Roping The Cowgirl's Heart

Chapter 6

Savannah

The road stretched out before me. A ribbon of black cutting through the golden fields and rolling hills of Montana. I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles white and my heart pounding in my throat. As I pushed the old pickup faster, the engine groaned in protest.

I was on a mission, a desperate, half-baked plan that had seemed like a good idea. When I'd bolted out of the kitchen early today. Wyatt's promise to help me if I needed it was still occupying my mind. But now, with the miles flying by and the reality of what I was about to do sinking in, I felt like I was going to puke.

Get married. That was the condition, the ultimatum, the Hail Mary pass that my Daddy had thrown from beyond the grave. Tie the knot, or lose the ranch. Simple as that.

But nothing about this was simple. Nothing about the idea of pledging my heart, my life to Wyatt Jameson felt like anything less than a cosmic joke. We had history, sure, but it was the kind of history that left scars. The kind of history that kept you up at night, wondering what might have been.

I shook my head, my jaw clenching as I forced myself to focus on the road. I couldn't afford to get lost in the past, and couldn't afford to let my emotions cloud my judgment. This was business, pure and simple. A means to an end, a way to keep the ranch in the family where it belonged.

And if that meant marrying, if that meant putting on a show and playing house for a while, then so be it. I was a McKinley, and we did what we had to do to survive.

I just had to convince Wyatt to go along with it.

Two hours later, I pulled up to the fairgrounds. The sound of cheering crowds and blaring music washed over me as I slammed the truck into park. I took a deep breath, my stomach churning as I stared at the fairgrounds and whirling rides of the midway.

Wyatt was here somewhere, competing in the rodeo. That had been his ticket out of Silvercreek City, all those years ago. The rodeo that had taken him away from me, from the ranch, from the life we might have had together.

I pushed the thought away, my jaw clenching as I climbed out of the truck and headed toward the arena. I didn't have time for nostalgia, didn't have time for what-ifs and might-have-beens. I was on a mission, and I damn well was going to finish it.

I made my way through the crowds, as I dodged kids with sticky fingers and cowboys with wandering hands. The air was thick with the smell of popcorn and manure. The heat of the sun beating down on the back of my neck was like a physical weight.

And then I saw him.

Wyatt was in the chute, his body coiled tight as he waited for the gate to open. Even from a distance, I could see the tension in his shoulders. The fierce concentration on his face as he stared down the bull that was his ticket to glory.

My heart kicked in my chest, a familiar ache that I'd never quite been able to shake. God, he was beautiful. All tanned skin and rippling muscle, his dark hair tousled by the wind. I remember his blue eyes. They always blazed with a fire that I'd once thought could burn the world down every time he was on the top of a bull.

He was everything I'd ever wanted, everything I'd ever dreamed of. And he was about to risk his life for a shot at a championship buckle.

I felt a flicker of anger, a hot, bright burst of frustration that had me clenching my fists at my sides. How could he do this? How could he put himself in danger, again and again, when there were people who needed him, people who loved him?

But even as the thought formed, I knew the answer. Because this was who Wyatt was, who he'd always been. A daredevil, a risk-taker, a man who lived life on the edge and never looked back.