Page 8 of September’s Bad Boy: Cooper (Bad Boys of Mustang Mountain #9)

COOPER

The smoke hits me before I even make it to the fence line. Thick, acrid, and rolling low across Shane’s pasture like a living thing. I pull the truck off the road and don’t bother with the keys. I’m already out the door, sprinting toward the blaze.

Shane called ten minutes ago, voice tight with panic. Said something sparked along the fence, and the wind is pushing it toward the barn. Grabbing the fire extinguishers from the gym, I shoved gloves and a bandana in my pockets and prayed I’d make it in time.

I hated to leave Riley alone in my bed, but as soon as she knew what was going on she said to go, and she’d call the girls to see what she could do to help. I only left once she promised to stay back and stay safe.

The fire isn’t raging yet, but the grass is dry as bone and the wind’s against us. A few of Shane’s ranch hands are already working to stamp out the outer edges, but the flames leap faster than they can beat them down.

"Coop!" Shane yells from the side of the barn as he's moving horses to safety, his face streaked with soot. "We’ve got animals trapped inside. A calf won’t move. She’s panicked."

Without any hesitation, I grab the closest extinguisher, sling a rag over my mouth, and run for the barn as more men show up. One call, and I know the entire town will be here to help, but we have to move fast.

The heat is brutal. Even though the smoke curls inside my nose and throat through the makeshift mask, I push forward. The interior is thick with haze, the orange glow licking along the rafters, and the terrified cries of animals pierce through the roar.

I spot the calf in the back stall, wide-eyed and frozen. Her leg’s caught in a bit of splintered wood, and she’s kicking wildly, frantically.

"Easy," I murmur, crouching low as I approach. "I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m getting you out."

She jerks as I reach for her, but I manage to slide the jagged wood free. My gloves protect me from most of the splinters, but I feel the heat gnaw through the sleeves of my shirt. I loop my arms around the calf’s body and lift with everything I’ve got.

The barn groans. A beam above creaks like it’s ready to give.

"Come on," I grit out. The calf kicks once but doesn’t fight me. Maybe she knows. Maybe she can feel it too. That we’re on borrowed time.

I stagger back toward the door, the weight in my arms a strain on muscles already burning. The smoke blinds me for a heartbeat, then clears to reveal the outline of the open door—and Riley.

She’s there, pale-faced, eyes wide, racing straight toward me.

"Cooper! Oh my God!"

"Get the gate!"

She moves without question, flinging it open as I stumble through. After shoving off the calf into a ranch hand’s arms, I spin back to the barn, scanning for anyone else inside. Before I can go in, Riley grabs my arm.

"Don’t," Riley says, "You can’t go back in. The roof’s about to collapse."

"Everyone else out?"

"Yes," she says. "You got the last one."

Only then do I let her pull me away from the flames.

The next hour is chaos. The fire department shows up and gets the worst of it under control. We dig fire lines and drag hoses and kick dirt, doing whatever it takes to stop the spread. I barely notice the burns on my forearms until the adrenaline fades.

Out by the fence, Jason works a shovel, digging a fire line. He doesn’t call out, doesn’t step closer, but watches me, keeping his distance. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t come close. Somehow his silent presence hits me harder than I expect.

When the fire is finally out, I head back to my house. I need a shower, and maybe to pretend like the last few hours didn’t almost take everything out of me. Riley follows without a word.

Inside, she grabs the first aid kit while I run cold water over my arms in the kitchen sink. The burns sting like hell now that the adrenaline’s gone, and I grit my teeth.

"Sit," she says gently, guiding me to a chair at the kitchen table. She kneels in front of me with a clean towel and a bottle of antiseptic.

"You’re hurt."

"Not bad."

She doesn’t argue. Just wets a cloth and starts wiping soot from my skin.

The cool water stings. I grunt but don’t pull away.

"You scared me," she whispers, voice trembling.

"I had to get her out."

Her hands pause. Then she presses her forehead to mine.

"You could have died."

"So could she."

Her breath hitches, and I realize she’s crying. Quietly, but the tears slide down her cheeks unchecked.

I reach up and cradle her face. "Hey. I’m here. I’m okay."

"You’re either insane, brave, reckless, or stupid."

"Probably all of the above."

She huffs a laugh, then leans in and kisses me softly.

She pushes my shirt from my shoulders, and I wince as the fabric drags over my burns. She murmurs a soft apology, kissing my shoulder where the skin is tender.

I pull her onto my lap, wrapping my arms around her. This time isn’t about hunger or heat. It’s about being seen. About choosing each other despite everything.

Her hands move slowly, unbuttoning her shirt, revealing the soft curves I’ve memorized in dreams. I kiss her neck, her collarbone, the hollow of her throat, reverent in every touch. When I slide my hands beneath the waistband of her jeans, she lifts her hips to help me, her breath catching.

"Cooper," she breathes against my ear, and the sound of my name on her lips sends heat straight through me.

I stand, lifting her with me, and she wraps her legs around my waist. The burns on my arms protest, but I don't care. Nothing matters except getting her to my bedroom and showing her what she means to me.

When I set her down gently beside the bed, for a moment we just look at each other.

Our clothes fall away piece by piece. The house is quiet except for our breaths, our whispers. The scent of smoke still clings faintly to my skin, but it’s her I breathe in.

When I lay her back against the sheets, she's beautiful in the dim light filtering through the curtains. Her hair spreads across my pillow like silk, and I trace the line of her jaw with trembling fingers.

"You're shaking," she whispers, catching my hand.

"The adrenaline," I lie, though we both know it's more than that. It's her. It's this moment that feels too big, too important to mess up.

I grab a condom and roll it on, then lowering myself to her, I sink into her as if we were made for this. She gasps when I enter her, her fingers digging into my shoulders, careful to avoid the burns.

"Look at me," I whisper, and she does, her eyes shining in the half-light.

We move together slowly at first, finding our rhythm. I memorize every sound she makes, every flutter of her eyelashes, every place where her skin flushes pink beneath my touch.

"You feel so good," I murmur against her neck, and she arches beneath me, wrapping her legs tighter around my waist.

"Don't stop," she breathes, her hands sliding down my back, urging me closer, deeper.

I couldn't stop if I tried. Not when she's looking at me like I'm precious. Each thrust grows rougher, fueled by the sounds she makes and the way her body tightens around mine.

When she comes, it's with a cry that she muffles against my shoulder. Her body tightens around me, and I let go, surrendering to the rush of pleasure as I bury my face in her neck, letting the waves wash through me.

We lie there tangled in my sheets, her head resting on my chest, and my arm curled protectively around her. The fire may be out, but something else rages—fierce, impossible to smother.

Hope.

* * *

Later that night, once we have cleaned up, Riley and I decide to bring the footage to Lawson.

Even though I’m with her, I let her do the talking.

She’s fiery, clear, and with no hesitation in her voice she shows him the footage Barry pulled.

The man in the hoodie. The tool bag. The angle of his face, just visible in the frame.

Lawson leans forward, his elbows on the desk as he rewinds the clip. “That’s the alley behind the gym?”

Riley nods. “Timestamp matches just before the fire broke out. And Barry recognized him. The guy works for the developers trying to push everyone off Main Street.”

Lawson exhales slowly, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “Son of a bitch. He’s on record denying he was anywhere near that block that night.”

“Not anymore,” I add quietly.

We sit in silence as Lawson watches the footage a third time, zooming in where the man’s profile is barely visible under the streetlamp.

“I’ll need Barry’s official statement,” he says. “And I’ll loop in the fire marshal. This is exactly what we needed.”

He leans back in his chair and looks between the two of us. “You just saved yourself a lot of grief, Cooper. And maybe stopped this from happening to someone else.”

He officially clears me two days later.

Word spreads fast.

The way people look at me shifts. Though, not everyone. But enough. The suspicious glances turn into nods. A few even say thanks.

The morning after the news spreads about the video from the sheriff, I’m back at the community center cleaning up the equipment I used this morning when Jason walks in.

He doesn’t speak, just lingers by the punching bags, his eyes fixed on me.

At last, he breaks the silence. "I saw what you did. With the fire."

I nod. "It wasn’t just me. Shane and his guys, Riley, the firefighters—everyone helped."

Jason lowers his gaze, as if gathering himself, then back up to me. His eyes are guarded, shuttered, but not cold.

"You were never like that before. Not that I saw."

Wiping my hands on a towel, I walk toward him. "I wasn't. Not for a long time."

He swallows. "You scared the hell out of me. Going into that barn."

"Scared myself too."

We stand there for a long moment.

"I don’t know if I can forgive everything," he admits, barely audible.

"You don’t have to. I just want you to see who I am now. Not who I was."

Jason gives a single nod. "I’ll try."

As he walks away, he stops, looking over his shoulder. “You know, I used to think you didn’t care. About me. About anything. But after the other night…”

He shakes his head, searching to find the words, and then tries again. “I saw you run into that barn like your life didn’t matter if it meant saving that calf. I don’t get it. But I saw it.”

I nod. “It wasn’t about the calf. It was about doing what was right. About being the kind of man you would be proud of and not ashamed to claim.”

Jason’s jaw tightens, not meeting my eyes. “You’re not who I thought you were. I didn’t know you at all.”

“I hope not,” I say. “I’ve worked hard not to be.”

He inclines his head, then turns toward the door. “See you around, Dad .”

When he walks out, I’m left choking on a lump in my throat so big it hurts to breathe.

Closing my eyes, I press a hand to my chest, where the word lingers like an echo. Dad .

He said it. Meant it.

The weight of it crashes over me all at once, harder than the fire, sharper than any accusation I’ve ever endured. For the first time in years, I don’t push it away. I stop fighting, letting the emotion wash over me. It isn’t just pride or relief. It’s healing.

My son called me Dad .

And it’s enough. It’s everything.