One Night Charmer. Maisey Yates

in the world.”

      She upped her pace, walking a few steps ahead of him. “My dad had an affair.”

      “That sucks.” It did. He could barely have a conversation with his dad these days, mostly because he didn’t know how to talk to him. Didn’t know how to pick the undesirable words out of his vocabulary anymore, didn’t know what topics to bring up. His dad had no idea what Ace served at his bar, but in fairness, Ace had no idea what his father’s latest sermon was about.

      Or any of his sermons for the past seventeen years.

      “Yeah. It sucks,” she said. She stopped, turning to face him. “It really sucks.”

      “Were you close to him?”

      “I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to be close to my dad. Which I guess is kind of a red flag when you think about it. But...” She paused, angling toward the mountains. She closed her eyes for a second, the breeze catching hold of her hair and tangling it around her face. “He was my hero.”

      She opened her eyes, turning back to Ace. “I don’t suppose he can be that anymore. And I don’t know how to talk to him when he’s something else. He was Superman. To me. He couldn’t do anything wrong. I remember hugging his leg because it was the only thing I could reach. And even though I grew, he stayed this giant. Really, he’s just a man. And I... I don’t really know how to deal with that.”

      He tried to imagine that there was a bar top between them, and a little more alcohol on her end. And then he tried to figure out what he would say in that situation. Well, he probably wouldn’t say much of anything. He would just nod and pour another drink. But that wasn’t an option here.

      Apparently, he counted on alcohol being a crutch even when he wasn’t the one drinking it.

      “People surprise you,” he said finally. “In terrible ways.” He’d said as much to her the night he’d driven her home. That people were liars and couldn’t be trusted. A grim life motto, maybe, but it kept him grounded.

      “Thanks, Ace. I feel like I should really get that put on a T-shirt.”

      “Don’t put it on a T-shirt. You can’t read it when you’re wearing it. Maybe mount it to the wall.”

      “I’ll keep that under advisement.”

      They approached the barn and he pulled the door open, the motion kicking up a cloud of dust and the scent of hay. It was a good smell to him. A strong one. One that rooted him back to a simpler time in his life. Before marriages and custody battles and breweries.

      When he’d loved to ride, and that was all he’d needed.

      There had been a whole lot of clarity in the ring. Other people might find it crazy. That he’d found a kind of calm on the back of a bucking bronco, but he had. Pounding hooves, flying dirt and people cheering faded into one indistinct blur, until it shrank, receding into total silence.

      One wrong move on his end or the horse’s made the difference between glory and getting your ass stomped into cowboy dust beneath angry hooves.

      That had been the clearest he’d ever thought. His body, his brain...his soul—if he had one—all worked together in those moments. One unified machine. It was something he could never go back to, because the man that had saddled up for the rodeo back then was a completely different man.