It had been an endless cycle.
He’d chased winning, but he didn’t like anything that felt too good. Didn’t trust it. So winning always came with a steeper cost, a darker night of the soul. And everything came with whiskey.
But there was something about Callie. He’d encouraged her spark, and there had been something in that—something in giving—that had mended a tear in him he wouldn’t have thought possible.
Yeah, everyone figured he was close to his brother, Colt. They all thought that since the two of them had left Hope Springs and Gold Valley behind they had some sort of bond out there on the road, but that was far from the truth.
They drank in different circles and they screwed different women. At least, to the best of their ability. And at the very least they had a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy about it.
It was just easier to keep home distant.
Obviously Colt agreed, because he conducted himself the same way.
He had his circle, Jake had his. Well, Jake had Callie.
But that bond had grown, and on his end it had started to change.
Though he hadn’t realized how much until she’d fallen.
That was part of his reluctance over having her come for Thanksgiving.
He’d dealt with it, though. All of the reluctance. And pushed forward into just being glad to see her. She was his friend, after all, whatever had shifted inside him in the time since she had been bucked off a horse in the middle of the arena and he’d left the rodeo to come here.
The two were related, but she didn’t need to know that. She never needed to know it.
It was why he agreed to have her come visit without a fuss.
But he’d been trying to get away from Cal, not spend more time with her. And now that wasn’t looking like it was going to be a possibility.
No way was he letting her go off and marry someone else. Who would it even be? He thought of the men she’d know. The guys in the rodeo who were about her age...
No. Hell, no. Helping her wouldn’t be the motive. It had disaster written all over it.
And he might not have a very deep sense of responsibility when it came to much of anyone...but Callie.
In some ways he felt like her connection had saved him. Pulled him back from the brink because the rate he was traveling was bound to meet with disaster at some point.
And she’d given him peaceful moments. Smiling, laughing. Not that he didn’t do that with the other cowboys, and even his brother, when he had some whiskey in him.
But with her it felt like something else.
Something deep.
He owed her this.
And then after...after this he’d make his life here and she’d go off and make hers.
“I don’t need more training,” she said stubbornly. “That’s what you said when you left. When you stopped training me, if you recall.”
“I don’t think I told you you didn’t need more training. I think I told you to forget it all when you were wrapped up in a cast looking mean as a pinched chicken.”
She didn’t let the jab derail her.
“How many broken bones have you had, Jake? Don’t put your overprotective alpha male bullshit onto me. I’m not fragile. Not any more than you. I’m made of flesh and blood and bone and an animal can crush you just as easily as it can me.”
Everything in him went still, his anger rolling through him like a thundercloud, his muscles tensed up, and he moved to her, gripping her arm. She was soft. Well-muscled, sure. But on a feminine frame, and there was no denying it.
He and his brother, Colt, had ridden bulls for years, and the skill it took, the strength that it took on the back of those animals, was intense. It turned your body into something as hard as granite, and the best thing about that was when you did—inevitably—get stomped on by one of the giant animals, you had some defense against it. Everything in you went tight. Callie was strong, it was true. She couldn’t do as well as she did in her events without being strong. But it was still not enough.
She was breakable, whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not.
She was also stubborn. And he knew that she wouldn’t stop. That she was here, that she had taken it this far, was evidence of that.
So all he could do was take control of it. Make sure she was as ready as she could be.
The best she could be.
“Come on,” he said. He grabbed her other hand, and pushed it firmly against his chest, ignoring the tightening in his whole body that resulted from the casual contact. “Feel the muscle on the two of us, and you tell me that there’s no difference. Tell me.”
She jerked her hand away, and the only spark in her eye was anger.
The spark on his skin was something else.
“I can do it,” she said. “I don’t have to be as strong as you to be able to do this.”
“I’m just saying,” he said. “Don’t go acting like you have no idea why there might not be as many women competing in saddle bronc. Why your father has a concern.”
For whatever reason, Callie was hell-bent on this, and he could understand it. She was from a rodeo family, and rodeo was what they did. But this seemed deeper than that. And to not get why her dad might not be thrilled with her competing in a man’s sport...
She was too smart for that.
“Right. But why are you acting like an overbearing hen?”
She looked up at him, the sparks in her dark eyes shooting through him. This was the problem. He’d befriended Cal back when she was sixteen years old, scrappy and determined and bound to get injured if somebody didn’t take all that energy in hand. She’d reminded him of... Well, of him. Heedless and daring, but she had a joy to her that he just didn’t. Her father had been happy enough letting her compete in barrel racing events but she’d wanted to learn more.
They’d practiced tie down roping and raced each other all over the place. Most other people were scared of her dad getting the wrong idea if they hung around her too much. Jake had never cared.
Childhood was a time of hope, if all went well. But being one of the unlucky kids who’d experienced inalterable shattering of hope in an age that should have been full of innocence had broken something in him.
How well he’d learned that the promise of fresh beginnings meant nothing.
That when things looked brightest you could be on the verge of being plunged into darkness. And that there was no damn guarantee at all that it would be darkest before any sort of dawn.
Sometimes it was just dark.
No light on the horizon.
There were no such things as gut feelings, signs, wonders or miracles. The idea that you could sense whether something would be good or bad. That there was something bright out there waiting for you...