room in the budget now," she said, sobering a little. "We can hire someone for your mom. Full-time care. Someone local."

I exhaled slowly, the idea as foreign as it was overdue. "Yeah. It's time."

A beat passed before Callie nudged me with her elbow, her voice softer. "Remember how she used to pick us up from cheer practice in that big old Bonneville? Always blasting Shania Twain like we were headed to a honky-tonk instead of a nail salon."

I laughed, the sound catching a little. "She'd march us into The Gloss Barn and tell 'em to give us 'something fierce.' Even when we were twelve."

"She made us feel like queens," Callie said, her smile turning wistful. "First time you mentioned Colt, she looked over her sunglasses and said, 'Watch out for that one. Quiet boys will wreck you if you're not careful.'"

"She wasn't wrong," I murmured.

"Nope." She looked at me. "But she was right about something else, too—you were born to run fast and burn bright. She knew it. So did I."

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. No more excuses. No more pretending phone calls were enough.

Callie looped her arm through mine as we turned to head back toward our trailer.

The track buzzed behind us. The future stretched wide and paved with possibility.

And for just a second, I let myself believe I could outrun the past.

Soon, the sun was dipping over the raceway, casting shadows across the trailers and asphalt. Everything had a hazy gold tint, like the end of a good movie. Callie and I walked side by side lost in thought.

The champagne still buzzed in my blood, or maybe that was adrenaline. We were quiet for several minutes, letting the noise of the track fall behind us, just the soft creak of metal cooling and the occasional shout from the pit crews in the distance.

Then Callie said it—soft, casual, but deadly.

"What about Colt?"

My heart thrummed in my chest, but I kept my pace even.

"What about him?" I said, tossing the words out like I didn't care. Like they didn't land heavy between my ribs.

Callie didn't take the bait. She just raised an eyebrow, lips quirking in that way she had when she knew she was pushing a bruise.

"You tell me," she said.

I blew out a breath. "I don't know. We don't talk."

"You sent him a message after the race."

"That was just…" I trailed off, shrugging. "I don't know. Habit. He used to be there for stuff like this."

Used to be.

That phrase hit harder than I meant it to.

Callie didn't say anything for a beat, then stopped walking. "Be honest. Before Hale called—before the check—was going home your backup plan?"

I hesitated. Then nodded, just once.

"Yeah."

"And now?"

"Now I've got options," I said. "We've got options. This changes everything."

But even as I said it, the words tasted strange in my mouth. I had fought so hard for this win. For a chance to write my own damn ending. And yet… a piece of me still looked back.

"You think you can move on without ever knowing?" Callie asked gently. "Without ever finding out what's still there—or what's not?"

I hated how much that question got under my skin. I shook my head, half-laughing. "He's Colt. He'll always be there. That's who he is."

But the second the words left my mouth, I knew I didn't believe them anymore.

People changed. People left. Even the ones who swore they never would.

We started walking again. The Hale trailer faded behind us. The sun was almost gone now, just a burnished edge along the horizon.

I pulled my phone from my back pocket, thumb already swiping up.

"I told Mama I'd call her tonight," I said, more to myself than to Callie.

She just gave me a small smile. "You always do."

Callie unlocked the trailer door, balancing a box of leftover energy drinks on one hip. "She's probably sittin' out back with a glass of sweet tea, watchin' the sun do its thing."

"Yeah." I hit her contact and brought the phone to my ear, listening to the rings echo in the quiet.

No answer.

Not even a voicemail this time.

I frowned but didn't panic. "She probably left the phone inside again."

Callie ducked into the trailer. "Told you. Porch swing and sunset. She'll call when she finds it."

I stayed outside a second longer, phone still in hand, thumb hovering over the screen. The quiet was heavier now. The afterglow of the champagne toast had worn off, and something cold had crept into its place.

Then my phone lit up again.

Colt.

My heart fluttered.

He never called. Texted, sure—once or twice. But a phone call?

I answered before the second ring.

"Colt?" I said, breath hitching.

Only it wasn't his voice.

"Hi, is this Tessa Walker?" a woman asked, professional and calm. Too calm.

"Yes," I said slowly. "Who is this?"

"This is Nurse Davidson from Lovelace Regional Hospital. I'm calling on behalf of Colt Bennett."

Everything inside me went still.

The nurse kept talking, her voice like static in my ears.

"There was a house fire at your mother's residence earlier this evening. Colt found her inside and brought her to the hospital. She's stable now, resting. But Colt… he injured his back carrying her out."

My knees buckled. I dropped onto the bottom trailer step.

"He insisted we call you," the nurse added. "Refused any treatment until we got you on the line."

"What—how bad is it?" I whispered.

"He's in the ER now. They're evaluating him for a slipped disc or worse. He's in pain, but he's conscious. Very concerned about your mother. And you."

I nodded even though she couldn't see me. "Can I… talk to him?"

"We're about to take him for imaging. The doctor can speak with you in a few minutes if you'd like to stay on the line."

"No… that's okay. Just—tell him I'm coming."

I ended the call and just sat there, staring at nothing.

Callie appeared in the doorway. "Tess?"

I looked up.

She took one look at my face and put the box down. "What happened?"

"There was a fire," I said, voice brittle. "At Mama's. Colt got her out, but he hurt himself. He's at the hospital."

Callie's eyes widened. "Is she okay?"

"She's stable. He's… not great."

I stood, legs shaky but locked in purpose now.

"We're going back."

Callie didn't argue. She just grabbed her keys, and we hitched the trailer to the truck. Then, I climbed into the passenger seat without looking back—until the engine fired and the rearview mirror caught one last glimpse of the racetrack behind us.

All the noise, the speed, the thrill of the win—it felt far away now.

I turned to Callie and picked up my phone. "I'm calling Hale Performance and telling them I'm cancelling the contract."

The season could wait.

Some races weren't meant to be run alone.