Page 101 of Roped in Rawhide

“What? We’re all adults. Babies are blessings.”

“If and when they choose to conceive,” her older daughter huffs.

“Chance and I are moving in together!” Gemma cheers.

Our combined families erupt in hoots and hollers. Glasses clink. The energy shatters the nonexistent ceiling. I feel about ten feet tall as the love of my life clings onto me like she’ll never let go.

My mouth grazes her forehead. “How did I get so lucky?”

Gemma stretches her neck to kiss me. “You never do anything halfway.”

“And you were always meant to be mine.”

A few months later…

I sit back in the saddle and admire the view straight ahead. Damn, my girlfriend has a hot ass. Her Cowgirl Tuff jeans hug those curves in a snug embrace, making me jealous of the denim. My fingers clench on the reins while I imagine cupping a handful of supple flesh. It causes a stir below the belt, which isn’t ideal. An erection on horseback will only bring pain. Luckily, we’ve arrived at our meadow.

As if tempting me to whip out my dick, Gemma leans forward to swerve through the line of trees. Her new position enhances the picture of perfection. It’s distracting enough that I get smacked in the face with a branch. Yellow and orange leaves scatter to the ground like confetti. My jaw throbs, but a bruise is totally worth it. I might even earn a few sympathy points.

“Hangin’ on back there?” Her sugary-sweet tone flirts with me.

“Barely,” I rasp.

She swivels in the saddle. Concern brightens her blue eyes. “Do you need a break?”

I scowl. The suggestion is offensive.

Moe, Hank, and Boon officially moved onto our property at the end of August. In the month and a half since, we’ve taken many trail rides. Her horses are better trained than pussy-whipped husbands. And if that’s not enough, I do happen to be the reigning national champion of saddle bronc riding. Gemma should know better than to question my ability. Just for that, I’m going to teach her a lesson.

I remove my boot from the stirrup and bring my leg back to Moe’s flank. This area is sensitive for horses, which is why the straps to make them buck are so effective. The gelding snorts, but doesn’t react otherwise. My heel digs in a bit. All he does is sidestep to escape the pressure.

“I’m sorry in advance,” I whisper to Moe. “You’ll get extra treats when I’m done.”

And then I kick him. His hindquarters spring off the ground, providing momentum to launch me from the saddle. Years of training and skill flip me for an impressive dismount. I land on one knee in an unmistakable pose.

In the time it took me to pull off my stunt, Gemma has turned Hank around. She gapes down at me surrounded by the purple flowers I planted for her. “What’re you doing?”

My hand trembles slightly as I fetch the small box from my front pocket and open the lid. “Proposing.”

Her gasp is aimed at the sparkling diamond attempting to blind her. “Chance Steven Benson!”

“Ohhhhh, baby,” I groan. “Say my full name again. It means I shocked you real good.”

Gemma slides off her horse, trusting him not to go anywhere. Her shadow casts over my kneeled form. That slice of shade allows me to gaze longingly at her beautiful face. There are tears in her eyes while she tries to gather her bearings.

“Hey, Wildflower.” I reach for her left hand. “This has been a long time coming. I’ve wanted to ask you to be my wife since we pretended to get married right here as kids.”

She sniffles and covers the sound with her right palm. “You remember that?”

“Core memory, baby.” I tap my temple. “Every moment with you is one I cherish. It’s been that way since I was thirteen. I’ve spent my life loving you from close and afar. I want to spend the rest of it by your side, basking in your warm glow. You’re the only one for me. Then, now, and forever. Will you marry me, Gemma?”

A tear slides down her freckled cheek as she nods. “Yes! Of course I will. Yes, yes!”

My heart gallops to a chaotic beat while I slide the ring on her finger. It shines like a treasure, but pales in comparison to her flawless beauty. She sticks her left hand out to inspect her new bling.

“It almost looks like a violet wood sorrel,” she muses.

“Damn straight. I paid top dollar for that custom design. Do you like it? We can return it if you’d prefer something else.”