Table of Contents
Epilogue
Also by Heather Slade
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
About the Author
Sing to Me
The Promise
Win Me Over
Heather Slade
Cowboys of Crested Butte Book Five
Win Me Over
© 2018 Heather Slade
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
ISBN-10: 1-942200-21-8
ISBN-13: 978-1-942200-21-5
Contents
Also by Heather Slade
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Heather Slade
Sing to Me
Sing to Me
The Promise
Also by Heather Slade
COWBOYS OF CRESTED BUTTE
Available Now!
Book One: Fall for Me
Book Two: Dance with Me
Book Three: Kiss Me Cowboy
Book Four: Stay with Me
Coming Soon!
Book Six: Sing to Me
BUTLER RANCH
Available Now!
Book One: The Promise
Book Two: The Truce
Book Three: The Secret
Book Four: The Gift
Coming Soon!
Book Five: The Truth
New Series Coming Soon!
The Winemakers
Book One: Ridge
1
Present Day
The bull he’d gotten on the night before wasn’t just a rank bucker, he was mean as all get-out. There wasn’t anywhere on his body that Bullet didn’t hurt.
His ribs still ached from getting under one a few months ago, and if the weather was cold, it hurt to breathe. His twenty-five-year-old body felt more as though it was forty, or sixty.
It didn’t help that he was back in Oklahoma, or that he’d gotten drunk the night before simply because he didn’t want to face the shitstorm his life was becoming. Maybe that’s why his body hurt so badly; because it was being pulled in so many directions.
He wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be in Colorado, living his dream. Instead, he’d gotten another call from his mother-in-law, telling him to get “home” because his baby needed him. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard the same message from her, and each time, he felt worse than the time before, because it wasn’t supposed to be this way.
They were supposed to be a family. Every few weeks, he and his wife would try to work things out between them. Each time, it ended worse than the previous.
The last one had been so bad he knew there wouldn’t be a next time. As he held his baby boy in his arms, the child’s mother had attacked him. And she’d done it in front of her entire family.
She was sick—bipolar disorder. If she’d just take her medicine, none of this would happen. But she refused. The slightest thing could set her off, and he never knew what, or when, it would be.
Last night, when he heard the local stock contractor was bucking bulls, he knew he had to get on one. Had to. Riding bulls was in his blood. He thought about it all the time, even dreamed about it.
His sister called it “adrenaline addiction,” but it wasn’t criticism. She was the only one in his family who understood. Even though Lyric had never tried to ride a bull, or a bronc, or even barrel raced, no one understood rodeo better.
She was the founder of RodeoChat, a social-media-based outlet for rodeo news. Lyric managed to keep her finger on the pulse of rodeo around the world. She knew the schedules, statistics, and habits of the cowboys and cowgirls who competed across the field in every event. Since its founding, Lyric had interviewed hundreds of them for her weekly Twitterviews and YouTube videos.
That’s why she understood. When he’d tried to explain how he felt to their parents, Lyric had backed him up. In fact, she’d compared it to their dad’s life.
“You know how it feels,” she’d told him, “to be on stage, in front of thousands of people. It’s the same thing for Bullet, just a different thing drivin’ it.”
As the lead singer of Satin, one of the most successful international heavy metal rock bands, Nate Simmons was no stranger to adrenaline addiction.
“Thousands of people aren’t threatening to kill me when I’m on stage, that’s the difference,” his dad had countered Lyric’s argument.
His father wasn’t wrong. Every time Bullet got on the back of a bull, he knew he could die. It was that simple. Eight seconds. That’s what it took. If he could stay on the back of the bull for eight seconds, he’d conquer both the beast and himself.
His mother shook her head, that day, and looked between him and his father. “Neither of you will ever grow up.”
“It’s why you love me so much, isn’t it, Guinevere?”
Bullet envied his parents’ relationship. It was as if they were still dating, even though they’d been married for over thirty years, a rarity in the music industry.
It hurt to roll over, but he needed to charge his phone and see how many messages his soon-to-be-ex-wife left him. It was early; maybe there wouldn’t be any yet this morning.
Oh, Jesus, it was worse than he thought. There were ten calls from his mother-in-law. What the hell? The woman was becoming a pain in his ass.
He checked his texts, without listening to her voice messages, and saw there were at least twice as many of those. He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus enough to read, but his head was pounding like a damn jackhammer. How much had he drank last night?
He didn’t read through all of them; it wasn’t necessary. The last one she’d sent was the only one that mattered.
Callie in ICU at Mount Mercy GET HERE.
Bullet listened to the messages from his mother-in-law, but it was hard to get anything more out of them other than Callie was in the hospital, and he needed to get there right away.
It took him less than five minutes to throw his gear in a bag and get on the road. It was an hour’s drive to get to the hospital, which wasn’t far from where Callie’s pa
rents lived. Right now, though, all he could think about was where his son was. Callie’s mother didn’t mention Grey in her messages. He called his grandmother, the woman who raised him and his sister while their parents were on the road, with the band. She didn’t live far from Callie’s parents. Maybe she’d know.
“Hey, Gram—”
“Oh, Bullet, I’m so glad you called. Callie’s parents have been tryin’ to get in touch with you. Something awful’s happened—”
“I know. I’m on my way to the hospital right now.”
“Oh, thank goodness, Callie—”
“I’m sorry to keep interruptin’ you, but do you know if they have Grey with them?”
“They didn’t tell you? Grey is here, with me.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. It’s Callie who’s in rough shape. You better get to the hospital quick, Bullet.”
“I’ll come by once I’ve seen her. Tell Grey his daddy loves him.”
“I will, Bullet, and I’m so sorry.”
Before she said anything else, Bullet said goodbye and hung up. Whatever was going on with Callie wasn’t something he wanted to hear over the phone.
He pulled the truck over and looked up at the sky. “Lord, thank you for keepin’ my boy safe, and please, lay your healing hands on his mother.”
He rested his head against the steering wheel. His life had been one clusterfuck after another since the day he met Callie.
The night he met her, she was drunk, underage, and about to get in a shit-ton of trouble. Against his better judgment, he’d agreed to get her out of the bar they were in and take her home. That, actually, wasn’t what she’d asked him to do, but until she was sober enough for him to determine whether she was at least over eighteen, there was no way he’d take her up on what she’d offered.
He had to stop twice on the drive to her house, that night, so she could throw up alongside the road. At least she gave him enough notice that he had time to pull over. If she’d gotten sick in his truck, he might’ve been tempted to let her walk home.
Two years later, it had never gotten better. Drama was her middle name, and if it didn’t happen on its own, Callie created it. He wasn’t sure, now, if he would’ve married her if she hadn’t gotten pregnant. Sometimes he thought he probably would have. Other times he hoped he was smarter than that.
When he found out they were having a boy, he told Callie he wanted to name him Henry Greyson, after his granddad on his mother’s side. She liked the name, so she didn’t give him a hard time about it.
It hadn’t been that simple three years ago, when he’d gotten another girl pregnant with his first child. The baby’s mama fought him on the little girl’s name every step of the way. It wasn’t the only thing she fought him on. In fact, there was little she didn’t fight with him about. He knew that was because he’d refused to marry her, and he’d wanted a DNA test to prove he was the father.
When the tests came back positive, they settled on Hannah Pearl. He’d wanted his little girl named Pearl. He didn’t know why; he just loved the sound of it. He called her his perfect Pearl, never Hannah. It drove the girl’s mama crazy, but he didn’t care.
His daughter lived in Texas, with her mama, full-time. She moved there to be closer to her family, which meant a twelve-hour drive each way in order to see Hannah Pearl. He didn’t get to see his daughter very often, and they were long overdue for a visit.
When he got into town a couple of days ago, Callie was on a bender. He’d finally found her in a town or two over, drunk as shit but with her cousin, thankfully. He’d picked her up, carried her ass to his truck, and drove her home. She railed at him the whole way, but he’d learned to tune her out.
She’d seemed better yesterday, although she wasn’t very talkative. She usually had a laundry list of everything he’d done to piss her off. Not this time.
When he left her parents’ house last night, Callie was sound asleep. Grey was too, in the crib in her room. Her mom and dad weren’t home, but he’d figured they would be soon.
Bullet drove past the hospital and pulled into the bar he saw across the road. He needed a drink before he faced whatever trouble Callie got herself into this time.
He downed three shots, one right after another, not missing the looks the pretty bartender was giving him. Any other day, he’d stick around and see what else she’d give him, but today he couldn’t.
He threw a twenty on the bar and stood to put on his jacket.
“Where you goin’, cowboy?” she pouted.
“My wife’s in the hospital—” He was thinking about offering to come back, but as soon as he said the word wife, the bartender glared at him and walked away.
“Can I help you?” asked the woman behind the desk in the lobby.
“Uh, yeah. Let’s see, my wife is in the ICU. I think that’s what the message said. Lemme look.” He pulled out his phone. “Yep, the ICU.”
“Name?”
“Bullet Simmons.”
The woman waved her hand in front of her face and glared at him. “Her name is Bullet?”
“No, ma’am. That’s my name. My wife’s name is Callie.”
“Take the elevator to the fourth floor and turn right. You’ll need to show your identification when you get up there.”
He turned the corner and waited for the elevator.
“Drunkard comin’ to see his poor wife who’s in intensive care. Wonder what put her there?” he overheard the woman say to the next person in line. He was damn sick and tired of people thinking Callie’s problems were because of him. Damn sick and tired of it.
Right after they married, his in-laws had sat him down and told him about Callie’s illness. Might have been nice if they’d told him a little earlier. Maybe they thought he wouldn’t have married her if they had.
While she was pregnant, she’d been good about taking her meds. After the baby was born, not so much. She was afraid they’d affect her breast milk, and she was determined to breastfeed. Grey wasn’t ten days old when she had her first fit. That’s what Bullet started calling them—fits. He had no idea what started it, but suddenly she was screaming at him. Then she pummeled him with her fists. It took him a minute to react, that first time, and when he did, it’d been to hold her at arm’s length. When she couldn’t reach him to hit him, she’d turned her head and bit his arm.
He’d almost backhanded her that day, out of instinct, but stopped himself. Before it could get worse, he left. He was less than a mile away when he turned the truck around. What was he thinking? He couldn’t leave their baby alone with her.
When he got back to the house, she was on the bed, sobbing into a pillow. The baby was in the bassinet next to the bed, also sobbing. Screaming was more like it. He called her name, but she didn’t appear to hear him. Was this what it was like when she was home alone with Grey? Did she just leave him in his bassinet, screaming?
He picked the baby up, that day, and drove to his in-laws’ house. Later that night, he moved Callie, the baby, and himself in with them. He hadn’t wanted to, but he didn’t see he had any choice. They’d agreed it wasn’t a good idea to leave her alone with the baby.
Callie’s dad stood when Bullet got off the elevator and approached the ICU waiting area.
“Hello, son,” his voice broke, and he turned away from Bullet.
“What’s goin’ on?”
“It’s Callie.”
“Is she…oh, God,” he couldn’t continue.
“No, but she’s unresponsive.” When he saw tears run down his father-in-law’s cheeks, Bullet felt as though he might cry, too.
The door opened, and Callie’s mom joined them in the waiting room.
“Where…in…the…hell…have…you…been?” she spat at him.
“Now, Mama,” his father-in-law began. “This isn’t Bullet’s fault.”
“Isn’t his fault? Did I hear you right? Did you just say this isn’t his fault?” She turned and jabbed Bullet in the chest with her
finger. “Why did you leave last night? Why? Answer me. What was so damn important that you left our little girl all alone?”
Bullet backed away from her, but she kept coming at him. Callie’s father put his arms around his wife’s waist and stopped her. When he did, she broke down in tears.
“She tried to kill herself last night, Bullet,” she sobbed. “And where were you? Where were you?”
Bullet felt the air leave his lungs. She’d been asleep. He doubted she or Grey would wake up before her parents got back, which he figured would be any minute. They never stayed out past seven-thirty or eight. He hadn’t left much before then. What the hell had happened?
The intensive-care nurse led Bullet to Callie’s room. “You’ll have fifteen minutes.”
Nothing could have prepared him for the way she looked. There were tubes going into a mask that covered half her face. There was another smaller tube that went directly into her nose. There were wires everywhere and an IV in her arm.
He fell into the chair next to her bed and reached out to touch her. Her skin felt cold and clammy. And it looked gray. Soft tears fell down Bullet’s cheeks as he took Callie’s hand in his.
“What have you done, sweet girl?” He lowered his head and let himself cry.
Someone rested her hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t heard anyone come in. He looked over his shoulder at his mother-in-law, tears rolling down her cheeks too.
“They need us to make a decision.”
Bullet stood and moved away from her. “What kind of decision?”
Win Me Over (Cowboys of Crested Butte Book 5) Page 1
