Something Reckless (Dirty Southern Secrets Book 3)

by J. L. Leslie

  Something Reckless

  J. L. Leslie

  Copyright 2020. J.L. Leslie. All rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes, promotions, authorized giveaways or teasers only.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  I want to first of all dedicate this book to my mom, like I do all of my books. She is who always supported me in my writing, and I dedicate all of my words to her. I miss her each and every day!

  A special thanks to my husband and kids for allowing me to go into my writing cave and also for their love and support! Also, to my sister for listening to my ideas and never complaining! You’re the best! I love you all!

  A special thanks to my PA, Amber Feist, for being my friend and sounding board! For always helping me find the perfect cover and for reading my words! I am not sorry at all for ripping you to shreds with this one!

  To my fan group, J.L. Leslie’s Lovelies, for being the best fan group an author could ever ask for! Thank you!

  To my street team, J.L. Leslie’s Pimpin’ Peeps, you are the most amazing street team! Thank you for always sharing my work!

  To my ARC team, thank you so much for reading my words! It amazes me each day that people take the time to read what I write and sometimes actually enjoy it!

  Last, but not least, a special thanks to Veronique Poirier with V Designs for creating such a beautiful cover!

  Contents

  Special Thanks

  1. Kipton

  2. Brynn

  3. Kipton

  4. Brynn

  5. Kipton

  6. Brynn

  7. Kipton

  8. Brynn

  9. Kipton

  10. Brynn

  11. Kipton

  12. Brynn

  13. Kipton

  14. Brynn

  15. Kipton

  16. Brynn

  17. Kipton

  18. Brynn

  19. Kipton

  20. Brynn

  21. Kipton

  22. Brynn

  23. Kipton

  24. Brynn

  25. Kipton

  26. Brynn

  27. Kipton

  28. Brynn

  29. Kipton

  30. Brynn

  31. Kipton

  32. Brynn

  33. Kipton

  34. Brynn

  35. Kipton

  36. Brynn

  37. Kipton

  38. Brynn

  39. Kipton

  40. Brynn

  41. Kipton

  42. Brynn

  43. Kipton

  44. Brynn

  45. Kipton

  46. Brynn

  47. Kipton

  48. Brynn

  49. Kipton

  50. Brynn

  51. Kipton

  52. Brynn

  53. Kipton

  54. Brynn

  55. Kipton

  56. Brynn

  57. Kipton

  58. Brynn

  59. Kipton

  60. Brynn

  61. Kipton

  62. Brynn

  63. Kipton

  64. Brynn

  65. Kipton

  66. Brynn

  67. Kipton

  68. Brynn

  69. Kipton

  70. Brynn

  71. Kipton

  72. Brynn

  73. Kipton

  74. Brynn

  75. Kipton

  76. Brynn

  77. Kipton

  78. Brynn

  79. Kipton

  80. Brynn

  81. Kipton

  82. Brynn

  83. Kipton

  84. Brynn

  85. Kipton

  86. Brynn

  87. Kipton

  88. Brynn

  Epilogue

  Kipton

  Brynn

  Thank you for reading!

  Special Thanks

  My proofreader, Chantal Baxendale.

  My beta readers Amber Feist, Morgan Terry, and Joanna Edger.

  Thank you all so much for polishing my words and providing me with honest feedback, which is exactly what I need!

  1

  Kipton

  I hover over the toilet, expelling every last bit of food I ate earlier. This is a common occurrence for me before every rodeo event. I’ve been like this since I first started this sport, so I’m used to it. Once my stomach is empty, my nerves begin to settle.

  Tonight is a huge night for me. If I don’t hit the top one hundred, then I’m hanging up my cowboy hat. If I can’t make that, I’m not good enough to go pro. I have put everything I have into rodeo. All of my spare time goes into this sport. It’s time to give it my all or call it quits. I know my boss is ready for me to choose ― rodeo or my job.

  I am an accountant at the Hendrix Accounting Firm. I know, a far cry from being a cowboy on the weekends, but I’ve been rodeoing since I was about ten years old. I started with roping calves. When that stopped being exciting, I told my parents I wanted to do more.

  My daddy suggested I try being a bulldogger, so I gave it a shot. Steer wrestling satisfied me for a few years, but it still wasn’t quite scratching my itch. I guess I’m an adrenaline junkie. Fuck, I remember when I told my mama I was going to be a bull rider. She cried and asked our church to pray for me, for my safety. Although it terrifies her, she’s the one who went with me to get my permit, and she’s never missed an event.

  “You’re up in two,” the event coordinator informs me.

  I give him a nod and grab my cowboy hat from the sink. I tug my glove on as I head to the arena, the same one I’ve always used. The leather is worn, but I’ll use it until it falls apart.

  We did the draw prior to the event, so I know the bull in the chute for me is Hellraiser. My heart pounds in my chest and blood pumps in my ears as I’m lowered onto the animal. I wrap the rope around my hand, making sure I have a good grip, and then nod.

  I suppose I’m ready to raise some hell tonight. Bring it on.

  The gate opens, and the bull bucks out of the chute. The first time I rode a bull, I loved the adrenaline. The rush it gave me. The mix of fear and excitement was a high that took me hours to come down from. That hasn’t changed.

  My goal is eight seconds. With each ride, that eight seconds seems like an eternity. During that time, I’m somewhat free. I have only one focus, one goal in mind. Ride the bull. Win the event. It’s one thing I can have.

  The bull drops, his head going down while his feet kick out, and it’s a motherfucker to stay seated. My grip loosens a touch, and for a split second, I fear that I won’t make this ride. Then, I hear the buzzer sound and know my eight seconds are over. My escape has ended.

  I let go of the rope, prying my hand free, and let the bull throw me off, somehow managing to land on my feet. The rodeo clowns draw his attention away while I scurry off to safety. I climb up the fence, propping on top so I can look over my shoulder and see my scores.

  Will I be giving pro a go, or returning to my office at Hendrix Accounting?

  I glance out at the crowd, the majority of which are on their feet, and spot my family. My parents are here, along with my two brothers and their wives. Then, I lock eyes with Brynn Oakwood.

  Riding a bull might be my adrenaline kick, but she gives me the same feeling. The same racing heart. The same blood rush.

  And she doesn’t even know it.

  I’ve known Brynn since we
were kids. She grew up with my brothers and me. In fact, she married my older brother, Kaler, and they have a daughter together. My niece, Willow, is actually perched on my younger brother, Tauren’s, shoulders. She is cheering me on, my biggest fan.

  Kaler and Brynn divorced over five years ago, and Brynn left Chapelwood, leaving my brother and Willow behind. I always kept in touch with Brynn, though. We spoke on the phone every once in a while, her calling to find out the latest gossip in our small town.

  I think she wanted to be sure she was being forgotten, no longer the hot topic for the busybodies. That took some time, but people eventually stopped talking about the tragedy of the high school sweethearts.

  When she started asking about Willow, wanting to see her, I helped her. I couldn’t seem to turn her down. That definitely pissed my brother off, but I felt she deserved to see Willow.

  Then again, maybe I was being selfish in wanting to see Brynn, too.

  All this time we have known each other, I have never crossed that line. She’s never indicated that she wanted me to. I have loved her from afar, knowing that a relationship between us was not in the cards. She was my brother’s wife. In fact, she belonged to him before I ever had a shot with her. She chose him all those years ago. I never stood a chance.

  But the way she’s looking at me in this moment, her blue eyes blazing, makes me wonder if it’s possible. Makes me wonder if I ever had a chance with her. If we can forget what the past held for the both of us and see what our future can be.

  “Ninety-three,” the announcer says, displaying my score on the board.

  I smile at the crowd that’s celebrating, tipping my hat at them.

  I did it. I scored high enough to rank in the top one hundred in the world. It’s my time to enter into the professional rodeo circuit. My part-time amateur days are over. There’s no going back. I’ll take this plunge, find out once and for all if I’m meant to do this with my life. There is no turning back.

  2

  Brynn

  My nerves are finally calming down now that Kipton has finished his ride. I have seen him participate in events before, but that was back when he was roping and steer wrestling. Having been gone from Chapelwood for so long, I missed out on seeing his transition into bull riding.

  I was nervous for him, gripping Helene’s arm the entire time he was on that massive animal. I know what he does is extremely dangerous, but he seemed to be in his comfort zone while he was out there. Helene, Tauren’s wife, simply patted my hand and assured me he would be all right.

  Kaler and Tauren, his brothers, both said he’s a bundle of nerves prior to every event, vomiting up everything he eats, but those nerves weren’t visible to me. He looked completely at ease on that bull. I was more nervous than he was.

  “Is Willow riding home with you?” Kaler asks, holding our daughter.

  Although I grew up with the Holt boys, Kaler was my high school sweetheart. He walked up to me at my locker one day and asked me out. That was it. We dated the majority of my teenage life and married a couple of years after high school. I always said I would marry a Holt boy. I simply didn’t know I would be divorcing one, too.

  “I’m going to try to finish up the interviews for the paper, and then I’ll swing by and pick her up afterward if that works,” I reply, and he nods, his free arm slipping around his wife, Jenna.

  When I first found out they were together, my ex-husband and my best friend, I was devastated. More than devastated, I was pissed.

  When we were in high school, we were a group of close friends, doing everything together. Jenna was part of that group, along with Kipton and Tauren. She even lived with my family for a while when her parents moved out of the country for work. When I left Kaler, she and Kipton were the only people I kept in contact with.

  I was attempting to reconnect with Willow, having missed five years of her life, and I thought Jenna was helping me do that. Instead, she was sleeping with my ex.

  It took me some time to sort out my feelings about that. I determined I wasn’t jealous, nothing like that. I was bothered that neither of them respected me enough, cared for me enough, to be honest with me. We were all close at one point in our lives, and they were sneaking around my back.

  I can admit now that I didn’t handle it the best. I lashed out, threatened to take Willow from Kaler. I knew deep down there was no way in hell a judge would ever grant me custody of her, not after the way I abandoned her, but it didn’t stop me from making idle threats. Trying to take Willow away from Kaler wasn’t right and something I never tried to follow through on.

  Everything is good between the three of us now, though. I moved back to Chapelwood, and Kaler began letting me spend time with Willow. I am not the same woman I was when I was married to Kaler and gave birth to Willow. I am certainly not the same woman I was when I left my husband and my child.

  I have grown a lot as a person since then. I stopped blaming others for my decisions, my mistakes. I accepted my diagnosis of Post-Partum Depression and sought help for it. That diagnosis gave meaning to the feelings I was having after Willow was born. The hopelessness I felt, the depression, and the lack of caring I had about those feelings. The lack of caring I had for my own daughter.

  It was hard to return here. Hard to come back. When I left Chapelwood, I walked out on my marriage and left my newborn baby behind. For a long time, it was easier to stay away and leave them alone. But once I was better, I wanted my daughter back. It was Kipton who helped me and convinced me to try and see her. It was he who always believed in me. Always believed I deserved another chance. Even when I didn’t even believe that.

  “I think you look a little too comfortable on the back of a bull,” I tell Kipton, finding him chatting with a few other cowboys.

  He turns and grins at me, and like always, I ignore the way that grin makes me feel. Kipton is one of my closest friends, allies. He was there for me when no one else was, willing to hear me out and help me see Willow. It nearly cost him his relationship with Kaler, something I deeply regret. They still have a little tension there, but as far as I can tell, it’s improving.

  “Wasn’t sure you were going to make it,” he replies.

  “Wouldn’t have missed it,” I assure him. “So, I missed interviewing you before the event. The Courant is doing a piece, and now it’ll be an even better one since you scored high enough to go into the pro circuit.”

  “Each year I tell myself if I score ninety or above, make the top one hundred, I will go pro. Take a sabbatical from my job and give rodeo all I have. Each year I’ve scored in the eighties, no higher than eighty-nine, but my ranking was slowly climbing.”

  “This is your year, Kipton,” I say. “You’re ready.”

  “Yes, I am,” he responds, and if I’m not mistaken, his hazel eyes roam over me as though he’s speaking of being ready for something else.

  Of course, that isn’t true. He’s never made a move on me or even indicated that he’s interested in anything more than friendship, and I’ve been back in Chapelwood for a while now.

  “Can I nail you down for a few questions? It won’t take long.”

  “Nail away,” he says, taking off his cowboy hat and running his fingers through his short, brown locks.

  I pull out my phone from my purse, trying to focus on what questions I want to ask and not how handsome he looks right now. Not at how the sweat in his hair makes it curl ever so slightly on the ends. How when he lifted his shirt to wipe his face, he doesn’t pull it down quite far enough, and I can see a glimpse of his tanned skin peeking out at his side.

  I turn on the recorder and proceed with the interview. Not once do I ask the question that I’m dying to know the answer to.

  Do you have the same feelings for me that I have for you?

  3

  Kipton

  It’s amazing how I feel no pain when I’m on the back of a bull, but when Sunday morning comes, every bruise and pulled muscle surfaces. If I could get away with missing chu
rch, I would, but my mama won’t have it. She’s already informed me that I better find somewhere to worship God while I’m on the road. Knowing her, she’ll find somewhere for me if I don’t.

  Groaning, I barely sit up and swing my feet over the side of my bed. The first thing I do when I roll out of my bed is go take a piss. Then, I start my shower, turning up the hot water to full blast. I step in and let the heat soothe those bruises and pulled muscles.

  Being a bull rider takes a lot out of my body, but it’s a calling I can’t ignore. Since I was a kid, I have always pushed the limit. Always wanted to be a daredevil. When my daddy took my brothers and me out to the lake I now own, I was the first to tie the rope swing up and use it. I had zero fear about the rope breaking or the branch snapping. I didn’t even know how deep the water was. None of that mattered at the time. I was eight years old.