Page 15 of Rogue Cowboy (Montana’s Rodeo Cowboys #3)

“I did,” she whispered. “I was supposed to meet you, but I went to that industry party instead,” she confessed.

“I stood you up even though you were only in town one night because there was a producer I wanted to talk to, and I was with the band I’d been working with, and I drank a cocktail to try to calm down, be cool. ”

So that was what had happened. He hadn’t been surprised to be stood up. It had been a crap shoot. He’d known she was recording. Performing around town to create buzz.

“So it was my fault. If I’d met you that night—” She broke off, stifled a sob.

“You were chasing your dreams,” he said. Her so-called manager should have been there, protected her. Her bandmates, even with all the creative tension, should have protected her.

He drew on years of training to calm down, keep his voice, heart and face calm. “They took. They hurt you.”

They paid.

“Cole, I don’t… I’m sorry…I can’t…” She stopped. “You’re trying to be so noble, but you don’t have to be. You can be free. You deserve better. Just the thought of being with someone makes me so scared, and I can’t breathe.”

He tipped a finger under her chin.

“You don’t have to be with someone. You’re with me. Only me. You’re standing with me now,” he said, cupping her face soft as a breath, and his thumbs traced the sharp line of her cheekbones, soothing, savoring. “I’m touching you. We’re close. You’re safe. You’re breathing.”

She blinked, her face a mix of emotions. “But you deserve—”

“My decision what I deserve and want,” he reminded her. “My choice.”

She searched his eyes, and he hoped she saw what she needed—his strength, willingness to walk every painful mile and celebrate every wanted milestone together.

“And my choice what I want?” Her pointed chin jutted a little, and her eyes lit with a fire.

“That’s my girl.”

“I’m not yours.” She didn’t sound certain, but she wasn’t bolting again so he’d take the win.

“We have time. We don’t have to decide everything between us tonight.”

“You’re only here for the weekend,” she stated.

He was here until he got the job done, but if there was one thing Cole had learned early on it was when to keep his mouth shut and his plans to himself.

“I asked for the weekend,” he reminded her.

“And then what?”

“We’ll see where we are.”

“So you’re courting me this weekend and then…we’ll see?”

She sounded so skeptical he nearly laughed, but a sound caught his attention.

“What’s that?” Riley’s expression shifted to alarm, and he whirled to face the threat, but she was already standing in front of him arms wide, body crouched like she was going to spring.

That was a role reversal that dented his ego.

“Oh.” Her voice changed to a coo. “It’s the dog I think I saw earlier when I was riding. He was in the bushes. C’mere, sweetie. Are you hungry? Hey. No, not that, that’s my sock.”

Riley ran to the shore, splashing both herself and Cole in the process. When she reached the bank, she crouched and began softly talking to the dog, who had retreated to the bushes with a pink sock dangling from its mouth.

Cole followed, shaking the droplets from his skin.

“Are you hungry, sweet boy? You are a total rascal, sweetie. Is that your name—Rascal? Or Bond for James Bond sneaking around spying and stealing socks instead of secrets?” Riley plopped down in the grass and opened her takeout container with the dinner she hadn’t eaten.

“I have some chicken. Want to trade—chicken for a sock?”

She held out her hand with a juicy chunk of chicken temptingly close.

The dog looked like a mix breed—some border collie—tri-color, and the way he cocked his head and his tongue hung out to the side a little was endearing, but his direct gaze was assessing, and to Cole’s mind clearly plotting mischief.

The dog looked well-fed and confident, but Cole couldn’t see a collar, not too unusual in rural areas as collars could get caught up on fencing and shrubs, harming the animals or trapping them.

The dog dropped to his belly, inched toward Riley with the sock in his mouth, eyes on the prize.

But he was aware of Cole coming up from the riverbank.

“Don’t move,” Riley bossed. “You’ll spook him.”

Cole stopped, doubted the dog was afraid of much.

The dog dropped the sock, and reached for the chicken, and as Riley reached out to retrieve her sock, the dog swallowed the chicken, grabbed the sock and ran off into the bushes.

Rohan’s home. Everyone is weird but trying not to be. He’s changed. I want to be the sister he remembers.

It was the first time Riley had ever reached out to him first since their marriage. And he’d read the text obsessively. So few words to communicate so much. He had questions. None of them answered by text.

Change is natural.

Doesn’t always feel like.

You’re his sister. That’s what he needs.

His reply felt inadequate, and Cole wondered what his own sister would have been like had she lived. Would they have been close, or would they have drifted like he had with his cousins? Riley answered immediately, making him wonder if she had trouble sleeping, like he did. Probably how Rohan did.

Are you safe? Coming home soon?

He knew she meant Texas, but for a moment, he’d allowed himself to pretend that she meant home to her.

He’d sent money to the account he’d started for them, but she hadn’t touched it.

And he had two long years left, with what felt like no end in sight.

One mission blurring to the next and nothing ever fixed.

Just training followed by more training as if through physicality he and his team could become the superheroes the country said they needed and then discarded.

Feels like forever away.

You sound tired. Are you safe?

I am now.