Page 13 of Ride Me Reckless (Millionaire Cowboys of Lucky Ranch #1)

Chapter Thirteen

Stubborn as Ever

Colt

T he door creaked open just as I finished putting on the clean hospital gown the nurse had left me. Not that it made a damn difference—it was still a gown. Still open in the back, still undignified as hell.

“Mr. Bennett,” the doctor said as he stepped in with his computer tablet in hand. His expression was bland, like he’d just left a staff meeting that didn’t go his way.

I raised a brow. “Morning, Doc. You come bearing good news or more of the usual ‘don’t lift anything heavier than your attitude’ speech?”

That earned me a dry smile. “You’re healing well, actually. Vitals look good. Infection risk is low. Range of motion’s coming back quicker than expected, which is saying something given the nature of your surgery.”

I tilted my head like I was impressed. “So I’m a medical marvel?”

He didn’t take the bait. “You’ll need a few weeks in rehab—physical therapy, supervised mobility, pain management. You’re off IVs now, so they’ll likely transfer you soon. Maybe even tomorrow.”

There it was.

The official word. The system was making its plans.

I nodded slowly, playing the good patient. “Sounds reasonable.”

He glanced up at me, suspicious already. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

“Doc,” I said with all the innocence I could fake, “what do I even have left in me that qualifies as stupid?”

He didn’t laugh. He scribbled something down on his tablet and muttered, “I’ll check in later.” And with that, he walked out.

The second the door shut, I reached for my phone.

Rhett picked up on the second ring. “Tell me this ain’t what I think it is.”

“Come after dark,” I said. “I’ve got a mission.”

He groaned. “Colt?—”

“Bring jeans, boots, my shirt, and that old Stetson of mine. The one with the sweat stain under the band. I’m not wearing the same clothes I came in with.”

“You’re really doing this?”

“Damn right,” I said, shifting to ease the pressure in my back. “They want to ship me off to some sterile rehab with watered-down Jello and motivational posters. I’ve got all the rehab I need right at home.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Rhett sighed like a man who knew better but was too loyal to stop me. “Fine. But when this all goes sideways, I’m telling every nurse in that building you escaped on a stolen wheelchair.”

“Deal,” I said with a grin.

As I set the phone down, a familiar thrill crept through me.

I wasn’t running away from anything.

I was walking out—with my damn head held high.

And leaving my hospital gown behind like a flag on the battlefield.

Victory. Stubborn, reckless, and 100% me.

The hallway outside my room had the hush of a place that had already settled in for the night. Most of the nurses were probably doing charting or giving meds. I had about a twenty-minute window before they noticed I hadn’t asked for my nightly ice chips and muscle relaxer.

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 trying way too 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. The boots shrank.”

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.

“I am a 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.

As Rhett’s truck rumbled down the long back road, the sky was already purple at dusk. My legs ached in that deep, familiar way—like they were waking up after a long sleep—but I didn’t complain, not with the mountains in front of me and the hospital in the rearview mirror.

We crested a slight rise, and there it was.

Dalia’s house.

Or what was left of it.

Blackened beams. The crumpled shell of the roof. Ashes where a porch used to be. Even the mailbox had twisted like it couldn’t take the heat.

Rhett slowed the truck out of respect, but neither of us spoke at first.

Then I said it, low. “I offered Tessa my place. Told her all of ’em could move in. Just for a while.”

“And she said no?” Rhett asked, not surprised.

I nodded. “Didn’t say it to be mean. She’s just… not ready. And it’s all still new between us.”

Rhett scratched at the back of his neck, eyes still on the road. “You know what you oughta do?”

I waited.

He looked over at me. “The old double-wide. It’s still on your family’s property, right? Decent bones. Doesn’t need much.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Haven’t thought about that place much since we hit the Powerball and we bought Lucky Ranch.”

“Well, think about it now,” he said. “Barn is in good shape, too. You move Biscuit back there, and suddenly it ain’t just a busted-up trailer on some land—it’s home to Tessa.”

I turned to stare out the window again as we passed the last scorched debris.

“She wouldn’t take it for herself,” I said slowly.

“No,” Rhett agreed. “But she might take it for that horse and her mother.”

I laughed under my breath, because damn if that wasn’t the truth.

“She’s stubborn.”

“She’s a woman with pride,” Rhett said. “Same as you.”

We rode in silence another few seconds before I pulled my phone from my pocket and tapped in the number. Carlos answered on the second ring.

“Bennett,” he said, his voice familiar and half amused. “You back from the grave already?”

“Better,” I said. “I’m out early.”

“Lucky for the hospital.”

I grinned. “Listen, I’ve got a job for you.”

“Oh no. What did you do now?”

“I need the old double-wide cleaned out and fixed up. Check the plumbing. Replace what needs replacing. Clean up the barn, too. Move Biscuit over. She’s gonna need hay, feed, and her tack.”

There was a pause. “You movin’ in again?”

“No. Not me,” I said. “I need it livable by the end of the week.”

Carlos whistled low. “That a deadline or a death wish?”

“Deadline,” I said. “I’ve got a girl to win over.”

Another beat of silence, then Carlos chuckled. “I’m on it.”

I hung up just as Rhett pulled into my drive. Home.

I reached for the door handle, but paused, watching the light spill across the front porch like it was waiting for me.

Rhett looked over. “You sure about this?”

“Nope,” I said, pushing the door open and wincing as I swung my legs out. “But I ain’t lettin’ Tessa and her mom freeze in that tin can trailer through a Montana winter. And now, you can try to sweet-talk Callie into your bed.”

Rhett grinned. “T hat’s the Colt Bennett I know.”

I tipped my hat low and stepped out into the evening air. Victory tingled in every sore muscle.

For the first time since Tessa left, I felt like I had a purpose again.

And hopefully, a second chance worth fighting for.

My back was on fire when I reached the porch steps, but my pride was riding high.

The front door opened with a little more effort than I remembered—but damn, it felt good to be home. Not a hospital beep in sight. No scratchy sheets or nurses tapping at the door before sunrise.

Just the soft thud of my boots on hardwood and the scent of pine cleaner Millie must’ve used before she left yesterday.

I limped through the living room and dropped into my recliner like it owed me money.

Heaven.

Until my phone rang.

I groaned, fished it out of my pocket, and saw the hospital’s number glowing back at me. Of course.

“Colt Bennett,” I answered, already smirking.

The voice on the other end was brisk and female. “Mr. Bennett, this is Megan from the hospital. Just calling to inform you that you are, as of now, officially discharged.”

“Well, that’s good news,” I said, stretching my legs out a little farther.

There was a pause. “Dr. Benson is… not amused.”

I chuckled. “He’ll get over it.”

Another sigh. “He said, and I quote, ‘Tell him he’d better keep that stubborn hide out of trouble if he wants to avoid round three on my table.’”

I smiled. “Tell him I said thank you.”

She hung up without a goodbye, which, all things considered, was fair.

I laid the phone on my chest and stared at the ceiling for a beat, just letting the quiet wrap around me.

Then I picked it back up, thumb scrolling through my contacts until I landed on her name.

Tessa.

I didn’t call. Didn’t text.

Just tapped the last voice memo she’d sent, back when I was still in that stiff hospital bed pretending not to count the minutes between her visits.

“I’ll stop by tomorrow. Don’t do anything dumb, okay?”

Her voice was soft. Warm. Just a little teasing. But there was something behind it.

Something to look forward to.

I smiled, even as a fresh wave of pain tightened across my spine.

“I’m home,” I muttered to no one.

Outside the window, the horizon was dark and wide, and the stars were just beginning to scatter across the sky like loose hay. Somewhere past that barn, in a camper parked on borrowed time, the girl I’d once let go was deciding if she’d let me try again.

She said no once.

But I wasn’t done offering.