I wake up at the crack of noon to find the motel empty. Second show tonight, same town, I remember. A chance to right my wrongs from last night.

So many wrongs.

I hold my throbbing head as I stumble to the kitchen and brew some coffee. To judge by the rumpled sheets in the bedroom, Sheila slept there. I don’t remember anything that happened after I got the key from the motel clerk—as though I saved my last drops of sobriety for that task. I barely remember the walk home from the bar, even. It’s a miracle I found this place.

Still, I hope I didn’t freak Sheila out last night. Or say anything I might regret.

I stand in the kitchen, letting the coffee clear my head until I can move enough to get my ass in gear. I know one thing—if I’m going to prove to Sheila that we aren’t a mistake, then I need to clean my act up. Starting by being on time for the show tonight and dominating the ring, if I’m able.

My head isn’t quite sure, but my heart tells me I’ve powered through far worse hangovers in my day. At least I don’t have a broken nose or any black eyes to contend with this time.

I manage to shower, get ready, put some food in my stomach and make it to the ring just in time for warm-ups to begin. I don’t see Sheila there, at least not during practice. That’s okay. If she wants space, fine by me.

After all, I did break even more of her rules last night. My head throbs with the reminder of it every time my horse jolts under me.

By the time we’re about ready to go into the ring and start the show, I’m at least recovered enough that I can sit comfortably in the saddle without worrying about the ensuing headache. But then I catch a familiar shock of hair moving through the pre-rodeo crowd toward me, and my gut starts to churn all over again, this time with anticipation.

Look, I know I broke your rules, Sheila, but I swear, I still think we’re the right thing.

No, maybe don’t lead with that? Or lead with I’m sorry for the drinking, but I don’t regret a moment of the fucking.

Still no.

I’m running through the words I want to say when Sheila steps up to my side. Before I can open with any of the half-thought-out speeches, she flings her arms around me. I hesitate, but only for a second, before I wrap mine around her, crush her small body to mine and savor the feeling of her in my arms.

“Sheila, I’m sorry about last night—” I start.

“No, I’m sorry.” She pulls back just far enough to look up at me, those baby blues of hers glittering. “You were right, Ruckus. We aren’t a mistake. And of course I love you too.”

Those words shatter me to the core. I tighten my grip around her, lean down to cup her cheek with one hand, my eyes searching hers. Love? She loves me.

Fuck. I don’t think I have ever felt this good in my entire life, and that’s including all the championships I’ve ever won. All those awards pale in comparison to having Sheila in my arms. Knowing she feels about me the way I feel about her.

“I love you,” I whisper, and then I lean down to crush her mouth in a hard kiss, pouring every ounce of feeling I have into that. She kisses me back, hard, her lower lip digging into mine, and when we break apart, it’s only to catch our breaths, as I gaze into her eyes and repeat myself, louder this time. “I love you so damn much.” I smile. “And I’m going to prove to you that we’re not a mistake. Family, love, sex with you, that’s a strength, not a weakness.” That smile turns to a grin. “Just watch me tonight. Watch me and see if you can argue we’re a mistake ever again.”

She grins back at me, eyes flashing in the distant stadium lights. “Go on then, cowboy. Prove me wrong.” She leans up to kiss me one last time, and the electric charge from that is enough to propel me through this whole show tonight. I’m on top of the world.

And I’m going to prove it.

* * *

I barely even register the field as I land the final toss around the horns of the steer we’re wrangling, in a perfect arc, straight around his neck. I don’t hear the screams of fans or the chants of my name. Through the glare of the rodeo spotlights, all I can see is her.

My soon-to-be wife. The woman of my dreams.

I grin at her across the dirt and mud of the field, stained by hoof and footprints alike, the leftovers from our final show in this town. The show I just completely wrecked. It was possibly my best performance of all time. Every single thing went exactly to plan, from the barrel race to the bull-riding to the final steer lassoing challenge. The announcer comes on to call out the winner, but he barely even needs to. Everyone in attendance can see the scoreboard—I’m miles ahead of the second place competitor alone.

They call my name, and I flash Sheila a wink as I bow for the chanting crowd.

After that come the usual interviews, the press junket circuit. Cameras flash and reporters crowd in, shove their mics toward my face. I answer their questions, smile, play along, but inside, I can’t wait to reach her. Throw my arms around her, press her lips to mine, pull that tight little gorgeous body against me and tell her again that I love her. I want to sweep her off her feet, carry her out of this stadium to a new hotel room—a bigger, better one this time, to celebrate the win. And there, finally alone together, I’ll peel her out of the tight jeans she’s so fond of. Carry her into the shower with me, soap up her sleek, naked form and touch every inch of her until she’s begging for me to let her come. Only then will I pick her off her feet, pin her against that shower wall and—

“Ruckus?”

I blink and refocus on the reporter standing in front of me. She just asked a question, but I’m blanking on it now.

In the distance, I catch a glimpse of Sheila. Sheila, surrounded by men in suits who look very familiar. The board of sponsors. The men who hired her to keep watch over me.

Well, hopefully they’ll see fit to reward her for a job well done.

“Excuse me,” I tell the reporter, and gently extricate myself from the tangle of cameras and mics. I cross the field at an easy gait, but my pace slows as I near Sheila, and catch wind of the conversation they’re having.

“—such a wonderful job here, honestly,” one of the sponsors is saying. “We haven’t had a single complaint since you took him on, and now this win…”

Another sponsor smiles and offers her hand to Sheila to shake. “I don’t know how you put up with him, honestly. But your contract is fulfilled now, so you’re free to get. I bet you can’t wait to get shot of this crazy cowboy, eh?”

I stride up to the group then, but none of them so much as blink at seeing me there. They don’t care if I overhear them. They think I’m still Ruckus the mess. Ruckus the fuck-up, the one they needed to hire a babysitter for. The one who can’t stop throwing punches every night, or getting blackout drunk before I can even start a fight.

Is that what Sheila thinks too?

I wouldn’t blame her. I know I’m a handful. More than most women could bother with. My stomach sinks like a stone, all the glory of the win fading as fear takes over. None of this will matter if I lose her now.

But Sheila only smiles at the sponsors, one after the other, and then reaches back. Toward me, her hand open wide. I take her hand and squeeze her fingers tight.

“You’re right,” Sheila says. “I can leave now.”

The rock in my stomach grows heavier.

“But I’m not going to,” she adds. And then she steps toward me, leans up onto her tiptoes, and I grin down at her, knowing exactly what she wants.

I cup her cheek with one hand and draw her toward me into a deep, passionate kiss. For a moment, I forget about the sponsors, about anyone around us. There’s only her scent, overwhelming, the taste of her sweet little lips against mine, the swirl of her tongue against mine, and her body trembling in anticipation of the moment when we’re finally alone. When I can tear those clothes from her and claim what’s mine, again and again.

We break apart, both grinning wide now, and turn to find the sponsors gaping at us.

“Any good wife would go to her husband’s rodeos,” Sheila says then, and I swear, a few of their jaws are about to fall off. “Every single show.” She squeezes my hand at that, a quiet promise, and I laugh, squeezing her fingers back.

As the sponsors disperse, I lean in to kiss her again, harder this time, hungrier. “I can’t wait to make that official,” I murmur into her hair as I crush her against me. “To make you my wife for good. Forever.”

She smiles against my chest, then tilts back just far enough that I can see the bright, excited smile on her face. “In my heart, it already is.”