Page 4 of Ride Me Reckless (Millionaire Cowboys of Lucky Ranch #1)

Chapter Four

Reckless Hearts

Tessa

T he barn smelled like wet hay, and the storm hadn't let up.

Rain still tapped steadily against the tin roof overhead, and our boots squished across the slick concrete floor.

My jeans clung to my legs, soaked clear through, and my tank top was plastered to my back.

Biscuit dripped water in thick streams, her sides still heaving from the run.

She stood patiently while I unsaddled her and ran the curry comb over her slick coat, steam rising faintly from her skin.

My fingers lingered longer than they needed to, circling behind her withers, smoothing down her flank.

Every motion felt like a memory. I didn't know if I was grounding her or myself.

Colt moved in quiet rhythm beside me, tying off Windstorm in the cross-ties without a word.

His shirt clung to every hard line of his chest, collar gaping slightly, hair wet and curling at the ends.

He didn't seem to notice the cold or the wet.

Just watched me from the side with a calm that always used to drive me crazy.

I broke the silence first.

"I leave tomorrow."

He didn't flinch, but something flickered behind his eyes. "Dayton, right?"

"Yeah. Race weekend." I focused on Biscuit's mane, untangling a knot that didn't really matter. "I've got sponsors to meet. Qualifiers."

"You sound thrilled."

I huffed a breath. "It's the job."

He nodded slowly, his voice low and steady. "You don't have to pretend it's easy to go."

My hand stilled against Biscuit's neck. "Nothing about this is easy," I said, quieter now. "Not you. Not this place. Not staying. Not leaving."

His eyes found mine. That old, quiet way of looking that made you feel seen and exposed all at once.

"Then maybe we don't overthink it," he said. "Just tonight. No promises. No expectations."

I wanted to say no. To keep my boots planted in the life I'd built far away from here.

Instead, I looked at him—really looked—and saw the boy who used to unload my horse at rodeos, who once fell asleep in the bed of my truck under a sky full of fireworks.

"Then let's not waste it," I said.

And I knew, right then, that nothing about tonight would feel small.

The rain hadn't let up. The sound filled the barn with a hush that made everything feel slower. Closer.

Colt opened the tack room door and stepped aside so I could enter first. The space was warm, dimly lit by a single bulb overhead, the walls lined with worn bridles and saddle pads that still smelled of cedar and horse sweat.

The floor was scattered with hay, uneven and soft beneath our boots. Familiar. Intimate. Too intimate.

I turned to say something—maybe to break the tension or delay it just a moment longer—but the words never came. My eyes met his, and it was like all that time we'd been apart collapsed in on itself.

I reached for him.

The kiss was soft at first. A slow press of lips that tasted like rain and five years of silence.

But it deepened fast. Colt's hands found my hips, then slid up my back like he couldn't quite believe I was real.

My fingers fisted in the damp fabric of his shirt.

I couldn't get close enough, not fast enough.

When he pulled back just slightly, his breath fanned across my lips. "Are you sure?"

I nodded. "Don't make me ask twice."

He smiled like he'd waited a long time to hear that.

Then he was pulling the saddle blankets from a low shelf, laying them out in layers on the hay-covered floor.

The scent of leather and dust curled up around us, grounding me and undoing me all at once.

I shivered—not from the cold, but from the feel of his hands finding the hem of my shirt and slowly tugging it upward.

He peeled the soaked fabric from me like he was unwrapping something fragile. His knuckles skimmed my ribs, reverent and warm. I couldn't look away from his face—how focused he was like every second mattered.

His voice was rough. "You still smell like clover and gasoline."

"And you still look at me like I'm the only damn thing that makes sense," I whispered.

We undressed each other in near silence, broken only by the soft scrape of denim and the shift of hay beneath our knees.

Colt's jeans hit the floor, and mine followed, tangled with boots and urgency.

His body hovered over mine, all heat and hard muscle, but there was nothing rushed about the way he touched me.

It was memory.

It was hunger.

It was home.

I pulled him down with a hand behind his neck, and our mouths found each other again, wetter this time, messier. The kind of kiss that left me aching even before it was over.

The saddle blankets cushioned my back, scratchy and familiar. His hands moved with purpose—calloused palms grazing my thighs, the dip of my waist, the swell of my breast like they'd never forgotten their path. I gasped his name, and it came out half-broken.

He froze, just for a breath. His eyes locked on mine like he was checking one last time.

So I said it again. Stronger.

"Colt."

That was all it took.

He sank into me with a groan so deep it rattled something loose inside me.

I arched into him, my nails pressing into his shoulders.

The tack room closed in around us—warm, close, alive.

Rain drummed on the roof. Hay scratched our skin.

And every thrust reminded me of what it had been like to belong to someone without ever saying the words.

He whispered my name like a secret between kisses. His body moved with mine like no time had passed at all.

Then, a nudge at the door.

A soft snort. A curious muzzle poking through the gap.

We both froze.

Windstorm—or maybe Biscuit—let out a breathy huff, nostrils flaring as she blinked into the room like she was personally offended.

We broke into laughter, breathless and wild.

Colt pressed his forehead to mine, still moving inside me, a grin curving his lips. "Think she wants in on the action."

"Tell her to get in line," I gasped, pulling him back down.

We kept going, chasing the rhythm that pulsed through us, drowning out everything else until the ache in my chest mirrored the electric high curling in my belly.

I came apart beneath him, clinging to his name as if it were the only truth left in a world gone hazy.

"God, Cowboy. I've missed you…"

Colt shivered. "Get it, Tess, get it with me."

His breath hitched as he filled me, a rush of heat surging through our intimate bond. I shattered alongside him—intense, electric, and utterly consuming—my body clenching around his in perfect harmony.

The tension that had coiled between us exploded in an exhilarating climax, leaving us both gasping for breath, our bodies spent and quivering from the aftershocks. I could feel the rapid thump of his heart against my skin, a primal rhythm that echoed the waves still coursing through me.

Afterward, we lay entwined on the damp blankets, our skin glistening with more than just rain. His arm draped possessively across my waist as he held me tight.

I gazed at the ceiling above us, lost in a haze of blissful thoughts while the storm outside began to settle. The raindrops danced against the window like a soft lullaby, each patter punctuated by distant rumbles of thunder that seemed to echo our shared satisfaction.

Colt shifted, brushing a kiss along my shoulder. "We were careful, right?"

I tilted my head toward him, lips curving.

"You remember us ever being careful?"

He huffed a soft laugh.

Then I added, quieter now, "I'm not taking anything. Guess I'm still a little wild and crazy."

His smile faded just enough for me to see something flicker—concern, maybe. Or something deeper.

But he didn't speak. He just kissed my forehead and splayed his finger over my belly possessively.

The ride back to my mom's house was quiet.

Not the kind of silence that begged to be broken, but the kind that settled in deep, like rain-soaked earth. The cab smelled like wet leather, hay, and something warmer. Him. Us. The echo of a moment I couldn't take back and wasn't sure I wanted to.

I stared out the window, watching the mist rising off the pavement as Colt's truck rolled slowly down the familiar road. My jeans were still damp in places, my hair curling from the storm. The seatbelt pressed against my chest, and I was hyper-aware of how close his hand was to mine on the console.

This was supposed to be closure.

One last night, one last kiss, one last time to tangle the sheets and untangle the ache.

So why did it feel like a beginning?

His fingers tapped the steering wheel—slow, steady, like a heartbeat. I didn't look at him. Couldn't. If I did, I might say something stupid like stay or don't let me leave again .

We turned onto Oak Hollow, and my breath caught when the trailer came into view—flame-painted and still bold as ever, parked like a question I didn't have an answer for.

Colt eased the truck to a stop out front. He didn't kill the engine.

For a second, neither of us moved.

Then he shifted into Park and reached for the handle. "I'll walk you up."

I almost told him not to bother.

But I didn't.

The air was cooler now, rain-washed and thick with June. Our boots fell, muffled against the grass as we made our way to Mom's front porch. The sagging step groaned beneath our weight, just like always, just like nothing had changed.

Except everything had.

I turned to face him, arms crossed tight, trying not to shiver. Colt stood a little too close, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders wet and glinting under the porch light.

He didn't try to touch me. Didn't lean in.

Just looked at me like I was something he didn't want to scare off.

"Goodnight, Tess," he said, his voice low. Solid. Like his hand on my back used to feel.

Something in my chest cracked open.

I swallowed. "Goodnight, Cowboy."

And for a heartbeat, my nickname on his lips and his on mine felt heavier than anything we'd done in the tack room.

Like maybe the past wasn't done with us yet.

He hesitated on the bottom step, then looked back at me in that slow, steady way he always did when he was trying not to push too hard.

"The Lovelace rodeo's in a few weeks," he said. "Figured you might wanna know. Pretty sure your mom wouldn't mind seein' you again before then."

I nodded, throat tight. "We'll see."

The screen door creaked as I slipped inside, careful not to let it slam. The house was quiet but not empty. Mom's bedroom light was off, and the door cracked just enough to hear her old fan clicking rhythmically through the silence.

The place smelled like cedar, and something simmered low on the stove earlier—maybe beans or leftover chili. The floors moaned under my boots like they remembered me. Like they wanted to whisper, Still running, huh?

I didn't bother turning on the lights.

Callie stood at the kitchen counter, digging through her purse with one hand and twisting her damp braid over her shoulder with the other.

She wore tight jeans, boots, and a fitted tank under an oversized flannel—casual, but definitely not staying in.

A hint of perfume floated in the air, floral with something sharper underneath.

"Keys, wallet, phone… where the hell—ah," she muttered, fishing out a tube of lip gloss and swiping it on in the reflection of the microwave door.

She looked over her shoulder as I stepped through the kitchen door, soaked, blushing, trying not to look like I’d just fallen off the edge of something I swore I wouldn’t climb again.

One glance. That was all it took.

Her eyes dragged over me—windblown hair, shirt clinging in all the wrong places, jeans still wet and flecked with hay. She arched a brow, then smirked like she’d seen it all coming.

“Well, well,” she said, slipping her gloss back into her bag. “Bathroom’s open. You look like you got caught in a storm and liked it.”

I shot her a glare as I passed. “Shut up.”

She just laughed, pulling on a denim jacket and heading for the door. “I’m meeting the girls at Ropers. Don’t wait up.”

The screen door creaked and slammed behind her, leaving only the faint scent of her perfume and the flickering candle still burning on the kitchen table.

In the bathroom, I locked the door and leaned on the sink.

There I was.

Rain-drenched. Skin flushed. Mouth still tingling from Colt’s kiss. His scent clung to me—warm leather, woodsmoke, the kind of heat that didn’t wash off easy.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

It was supposed to be a detour. A goodbye, not a return.

But my reflection didn’t look like someone ready to leave. It looked like a woman holding a thousand what-ifs in her chest and not nearly enough breath to carry them.

I pressed a washcloth to my face.

Breathe.

Don’t cry. Don’t smile.

Just breathe.

Tomorrow, I’d leave again.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.