The Bull Rider's Secret. Jill Lynn
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bone he’d experienced riding bulls roar back into existence.
“You’ll know some. But a few are new.” She strode to the door and then paused inside the frame, tapping the toe of her boot with impatience when he didn’t immediately sprint after her. “You coming?”
“Right behind you.”
And that was how it was on the trail, too. Mackenzie led. Jace followed. There was no riding next to each other. No conversation.
Only him trying—and failing—not to notice everything about her. Being relegated to the back seat on the ride gave him the chance to drink her in, to catalog the slight changes that had come with time. Jace had left a girl behind and had come back to find a woman. One who didn’t need him. Didn’t want him. Didn’t know why he’d done what he’d done.
With her dark blond hair slipped through the back of a baseball cap, and wearing a simple gray V-necked T-shirt, jeans and boots, Mackenzie turned casual into a heap of trouble.
They rode enough of the new trails that he gathered what he needed to know between her directions and the hand-drawn map she’d tucked into her back pocket.
When they reached a wide, smooth path that carved through open pasture, she didn’t give him even the slightest heads-up before urging her horse into an all-out gallop.
The smart thing to do would be to let her ride. Enjoy the view. But Jace had never been one to take the easier road.
He nudged his horse into action.
If he’d thought Mackenzie was distracting earlier, seeing her fly wasn’t helping matters.
The flat-out run was worth it—gave him a hint of that risking-it-all feeling—but by the time Mackenzie slowed Buttercup and eased her back into the trees, the dull ache in Jace’s head had ramped up from barely noticeable to jet-engine-roar levels. And his ribs were on fire.
Probably not his best move, since he was supposed to be taking it easy. But not joining Mackenzie would have been painful in other ways. For a few seconds he’d felt young and free. Like they still had their whole futures ahead of them. He missed that, especially now. If Jace couldn’t go back to rodeoing, what would he do with himself?
He’d never been any good at school. Or any job other than the one currently dangling out of his reach.
“You weren’t lying when you said you could ride with one arm.” Mackenzie tossed the comment/compliment over her shoulder as they reached the hot springs and she dismounted. It registered in Jace’s chest, warm and surprising. Getting ahead of yourself, Hawke. She didn’t say she was crazy in love with you, just that you could handle a horse.
Jace mimicked her dismount, needing a second to steady the wavelike motions crashing through his noggin. He’d give a hefty sum of money for an ice pack to press against his wailing ribs, which were none too pleased with his recent activity.
Mackenzie must have realized her mistake in leading them to the hot springs, because her vision bounced from the water, to him, then back.
Yep, you sure did deliver us right back to the past.
They’d been out here plenty of times when they were young. Had stolen kisses in those very waters.
Back then she’d welcomed an advance from him. Even initiated.
Jace wobbled and managed to right himself while Mackenzie was thankfully looking in the other direction. He was far weaker than he should be, which only added to the angry rhythm inside his skull.
He hated being sidelined. Benched. Hated it even more that he didn’t know when or if these concussion side effects would go away or get better.
The arm, the spleen, the ribs—none of that bothered him, because he knew they’d heal. But his noggin had a mind of its own.
He dropped to sit on a rock in the shade and settled his head in his hands. He sensed Kenzie moving but didn’t look up. And then a canteen appeared between his arms.
“Thanks.” He took it, meeting those stormy eyes. She walked toward the hot springs as he drank. The water was cool, crisp and, if he wasn’t mistaken, the faintest taste of her mint Chapstick still coated the lip. He plucked a pill out of his front pocket and shot it down before Mackenzie turned back in his direction.
She studied him as she neared, stopping about five feet away. Enough that he could feel her intense observation, but not so close that she actually stepped foot into his world, his space.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just hot, I guess.” He took another swig.
“Your arm hurting?”
He hadn’t even thought about that slight discomfort today. “Nah. I’m good.”
Except he wasn’t.
Mackenzie was a deer in the forest. Still. Analyzing. Eyes morphing to slits. She’d have him figured out in two seconds flat if this kept up. And for some reason he didn’t want her to. If she knew about the ribs or spleen, that would be fine. But his head felt too...personal. No one knew that Dr. Karvina had advised he quit riding.
I’m going to level with you, Jace. If this were me or one of my sons, I’d quit now. I can’t tell you how many concussions you can survive without permanent damage. It’s not worth the risk. I’ve seen too many lives taken or changed forever by this sport.
His doctor’s advice haunted him. Concussions were a big deal these days. Last year a young rider had committed suicide after one too many. After his death, the autopsy had confirmed he had CTE, a terrible disease that came from repeat trauma to the brain.
Head injuries had messed with his moods, his memory, even his personality. Gunner’s last hit had been a whopper though. But still, no one knew the exact number of concussions that would be okay. Or how many would push a guy over the edge. Ever since the young cowboy had taken his own life, the rules had gotten stricter for all of the riders. It was logical—Jace could admit that. But that didn’t make it easy to think about losing everything.
Which was why so many guys still did what they wanted—still rode when they shouldn’t.
And Jace understood that, too. He wasn’t done riding. It was his life. His people. He’d done it for his brother, but it had become his, and he wasn’t going to quit now.
And he certainly wasn’t going to discuss any of this with Mackenzie. The woman who constantly wanted to kick him in the shins and then slug him.
Maybe he should just explain why he’d left. Get it all out in the open now. She could still hate him then, but at least she’d have answers.
“Kenzie Rae.”
She’d begun pacing back toward the water but now whirled around.
“I have something to say—”
“Don’t.” She bristled, and her finger jabbed in his direction. “Just don’t.”
“You don’t even know what it is!”
“Is it about Wilder Ranch?” Her tone snapped as fast and furious as a snake’s strike.
“Nope.”
“Then I don’t want to hear it.” She mounted up—the equivalent of a kid placing their hands over their ears. “We should get back.”
He didn’t move. Just glued himself to her until she called uncle and wrenched her gaze away.
“I’ve got things to do, Hawke.” The reins twitched in her hands. He’d made her uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure why that ignited a flicker of happiness in his gut. Probably because it meant he still affected her. And since she was under his skin like a chigger, yeah, that eased the sting a bit. “You know your way from here.” She turned her horse. “I’ll see you when you get back.”
And