Fallon speeds by us on her horse, Lawless. Dust and grit cloud the air. “How’s that dirt taste?” I ask Wyatt. “Girl rides like she’s immune to gravity,” he mutters. The brim of his Stetson casts shadows across his face, his eyes. Even without it, the kid’s got shadows. Ever since Fallon was kidnapped and attacked last year, she’s been jumpy as fuck. Wild as hell. If anything could have brought her and Wyatt back together, it was the mess with Aiden King. Only Fallon took about ten steps back from Wyatt and anyone who cared about her. Started sleeping in her truck, or at Davis and Dakota’s.
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