Page 37 of July’s Cowboy Dallas

“So is obedience.” The words came out a little sharper than I'd intended, but I didn't take them back.

Holt's eyes narrowed. “You think you can make it on your own?”

“I don't know,” I said. “But I know I can't keep letting the Hollister name decide which calls I make.”

“You'll lose clients.”

“Maybe.”

“You'll lose protection.”

“I don't want protection, Holt. I want to do my job without wondering whose reputation I'm supposed to be covering for.”

He stared at me for a long moment, his face tight.

Then Tanner's voice cut in from behind him. “She's earned that.”

Holt turned, surprise flickering across his face before he buried it.

Tanner stepped forward, his gaze steady on mine. “You made the right call, Sadie. The hard one. But the right one.”

Holt looked between us, then back at me. “You're making a mistake.”

“Maybe.” I held his gaze, no longer afraid of what going against my uncle could cost me. “If so, it's my mistake to make.”

He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, then closed it again. After a moment, he nodded once and walked away, his shoulders stiff.

I watched him go, my chest tight, my hands still shaking.

Then Dallas spoke from behind me. “What do you want?”

I turned. He was standing a few feet away, his hands loose at his sides, his gaze steady on mine. He didn’t ask what I needed or what he could do for me. What do you want?

The question almost undid me. Not because I didn't know. Because for once, no one was telling me what the answer should be.

“I want to finish the rodeo.” I let the words come slowly, testing each one.

He nodded.

“Then I want a shower,” I said.

His mouth twitched.

Once I started, I didn’t want to stop, so I kept going. “I want one day without Hollister drama.”

“That’s fair.” Dallas took a step toward me, his gaze never leaving mine.

“I want my own practice.”

He waited for me to continue. That was the thing about Dallas. He'd wait all night if I let him. He'd wait years. He already had.

“And I want you.” I stepped closer, close enough to see the way his pupils darkened, the way his jaw tightened, the way his hands flexed like he was stopping himself from reaching for me.

Still stopping himself. Even now. Even with the words hanging right there between us.

So I kept going, because one of us had to stop stopping.

“I want you,” I said again, softer this time. “Not because you're useful. Not because you showed up. Because you're steady. Because you stay. Because you never needed me to be smaller so you could feel strong.”