Page 56 of Wild Horses

One finger becomes two, and I search and curl them inside her. With my free arm, I muffle her cries, my hips thrusting forward when she sinks her teeth into my forearm. The heel of my palm works her clit, giving her pressure outside, while inside, I work that sensitive spot that will make her shatter.

“Come for me. I want to walk back out for the closing ceremonies with your scent on my hand, knowing you’re sitting in drenched panties.”

She whimpers my name, her knees giving out with her release. I grind my aching cock against her ass, doing what I can to take the edge off, but when she drops her head against my chest, her long lashes fluttering against her cheeks, and says, “I love you so fucking much, War,” all my discomfort melts away.

“To Laramie!” Bond holds up a drink as we offer our cheers.

“To me!” she chirps, downing her third glass of champagne.

We’re celebrating Laramie’s fourth-place finish in a massive suite at some swanky hotel on the Strip. The final rider blazed through fast enough to bump her down a spot, but nothing but pride radiates from Laramie.

With her refilled glass in the air, she clears her throat. “Attention, please!”

The room turns to her, and of course, she preens. “Thank you all for being here this week, supporting me, and wearing all these amazing shirts.” She gestures to the different tops behind her.

“You guys know us and our story. That we met in physical therapy, nursing shoulder injuries.” Laramie steps into my arms and grins up at me. “Myinjury was from falling off a bronco and having surgery; a swimming pool brought War down.” There’s a round of laughter from our closest friends.

“You also know we had a rocky start.” Her voice softens,and she squeezes my arms where they rest around her waist. “I made a terrible mistake and hurt War. Then he pulled a me and ran.” This earns her another small laugh. “His pain brought him to Trail Creek and you amazing people. And then, in a weird, wonderful twist, he ended up in Lubbock of all places.

“The War who showed up at the rodeo that night was nothing like the one I left in Dallas, and the biggest difference was?—”

“The yeti beard!” Tuesday says.

“The overgrown hair?” Bond asks.

“The fifteen extra pounds?” This comes from me. I shrug and duck my head when everyone stares.

Laramie’s bright giggle sounds around the room. “Those are all excellent guesses. But, no, the biggest difference was his spirit. He was softer, a little fragile, but undeniably someone I needed to know.” She wiggles out of my grasp and crosses the room, digging through a bag. “And he also didn’t have his watch.”

My fingers absently rub my bare wrist, and I swallow back bitter bile at the memory of that stupid watch and all it symbolized. True to the word of his letter, neither Tuesday nor I have spoken with our parents since Warren Phillips, Sr. issued his ultimatum. But, I look around the room, we haven’t wanted for family.

“Trouble, where are you going with this?”

She pushes me into an empty chair and climbs into my lap. “I have something for you.”

There’s a brick in my stomach as I take the clumsily wrapped box. It’s cheap brown paper with printed horseshoes. Nothing like the last time I opened a box this size. There’s no way it’s another Breitling. Or, god forbid, the same damn one.

Laramie’s lips brush my ear. “Don’t worry. You’ll like it.”

I tear through the cheap paper, letting it fall to the floor. When I slide off the lid, there nestled on a bed of thin tissue paper lies a simple wooden watch. The face is dark brown, and it only tells time. No bells, no whistles. No gold casing or phases of the moon.

“Turn it over.”

As I flip over the watch, my breath catches. Everyone else in the room disappears; it’s just Laramie and me.

May you never go to battle without your wild horse.

I run a finger over the engraving and pull her face to mine. “Marry me.”

Laramie jerks back. “What?”

Louder, I repeat the question. The one I need her to answer. “Will you marry me?”

Her mouth opens and closes as she nods, eyes wide and locked on mine.

“Need to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you!”

There’s a rush of congratulations and well wishes, but I hear none. All I can see, smell, sense is her—my favorite kind of trouble.