Page 3 of Ride Me Reckless (Millionaire Cowboys of Lucky Ranch #1)

Chapter Three

Dust and Distance

A Few Days Later

Colt

I didn't mean to take the long way home. Not really.

But my truck had a mind of its own when I hit the bend past the feed store, and before I knew it, I was easing down Oak Hollow Road—slow, like a man with time to kill.

Like a fool with a ghost to chase.

Delia Walker, Tessa's mother's place, tucked behind a row of old cedars that had been leaning sideways since I was a kid. The porch sagged, the paint peeled in strips, but the place had heart. Always had, like its owner.

Parked right there in the side yard, bold as a thunderclap, was that flame-painted trailer.

Her trailer.

I let off the gas, coasting slowly, my heartbeat loud enough to drown out the hum of the tires.

Tessa hadn't left.

Hell, I'd figured she'd blow through town like always—leave some tire marks, light a few fires, and disappear. That was her way. Always had been. But Reckless —the car, not the bull—was still here. So was she.

I gripped the wheel tighter, thinking back on the last five years. I'd taken this detour more times than I cared to admit, always looking. Never seeing her. I told myself it was a habit. Muscle memory. A shortcut that wasn't. But the truth was, I wanted to catch her.

Just once.

And here she was.

I pulled over half a block past the house. Sat in Park with the engine idling, thumb tapping against the steering wheel. Could've kept driving. Should've. But my hand reached for my phone before I could stop it.

Delia's landline was still saved in my contacts, under Mrs. W. from back when I was too green to call her by her first name. I hadn't dialed it in years.

My finger hovered. Then pressed.

It rang twice.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end wasn't Delia's. It was sharper, younger, more tired.

My chest cinched tight. "Tessa?"

A pause.

"Colt?"

Her name in my mouth felt too big, too sudden. Her voice in my ear made everything else—sunlight, air, reason—fall away.

"Yeah," I said. "It's me."

Another pause. Then, cautious curiosity, cool and clipped. "Something wrong?"

"No. I was just... drivin' by. Saw your trailer."

I didn't add for the hundredth time . Didn't say hoping to catch you here . Just kept it neutral.

She didn't speak right away. I could almost hear her thinking, calculating.

"You're still in town?" I asked.

"Few more days," she said carefully.

"You free this afternoon?"

Silence again. Not uncomfortable, just heavy. Weighted with the past. With everything we'd never said.

"Depends," she answered.

I half-smiled. That was her. Always dangling the line just out of reach.

"I was thinkin' maybe we could go for a horseback ride. Catch up."

Another pause. I could hear a dog barking faintly in the background, maybe a neighbor's, maybe Delia's. I pictured her in the kitchen, barefoot, hair twisted up, arms crossed like a woman already regretting this call.

Then: "Yeah. Okay."

I straightened in my seat. "Yeah?"

"Sure. Where should I meet you?"

"I'll pick you up. Twenty minutes?"

"Make it thirty."

The line clicked before I could say another word.

I stared at the screen a moment longer. Let the silence settle before tossing the phone in the cupholder and putting the truck in gear.

She hadn't said no .

And after five damn years of watching the road behind me, that was enough to feel like a win.

Tessa climbed into the passenger seat like she’d done it a thousand times before.

Like no years had passed. Like no hearts had been broken.

She wore a simple black tank and a pair of worn jeans that fit like they’d been made for her—dusted with road grit and confidence. Her boots were scuffed, the kind of scuffed that said she actually used them, not just wore them for show.

She looked good.

Too damn good.

She buckled her seatbelt and glanced over at me.

“What?” she asked, catching me staring.

I cleared my throat, shifting in my seat. “Nothin’. Just... wasn’t sure you’d say yes.”

She gave a half smile and looked out the window. “Me neither.”

And just like that, we pulled away from the curb, the past riding quiet between us.

She glanced around the cab—black leather seats, touchscreen console, that new-truck smell still clinging to everything like pride—and I caught the way her brow lifted just a tick.

"Fancy," she said, buckling her seatbelt. "This yours?"

I tapped the wheel. "Sure is."

She didn't say anything for a second. Just looked straight ahead as I pulled away from the curb. Her profile was the same—sharp jaw, lashes too long, a mouth that always looked like it was about to say something sassy.

"Does it come with a butler?" she asked lightly, voice teasing.

"Nope. Still make my own coffee."

"Huh. And here I thought you were just a simple cowboy."

I didn't bite. Just let the road unroll in front of us while I tried not to grip the wheel like it had wronged me.

About a mile down, I cleared my throat. "There's somethin' you oughta know."

That got her attention. She angled toward me slightly, the seatbelt creaking with the shift.

"Okay…"

I adjusted my grip. "Me, Rhett, Easton, and Sawyer—we hit the Powerball."

She blinked. "Like… The Powerball?"

I nodded once.

She leaned back in the seat. "Damn."

"That about sums it up."

A pause. Then her lips quirked. "Guess I missed the luck train by about five years, huh?"

I smirked, but my eyes stayed on the road. "You always said I'd be boring forever."

She chuckled under her breath. "Still might be. Depends on what you've done with it."

"Built Lucky Ranch."

That earned a full turn of her head. "Wait—you built it?"

"Yep. All four of us. Bought the land together and carved it up. Each of us has a house, barns, equipment, enough acreage to breathe without hearin' your neighbor sneeze."

Her brow rose. "That's… not nothing."

"No, it's not." I glanced over at her. "Last time you saw me, I was livin' in a tin can with a busted grill and a lawn full of regrets."

"Don't forget the crooked fence."

I laughed. "Never could get that thing straight."

She was smiling now, but there was something behind it. A flicker. Like she was trying to decide if I'd really changed, or if this was just a new coat of paint on the same worn-out wood.

"Well," she said, folding her hands in her lap, "guess you leveled up."

"Didn't do it to impress anyone."

"Didn't say you did."

The silence that settled between us wasn't awkward. It was loaded . Like both of us were remembering who we used to be—and trying to make sense of who we were now.

I slowed as we hit the turnoff. "You wanna come see it?" I asked casually. "The new place."

She didn't answer right away. Just stared out the window as we drove through the open gate.

"Biscuit's there," I added.

That did it. Her head turned, eyes locking on mine.

"She's really okay?"

"Still kicks the stall door if I don't feed her fast enough."

Her lips parted, and for a second, I saw something crack in her. Not weakness— care . Real, bone-deep care.

"Yeah," she said softly. "I'd like to see her."

I nodded, easing the truck up the asphalt drive, heart thudding harder than it had any right to.

And just like that, she was coming home with me.

The front gate of Lucky Ranch creaked open as I keyed in the code. Tessa went quiet.

I didn't blame her. My new place looked nothing like my old overgrown yard and beat-up trailer.

Cedar split-rail fences lined the drive. The barn was steel-roofed, wide-doored, with fresh paint and a new weathervane catching the breeze. The house behind it was clean-cut, modern rustic with a wide porch and enough windows to drink in the view.

Tessa leaned against the door, eyes scanning everything. "This yours?"

I nodded. "Mine and the boys'. We each got a spread. But this one's where I set roots."

She gave a low whistle. "Damn, Colt. I remember when your porch was two stacked cinder blocks, a rickety swing, and your fence leaned like it had arthritis."

"Yeah, well… Powerball has a way of firming things up."

She gave me a side glance, half amused. "You don't say."

I parked near the barn. Just as I cut the engine, Biscuit trotted up from the pasture. Tessa froze.

The mare looked good—clean coat, sturdy build, that same easy sway in her gait.

She got out slowly and walked toward Biscuit like she was afraid to spook her. But the second the mare recognized her, she whinnied and stretched her neck out, nudging into Tessa's hands like she'd never left.

"Hey, baby girl," Tessa whispered, burying her face in the mare's mane. "Still sweet as ever."

I brought over a curry brush and handed it to her without a word. She took it and began brushing Biscuit in long, smooth strokes, murmuring softly like she used to.

"She never forgot you," I said.

Tessa paused, blinked fast, then kept brushing. "I didn't forget her either."

After a while, I motioned toward the barn door. "Come on. I'll show you the rest."

She followed me inside, her boots echoing on the concrete. I opened the tack room door, and she stepped in, fingers drifting across the clean saddle pads, bridles, and gear neatly hung on pegs.

"Smells the same," she said. "Leather and cedar."

"Still me underneath all the polish."

She smiled faintly, brushing her hand along a folded blanket. "You always liked horses better than people."

"Horses don't pretend," I said. "Don't twist things up."

Her gaze met mine. "Neither did I."

I swallowed that down.

"I've been training a new gelding—Windstorm," I added, needing to shift the air. "Local girl's got big plans. Kid's got potential."

Tessa nodded. "You still helping others chase dreams?"

"Gotta do something with all the money, right?"

She looked around once more, then back out toward Biscuit in the pasture.

"Nice barn," she said. "Feels like…you, but grown up."

"Million-dollar dirt still smells the same."

That got her to laugh, the sound cutting through something I didn't know I'd been holding onto.

For the first time in years, the silence between us didn't ache so bad.

I didn't plan on showing her the loft.

But when she lingered in the tack room, hand trailing over a bridle like she was brushing time itself, something tugged at me. Something old and worn but still stubborn as hell.

"Come on," I said. "There's something else."

She followed me up the narrow wooden stairs to the loft, boots creaking on each step. The afternoon sun slanted through the barn's upper vents, catching dust in the air like flecks of gold.

I crossed to the far corner and pulled back a faded tarp.

There it was. Same battered trunk I'd carried through two moves, a busted shoulder, and one long stretch of forgetting how to breathe without her.

I popped the lid.

Inside: rolled-up rodeo posters with her name splashed across the top in bold lettering.

A few old programs with her photo, mid-turn, reins tight in her fist, and fire in her eyes.

One newspaper headline—Montana State Finals, 2014.

And near the bottom, half-buried in a flannel shirt, a cracked photo frame.

Us at nineteen. Young, wild, and stupid enough to think forever was simple.

Tessa didn't say a word. Just knelt beside the trunk and picked up the photo, her thumb tracing the crack that split us clean down the middle.

"You kept all this?" she asked, her voice paper-thin.

I shrugged, crouching beside her. "Wasn't ready to forget."

She blinked fast but didn't look at me. Just stared into the past like it might tell her something she'd missed.

I stepped closer to the loft window, catching a glimpse of the winding road through the trees. "Why do you still have your trailer parked over at your mother's house? Thought you'd be long gone by now," I said quietly. "Didn't expect you to still be around."

Tessa's eyes were fixed on the photo in her hands without giving me an answer.

A beat passed before I asked, softer this time, "You never did say… why'd you name your dragster Reckless ?"

She stiffened. That flicker of armor I remembered so well slid back into place.

She didn't answer that question either.

Didn't have to.

I watched her jaw flex, her eyes drop back to the photo, then to the hay-scattered floor.

I didn't push. Never got me far with her.

After a long beat, I stood and offered her a hand.

"You want to ride?" I asked. "Biscuit still knows your rhythm."

Her gaze flicked up. She hesitated, then slid her hand into mine.

Outside, I saddled Biscuit with practiced ease while Tessa brushed a palm down the mare's side, her touch soft and reverent, like she was greeting an old friend she never meant to leave behind.

Windstorm shifted under my hands, lean and restless, eager to move.

He was all fire and flash, while Biscuit was calm and rooted.

We mounted up without a word, nudging the horses through the paddock gate and out into the wide-open stretch of Lucky Ranch.

The land unfurled in front of us, lush with spring, the hills still damp from last night’s rain. Birds darted from fence post to sky. The smell of fresh grass and turned earth hung thick in the air.

After a while, a low rumble rolled across the valley.

Tessa glanced toward the mountains. "Was that thunder?"

I squinted west. The clouds had gone dark at the edges, curling like smoke. "Looks like a storm's comin' in hot," I said, watching the clouds billow like a bad omen.

Tessa lifted her chin to the wind. "Storms always find me, one way or another." Then, she smirked. "You think we can outrun it?"

I waited a beat, then grinned. "Only one way to find out."

We kicked the horses into a lope, Windstorm leaping forward like a shot, Biscuit stretching into stride beside him. Wind peeled past us, whipping Tessa's ponytail behind her like a ribbon of fire.

We rode hard across the ridge, laughter chasing us down the hill. The first drop that hit my cheek was cold and clean. Then another. And another.

By the time we reached the barn, the sky had opened wide and wild, dumping rain in sheets. Tessa slid off Biscuit and hit the ground laughing, soaked clean through, water dripping from her lashes and the curve of her grin.

I swung down beside her, boots squishing in the mud.

"You look like a drowned rat," she said, breathless.

I stepped closer. "Yeah? You look like trouble."

Her laughter softened into something warmer—something that slid between us and curled tight in my chest.

And just like that, she was in my arms. Wet but still laughing. Her hands curled into my shirt like they belonged there.

The storm raged on above us.

But at that moment, all I could hear was the beat of her heart against mine.