Huh.
“But I’m going to work on it, I promise.” Her hands on my chest get a little more desperate. “I know it’s not fair to you, and I’m sorry. All this…this was my mistake.”
Aw hell. “No, it’s not,” I mumble. Because if I had done this right, she’d be wearing my ring and a smile instead of her aunt’s and a frown. “I mean, I appreciate you saying you’re gonna work on that and all, but still. I did this all wrong, honey. I just wanted to show you… I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Her hands slide up to cup my jaw, soft and gentle and feeling so damn good, it nearly breaks me. “I do,” she whispers. “Billy, I get it, okay? And I’m sorry I took all this too far. I just get excited sometimes and…well, you know how I get.”
I risk a small grin. “Swept off your feet?”
Taryn snorts. “Shut up,” she scolds immediately after, but I still got her to laugh a little. “And…well, yeah. I miss you.”
“Well…” I nod toward the house, a dusting of snow coming off my hat with the movement. Damn, it’s really starting to come down. “Let’s go inside, then. Where it’s warm.”
Really warm.
She shakes her head, but her eyes are trying to be kind about it. “Billy, it’s Christmas Eve.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, thanks to my dumb idea.”
Taryn smiles up at me, shifting a little closer and fidgeting with my tie. Like that isn’t hurting me even worse. “Not dumb, and I can prove it to you. Why’d you pick it?”
“I don’t know,” I mutter. “Thought it would be romantic.”
She melts a little more my way, in direct violation of the snow falling all over us. “It is romantic.”
I look around at her front yard, the exhaust my truck is dumping, and the clear outline of her mama in the front window probably casting a spell on me. It isn’t exactly Paris in September or Rome in the spring, but it’s home. “Yeah, it kinda is, isn’t it?”
Taryn softly laughs. “See? You always know what you’re doing. You just act like you don’t.”
She turns and starts walking toward her front door, and I jog a little behind her to catch up, waiting as she turns the knob and cracks open the door, then spins to face me.
I rest my palm against the doorframe in my old leaning spot, unable to resist a grin. “Can I get a good-night kiss?”
She tilts her head. “I thought you said you weren’t gonna ask for nothing?”
“I…said I wouldn’t ask for another date. Not that I wouldn’t ask for a kiss.”
“Ah.” Taryn starts to slip inside the door, her smile getting brighter and brighter. “Maybe next time, cowboy.”
I groan from the depths of my soul, leaning closer toward her as she giggles and shuts the door a little more.
“Sweet dreams, Billy,” she whispers, the cruelest two inches in the world separating my smile from hers.
With the look she’s giving me? Sweet they will surely be. “Merry Christmas, honey.”
* * *
“So that’s it.”
“That’s it,” Annie says.
The mortgage guy, Tom, looks at me from across his large desk: stocky and red-faced but sporting a huge grin with his hands clasped on top of a giant file that’s got every debit card swipe, check deposit, balance transfer, tax filing, stock trade, and retirement investment I’ve made over the last two years. Reminds me of the day I signed with Yaalon: my whole future laid out perfectly ahead of me and bound in one big fat contract.
“So it’s real straightforward from here, since you already gave us all the financial records the underwriters need.” He knocks the file with his knuckle, then leans back in his enormous leather chair, rocking back and forth a little. “It’ll take them some time to get it all squared away, probably a couple of weeks or so. Maybe a little quicker. But the most important thing is that no matter what, for the next few weeks, don’t spend any money.”
I laugh, then hurry to cover my mouth to hide it, feeling as jittery as I did the first time I drove my father’s old truck. “That isn’t hard for me.”
Tom holds up a hand. “Well, I appreciate you saying that. But like I do for all my clients, I’ll repeat the same to you: no new trucks, no diamond rings, no trips to Vegas with your buddies—hell, don’t even go out to dinner that much. You do that, keep paying your bills, and keep those credit card balances low, I think we’re gonna be just fine.”
I blow out a breath, looking at Annie, so damn glad she’s here because I need somebody else to know, and I’m not telling a soul until all this is in the bag—just in case. But she’s known me since before I was stuttering my very first pickup lines, and if anyone in this room understands the gravity of what this means for my family, she does.
I shrug at her, about ready to burst. “I’m gonna own Duke Bricker’s ranch.”
She tilts her head, beaming at me and shaking her finger with that one-upper look she’s had since we were kids. “Nope. You’re gonna own the King Ranch.”
“Oh shit, I like that.” I laugh and stand up when she does, Annie slinging her purse up her shoulder as I reach over to shake Tom’s hand, chuckling along with us like the jolly old Santa Claus he basically is to me. “All right, let’s get it done.”
Chapter 14
Taryn Ledell—Back Then
There’s living, and there’s dancing. And then there’s leading thousands of German Moto Grand Prix fans through how to do a country line dance while Garth Brooks blares through the Sachsenring stadium, Billy and Mason and Lorelai and me showing the kick-ass people of Chemnitz how we do it back in Memphis.
Mason said afterward it had only been fair to return the culture shock since Brazilians had all but taken over North American bull riding. But Mason drinks. Something he does a damn lot of when either of the King brothers pulls off a win. And Billy had won in Germany.
He’d won big.
“Yeah!” Mason roared again to the rest of the paddock. He leapt up from his chair within our circle, hoisting his brother’s medal into the night air like a wrestler showing off their prize belt. Billy and Lorelai and I just laughed—Lor sober, me tipsy, Mason wasted, and Billy…Billy was actually catching a buzz.
“Sit down and shut up,” he told his brother, chuckling while taking another sip of his winner’s champagne. Then he melted my way: his leathers dirty but unzipped to show a bleach-spotted Baylor T-shirt he’d stolen from my closet and swore was good luck when he raced. “I love you.”
The sweet mixture of his cologne tinged with racing exhaust washed over me, and proud wasn’t a big enough word. After all the people always bugging him about retiring, after all his surgeries and the work he’d done in therapy to heal his knee and make it back to the circuit and reclaim his spot at the top… “I love you.”
He leaned a little closer, his smile a little looser. “Especially that birthmark you got right at the top of—”
I clamped my hand over his mouth—jackass—then grasped his jaw and smacked a kiss on his lips. “Shut up.”
“Okay.” He smiled and swiveled his weight back into the middle of his chair, Mason falling backward into his own.
“Congratulations, Billy!” someone on the paddock called, and all of us—well, three of us—raised our drinks to the mystery congratulator.
I couldn’t help it. I leaned over and pressed another kiss to Billy’s cheek, smoothing my palm down the nape of his neck and loving how he shivered with goose bumps. “Congratulations again, honey.”
“Why, thank you.” He stole a soft kiss from my lips, one I was eager to follow into the bedroom of his RV.
Mason, however, had to go and point at his brother, ruining all my plans. “How much champagne you got left in that bottle?”
“Mason,” I said to him, laughing but still meaning it. “You’ve had enough.”
“Uh…” Bi
lly swirled it around. “’Bout half?”
He’d drunk not even a quarter of it. Most had been sprayed on the podium earlier.
“What the fuck?” Mason cursed at him. “Drink that shit! Or I’m gonna.”
Instead, Billy swiveled his face my way, making his best attempt at bedroom eyes. “Hey. You wanna get outta here? I know a great little place nearby.”
Fuck. Yeah.
But I didn’t get a chance to answer. Mason sprang from his chair, Billy bursting out laughing as he twisted away, trying to take a sip from the bottle while fending off his brother, who had tackled him in his seat and ended up kicking me in the shin in the process.
“Ow, Mason!”
The guys didn’t hear me, still wrestling over the bottle until Mason ripped it away from Billy, spraying champagne over all of us.
“Seriously?” Lor stared at her champagne-speckled sweater, black leggings, and chunky ankle boots. “This is Marc Jacobs!”
Mason snorted. “He your boyfriend?”
Lor glared right back. “You know I’m dating Etienne. Have been since Le Mans.”
“Where’s he at then?” Mason glanced around. “Etienne! Olly olly oxen free!”
“It’s not funny,” Lor snapped, still clearly sore over her boyfriend’s lack of communication skills. Last she told me, the voicemails had downgraded into texts, and even those were becoming fewer and fewer. But living in different countries didn’t exactly bode well for a happily ever after.
Mason swigged from the bottle, collapsing into his chair again. “Yeah? ’Cause I think it’s hilarious.”
“Fucking idiot,” Billy called him with a laugh. He glanced at me. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine, honey.” I smoothed my hand across his shoulders, but I was getting more and more irritated as I watched Mason drink Billy’s celebratory champagne. Not that Billy needed to drink, but that was his. He’d earned it, and Mason…ugh.
Billy twitched. “Uh-oh.” He kicked at his brother’s foot and jerked his chin at something behind Lor. Mason whipped around, then back to Billy with the same huge grin he always wore right before they ran off to do something dumb…and usually dangerous.
Lor looked between them, no longer concerned about her absent boyfriend or the champagne ruining her designer sweater. She sat up straighter. “What’s going on?”
They didn’t answer her. Mason just set down the bottle, both the guys singing, “Moss-im-oooooo!”
“Shit!” Her face went panicked, spiking my own anxiety as her eyes pleaded with me for help I didn’t know how to give. She went for the next best thing: grabbing the champagne by Mason’s feet and chugging it as my eyes went wide.
Lor hardly ever drank; she was a calorie counter and a fitness fiend, and she practically lived in her home gym when she was in Memphis.
Then my eyes went even wider.
“Ciao, the great American King brothers!” The infamous Massimo clapped slowly by his ear as he walked toward us, then pretended a sweeping bow and straightened.
He wasn’t as tall as Billy, but he was taller than Mason. Darker, too—black hair shaved on the sides and thick on top, slicked back and just as menacing as the stubble shading his jaw. Dark steel dress shirt, olive skin, black eyes, and a tiny cross hanging from a chain around his neck.
Lor swallowed a last gulp of champagne before she locked eyes with me, sitting stark straight in her chair with the bottle dangling helpless in her hand.
He came up behind her, then knelt beside her legs. “Lorina.”
I kept eyes with her for strength, for support. After everything with Colton, I got it. God, did I get it. But…she didn’t look like I felt when Colton was around. She was breathing hard like he’d said a lot more than a weird version of her name, and there was an unmistakable excitement in her eyes.
Over our shopping trips and girls-only riding dates, she’d talked to me at length about her biggest rival on the circuit. The first time they met, the arguments, the emotional confusion, and the endless battle of wills. And as much as I wanted to tell her to maybe look a little more closely at what was really going on—playground antics and everything—she clearly wasn’t ready to face it.
But we all had things we were having trouble facing in Germany.
No one said a word as Massimo kept kneeling next to Lorelai’s chair, patiently waiting. And despite all the stories I’d heard about their epic showdowns—ones he started, according to her—nothing about the Italian moto racer’s expression looked like he was trying to pick a fight. He looked…exactly like I expected someone to look after spending ten years chasing someone and never quite being able to catch her.
Billy took my hand, winking at me. He pulled it up and kissed the back of it, like watching them was just as romantic as an old movie or attending a friend’s wedding. I glanced around to see if this was a common assessment, and sure enough, more than a few people were watching what was happening at our little circle. Even though most of the racers were having their own private parties on the paddock, like we were.
When I looked to Lor, I’d lost her in that small moment. Her eyes were down-tipped and meeting Massimo’s. And then he started speaking to her. Very quietly, in Italian.
The words were so smooth, so freaking sexy, it felt intrusive to witness. I leaned toward Billy, swallowing over my thick tongue and whispering, “Do you know what he’s saying?”
Billy barely shook his head. “Nope.”
Mason snickered softly, propping his ankle on his opposite knee and seeming as boozily enraptured as the rest of us.
Massimo tilted his head, still gazing up at Lorelai in her chair like he was declaring himself before a queen on her throne. “Hmm? No, Tigrotta?”
She swallowed and ground her jaw, Massimo going right back to talking to her in hushed sentences that blurred together like the colors in a sunset.
I recrossed my legs, leaning toward Billy again. “Does she know what he’s saying?”
A funny smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “That’s, uh, up for debate.”
Massimo shifted where he was kneeling. It wasn’t much, maybe an inch closer to her, but it was enough. Lorelai blasted to her feet, the chair shooting out behind her as she turned and stalked off, drinking deeply from Billy’s bottle of champagne, her curly brown hair blowing wild in the wind.
Massimo rose to his feet. “Run away, Lorina,” he called after her. “You always do.”
She flipped him off over her shoulder, heading toward the area of the paddock where the RVs were parked. Massimo chuffed out a growl, a fierce smile on his face as he stood there for a minute, then started walking after her.
I sputtered out a squeak, waiting until they were definitely out of earshot before I spun to Billy. “Where are they going?”
He grinned at the ground, his racing boots crossed at the ankles and stretched out in front of him. “I don’t know, honey. Where do you think they’re going?”
I looked again toward the path they’d taken. It didn’t look good, that was for sure. But I knew better than anyone how looks didn’t mean shit, and Lor said she wasn’t interested in Massimo. That he was cocky and rude, and they’d spent too many years fighting on and off the racetrack.
But then again, he was almost all she talked about whenever I brought up racing. And once, when the guys were out of town at a rodeo and she and I were slumber partying with a bottle of tequila, I totally got her to admit that not only did she think he was hot but that he was damn hot, and maybe she’d had a couple of dreams about him. But “That doesn’t mean anything, Taryn.”
Sure it didn’t.
Just like it didn’t mean anything that more and more, I’d catch myself daydreaming about my own press interviews. Ones where I would be asked about my background in sports medicine, and I’d talk about how even though I’d started late, I’d made it in the sport
through hard work and determination. Not a word would be said about my looks, just the inspiration I was bringing to little girls with books in their backpacks and revving engines in their hearts.
But then I’d remember what it would cost to get me there: the move to Germany and the goodbyes, and every time, I would start to cry. Worse, keeping quiet about the reason behind my random breakdowns was getting harder and harder to do. I wasn’t lying to Billy about it exactly, but I hated the muddiness of secrets nonetheless. And I hated crying; it was exhausting.
The thing was, sure, I could’ve bullshitted my way through convincing myself that Billy and I could do long distance between different continents. But it was already hard enough to make it work when we lived in the same city. And yes, I could’ve run toward the offer with both hands and asked Billy to come along for the ride. But there was no way he was ever going to leave Memphis.
He did okay overseas, but it wasn’t his home, and he always started to fade after a while, his smiles getting further and further apart until he’d start speaking in circles about needing to ride his horse or feeling like he was going to wake up with his body inside out.
I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew it wasn’t good. And Billy may have been a motorcycle racer, but he was a cowboy first. And you can’t take a cowboy out of the country forever. You can’t ask them to leave their pastures and their fields, their wide open skies and their hoofed soul mates for a two-bedroom high-rise condo in downtown Munich. Not even if it meant the chance to fix everything about my image I regretted.
If I was moving, Billy wasn’t coming with me. And I didn’t have the first clue how I was ever going to leave him. But I also knew no one, absolutely no one, would ever support me again or even try to understand if I gave up this offer for him.
The fear of making the wrong decision and what I suspected to be the right one…it was paralyzing.
“Hey…” Billy tapped my leg, and when I looked at him, his hand came up to cup my cheek, his thumb sweeping over my skin as he winked. “They’ll figure it out, honey. No need to worry about Lorelai. She knows what she’s doing.”
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