The Bull Rider's Secret. Jill Lynn
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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 then she left him. Sitting in her dust, her canteen still in his hands, words dying on his tongue that had needed to be said for seven years.
Huh. So that was what that felt like.
Seven days at the ranch, and nothing had changed.
Mackenzie still didn’t want him here. And Jace still refused to go.
Though he was starting to doubt his decision. Kenzie’s disdain for him was beginning to seep into the cracks of his confidence.
Should he give in and quit? Crash on his mom’s couch for the next weeks or months, instead of his room at the ranch? Go absolutely crazy from boredom and live suffocated by the fear that he’d never heal and return to his career?
He just couldn’t function that way. No matter how much he’d like to not torment Mackenzie. Besides, he liked it here. Liked leading trail rides, the weather, the views, the wrangler competitions they entertained the guests with at night. Guest ranch life was busy—so full of people and staff and horses that his mind hadn’t gotten bogged down with what-ifs about his injuries and the future.
Definitely not the worst job he’d had.
Except for the woman who hated him.
Oh, hate might be too big of a word for how Mackenzie felt about him. He was a pebble in her boot. An annoyance that she planned to ignore.
And then she approached the table where he was eating lunch with guests and other staffers and did exactly that.
She asked the guests how their day was going. She made sure to acknowledge each of the staff. And then she left the dining room. Didn’t she realize that completely ignoring him was more noticeable than treating him like she did everyone else?
Jace popped up, cleared his dishes and then chased after her. He caught sight of her in the lodge living room—an inviting place with high ceilings, comfortable furniture and a massive fireplace that begged for snowstorms and cold winter nights.
Mackenzie’s hair was down today—long and wild, and bringing him back to high school and the memory of what it had felt like to thread his fingers through those waves and kiss that mouth that had once been receptive to his.
Even