Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On a messy desk, an old 7-year-old laptop is buried under story drafts, interview transcripts, and highlighters. Power cords, all tangled up, snake across a carpet that hasn’t been cleaned since the Reagan era.

The only new-“ish” thing Kate owns is a Canon Rebal T7i.

Kate stretches, her spine cracking like bubble wrap, knocking over a stack from the corner of her nightstand. “Oh, great,” she grumbles, her voice rough from sleep. She flips her legs over the edge of the bed and pushes off, then heads to her window. She throws open the blackout curtains, cursing as the sunlight hits her face.

She shimmies out of her sleep shorts and steps into a pair of Levis, then tugs a shirt over her torso, pulling at the hem around her waist, then pivots away from her dresser as bare feet padding across the hardwood carried her into the kitchen.

Kate hits the button on her coffee maker and as it gurgles to life, she reaches into a cupboard above the machine for a mug on the middle shelf, thrusting it onto the center as coffee began dripping. While it brews, she opens the fridge, staring inside, then settles for a piece of cold pizza from two nights ago.

A glass pitcher catches drops of water leaking from the water-stained ceiling, and an open lap sits on the corner of her kitchen counter with her email inbox onscreen. She slides into a stool, setting her mug down.

Fifty-two unread emails.

Wonderful.

A lot of them are garbage that somehow skipped the filter. She sent about 75% of them to her junk mail, or trash bin—but one stands out.

SUBJECT: Assignment – Owens, Tyler. Comeback piece.

She clicks it open and skims. Three-times former world champion bull rider, sidelined after a brutal injury in last year’s finals. Making his return this weekend in Stillwater. Full photo spread. Exclusive quotes. The whole nine yards.

Kate glances at her camera bag, zipped and ready by the door, then to a college textbook sitting open atop a pile of National Geographic magazines.

The apartment’s a tight squeeze, but it’s home, and its organized mess is exactly the kind of chaos that Kate likes. It’s about a ten-minute walk to OU. Stacks of notebooks and dog-eared newspapers teeter on an 8x8 coffee table in the middle of her living room, which, coincidently, doubles as her “workspace”, and dining room.

She pivots into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She spits, rinses, and stares at her reflection, then does something with her hair so it doesn’t look like she’s slept in it.

She slings the bag over her shoulder, bee lines out to the kitchen for a final sip. Keys, phone, notebook, voice recorder, extra camera batteries—she double checks the essentials with one foot already out the door.

The newsroom on campus is exactly the kind of mess Kate loves—half-empty coffee cups, printer paper piled high. Phones are ringing non-stop. Someone is yelling at a copier that probably ran out of ink again for the third time in a week. It’s barely 8:55 in the morning, and the whole room is a total disaster.

Kate slips through a side door, holding a coffee, moving fast in her scuffed Converse and a general feel of I’m totally on time, don’t ask questions.

She dashes to her desk, throws her bag down, and flips open her notebook—just as a voice booms across the bullpen. “Morning, Carter.” She barely blinks. Just lifts her head enough to peek over her cubicle wall.

“Good morning, Hal,” she replies, turning her head in her chair. Her editor, Hal Rosen, stands outside his glass office, holding a bright red travel mug and looking way too awake for a guy who used to down three mugs of draft beer ‘Just because he could’.

“You see my email?” he asks.

“Yeah, I saw it.” Well, she skimmed it. Mostly.

Hal gives her that long, editor stare. “You’ve got the eye for it, and he’s already agreed to the shoot.” He takes a slow slip from his mug. “He’s expecting you this weekend.”

“Where?”

“Stillwater.” Hal raises a poignant look at her. “We want a real human piece.”

“Yup,” she says, blinking like her brain had gone haywire. “Got it.”

Hal spins away and disappears back into his office. Kate clears her throat, spins back toward her laptop, and opens her email again.

She needs a second look. A real one.

Tyler Owens, she repeats to herself – the name is familiar. Of course it is. Because this isn’t the first time she’s heard of it.

Four months ago. It was the spring rodeo season opener in Guymon, and her best friend Addy had dragged her out “for fun,” which really meant ‘let’s get you outta the apartment so you stop moping over your ex’. Kate wasn’t sure, but went anyway, expecting nothing, while Addy and some of the girls she went with were hoping to land themselves a cowboy.

They settled into bleachers that creaked beneath them. All her friends flanked her, most of them a little sunburned already, sipping cheap beer from red solo cups.

Addy sat with her legs stretched out in scuffed calf-high boots, a pink t-shirt pulled taut across her ribs. Kate had opted for some breezy—a low-cut sundress in shades of blue and green that hit well above the knee.

All of a sudden, Addy grabbed her arm. “Kate, look!” She pointed toward the chute.

Kate leaned in.

The cowboy on the bull—“Tyler Owens,” the announcer called.

The gate banged open.

The bull charged into the arena and Tyler Owens rode it perfectly, maintaining form for eight seconds.

Then the buzzer.

His dismount was clean, landing light on his feet.

Kate was already standing, pulse spiking, adrenaline kicking in. She hadn’t meant to be that invested—but she was.

Back in the newsroom, her mouth goes dry. She stares at her screen, email still open, coffee cooling in her hand, and the slightest smile that now stretches across her mouth.

Back at her apartment, Kate moves through a pre-trip scramble—stuffing jeans and batteries into her duffel, double-checking her camera, tossing protein bars into every available pocket.

She turns toward the closet—and stops.

Still perched on the corner of her dresser is a black Ariat cowboy hat, the one rolled off Tyler’s head onto the ground, the one she picked up, dusted off, and handed back. The one that, with a grin that made trouble look charming, he said, “Keep it. Looks better on you anyway”, and she wore it the rest of the night.

Though she hasn’t touched it since. Just left it there, letting it collect dust. Now, she steps closer, heart kicking a little harder. It’s just a hat. Just a guy. And yet—

She picks it up, turns it over in her hands, and smiles, like she’s remembering the way she felt when they locked eyes, and the way she committed to memory the green. With a contented sigh, Kate slips the hat on her head, zips up her duffel, and heads to the door, keys in hand.

Stillwater was waiting. And so was Tyler.

The Stillwater rodeo grounds smell like dust, diesel, and deep-fried everything—a scent that hits Kate the second she steps out of her car that parks outside the hotel. She makes a stop at the lobby to check in, grab her room keys, then doubles back to her car to grab her duffel.

Her room is nothing fancy—single queen-sized bed, deep red carpet, bathroom in the corner with a walk-in shower, and a tiny dresser with a TV. She tosses her bag onto the bed and shimmies out of her clothes, then steps into the shower. It’s a quick one, then Kate steps into a pair of shorts, pulls a t-shirt over her ribs, and fixes her hair.

Kate grabs her camera bag from her duffel and walks out.

The grounds are buzzing with excitement. Riders come and go from the chutes, ranch hands yell over the engines, and a kid zooms past with a bucket that’s bigger than his head. Nearby, a bull lets out a mighty snort that makes her spine stand on end. She starts walking, zigzagging between trailers and hay bales, her boots crunching over the packed dirt.

She heads towards the main pen, where the warm afternoon sun makes everything feel a bit chilly. A few riders are near the gate, laughing at something, and one of them, leaning back with a confident smile, catches her eye.

Tyler Owens.

Hat tipped low, one hand on the fence rail, the other wrapped around a bottle of water. Kate’s heart skips a beat. Then—he spots her, and there’s a flash of familiarity in his eyes. He smiles. They hold for a moment, but it doesn’t last when he eventually looks away again, and Kate moves on.

She eases closer to a safe distance she can watch from, then pulls her Canon from the bag and flips it on. She clicks a lens into place, and adjusts the focus, then takes a few practice shots so she can get the angle just right. A bull bellows, and the gate clangs open.

Tyler steps into the arena, hat tipped back. The crowd roars. Kate snaps another photo, and then another.

She puts down her camera and checks the last few shots on the screen, pretending not to notice every move Tyler makes in the ring. She’s here for the story. That’s all. A clean, professional profile. She looks back up. Just for the lighting. The angle. He’s walking across the arena, brushing dust off his jeans, glove tucked into one hand.

The other—his left—swings loose at his side.

Don’t look.

Do not look.

But her gaze still drops. Kate swallows hard, feeling her stomach drop. Of course he’s not wearing it now. They had agreed on that. Keep it quiet. Simple. She shifts her weight and snaps another picture, zooming in on his face instead of his hand. He laughs at something. Kate lets out a shaky breath and pulls back from the lens.

Then it’s his turn in the chute, and he mounts his bull. He doesn’t choose his bull. It’s a random selection. The one he’s riding today—Stormbreaker, he’s no joke. A solid qualifier for the championship.

The gate slams open, and the bull bursts out of the chute like a lit fuse! Tyler clings on for dear life, his free arm slicing through the air in perfect sync with eight seconds of pure fury. Dirt flies everywhere. The crowd erupts in cheers, and Kate drops to one knee, camera blazing like a six-shooter—capturing the grit, the motion, and the rider balanced like a tornado tearing through Oklahoma’s red dirt.

The bull bucks hard to the left, back legs kicking skyward. Tyler counters, shifting his weight with reflex.

Click

Tyler’s spine is a blur with all the movement, and his ribs are squished under the pressure. The seconds are ticking away, but it feels like they’re dragging on forever. Tyler’s jaw clenches, and he stays low, eyes narrowed and focused. A high kick! The bull’s back arches, its hind legs up, and its front hooves hammer the ground like thunder. 

The final buzzer sounds, piercing through the arena. Tyler leaps clean. His boots hit the ground. He tumbles, rolls, and springs up in one smooth motion.

Click

Kate lowers the camera. She’s smiling.

Tyler ducks into the corridor beneath the stands, boots dragging, his thigh burning where he was injured last year. But at least he’s walking. He wets his face at a pedestal sink just outside the locker room. Then pads his pocket. It’s still in there. Smiling, he reaches in to pull it out, and slips it on.

A clipboard suddenly swings into view, followed by his manager’s voice barking over the noise of the arena. “Owens! You’ve got a photo shoot in twenty.”

Tyler nods, barely paying attention. It’s not because of the arena’s noise. He’s keeping his ring hidden, rubbing his thumb over the edge like he’s polishing it.

He takes a moment to check himself in the mirror. His shirt is unbuttoned and sweat beads on his cotton shirt. Arena dust still clings to him, almost as if it’s trying to blend with his skin and clothes.

The makeshift studio is hidden behind a row of equipment. He taps his palm on the door and pushes it open, then steps inside.

There’s this woman sitting on the ground, cross-legged, with her camera in her lap. She’s scrolling through her shots, munching on the edge of a Twizzler. She’s got jeans and red half-calf boots with an almond toe and fancy white stitching on the red faux leather. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a messy bun, and a few strands fall as she adjusts the focus.

He leans against the doorframe, studying her for a moment before gently knocking twice. “I didn’t expect to find you on the floor. Usually, it takes you at least one drink to get that far.”

Kate snorts and finally looks up, and yep—there it is. That look. That momentary flicker behind her eyes, “Tyler Owens. You look like someone let you out unsupervised.”

“I am unsupervised—which, coincidentally, is how you like me.”

“Gross,” she mutters, standing, brushing off her jeans. “You’re so lucky I’m being paid to be here right now.”

Tyler grins. “Oh, I’d pay you,” he says, deadpan.

She laughs it off, then clears her throat and stands. She spends about ten minutes getting the lighting adjusted and directing him where to position, then another five or so minutes switching out lens.

Kate takes a few test shots, switches lens again, adjusts focal point, then moves around him like she’s doing her job, “Tilt your chin down.”

He obeys, smirking. “I don’t remember you being this bossy.”

She lowers the camera and eyes him critically. “Your shirt’s bunched weird on the side. Hold still.”

Tyler was about to say something boastful, but she stepped in before he could. Her fingers gently touched the hem of his button-up, tugging it to smooth the fabric over his ribs.

He stops breathing, and so did she. They were too close. Too close. Her hand rests against his chest, adjusting the fabric, and her fingers linger for a moment too long. Long enough for him to feel the warmth of her palm through the thin cotton. Long enough for her to remember every silly, perfect detail about the way his chest rose when he was trying to hold back a laugh.

Her voice comes out quieter, “You should’ve worn the black shirt.”

“You like the black shirt?” he murmurs.

Kate takes a step back. “Shut up.”

He grins.

Her hand is still warm from where it touched him, and she knows he felt it too. She lifts the camera again, but her fingers are shaking. And when he looks at her, there’s nothing subtle about it—he’s watching.

They barely make it through the door.

Tyler kicks it shut behind them with a thud. His mouth never leaves hers. Kate’s hands are in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan low in his throat. He backs her blindly toward the bed, bumping into the wall, knocking over a lamp, tumbling out of their shoes.

“God, I missed you,” he mutters against her throat, lips dragging hot down her neck. She tilts her head, gives him more room, and he uses it—trailing kisses like he’s mapping every inch of her skin.

Kate’s hands push between their bodies, her fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt. “Oh yeah? Show me, cowboy.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tyler grins, helping her get the rest undone before she pushes the fabric from his shoulders.

She grabs him by the back of the neck and pulls him in again, mouths colliding in something rougher, hungrier. His hands push under the hem of her dress, palms skating up bare thighs that make his pulse jackhammer below the surface of his skin.

Tyler effortlessly lifts her, wrapping her legs around his waist. He gently drops her onto the mattress, giving it a slight bounce. She laughs, throwing her head back, but her breath catches when he follows her down, resting on his elbows above her. His eyes are dark, wild, and focused solely on hers.

His mouth finds her collarbone, tracing the curve of it with his teeth like he’s starving and she’s the only thing on the menu. Kate arches beneath him, dress bunched up around her hips, her breath coming in fast and uneven.

He slides on hand up her thigh, fingers spreading over soft, bare skin, and when he realizes she’s not wearing anything underneath—

“Jesus, Kate,” he groans, dragging his mouth up to hers again, kissing her like he means to leave bruises.

He’s been aching for this for months.

Her fingers are everywhere—shoulders, chest, waistband—like she doesn’t know where she should start. She works his belt loose, fumbles with the fly of his jeans, all while he’s pressing kisses along her jaw, her throat, the swell of her chest. Her dress slips off one shoulder and he shoves the rest down, entirely impatient in his movements.

Kate hisses his name, “Tyler… now…. “ She needs him. Wants him. The ache, and the hunger, that insatiable desire that’s been building since she saw him last.

He catches her wrists and pins them above her head, their bodies aligning in that perfect, maddening way that short-circuits all logic. Her hips tilt, her knees bend around his waist, and the first thrust is a jolt—a gasp from her, a curse from him, and then everything’s fast and messy and stupidly good.

The bed creaks, headboard knocking. Her nails rake down his back. His hand fists in the sheets beside her head.

His name slips out of her mouth like a broken little sound that just about undoes him.

Tyler bites her shoulder, murmurs, “Tell me you didn’t forget.”

“Never,” she pants, dragging him impossibly closer. “God, never.”

Tyler lay stretches out across the bed, completely unbothered and a little too pleased with himself. His hair is a tousled mess, sticking up in the back from where she’d tugged at it, and his chest still glistens faintly with sweat under the dim bedside lamp.

One arm is folded behind his head, propping him up, while the other lazily brushes over Kate’s thigh, fingers moving in slow, absent-minded strokes that send aftershocks skimming down her spine.

Sheets are tangled around their legs, his calf occasionally brushing hers. Her jeans and top are somewhere near the minibar—maybe draped over it, maybe pooled on the floor. Her bra is definitely hanging from the ice bucket. His jeans are upside down off the back of a chair like they’d been tossed there in a hurry.

Kate sits cross-legged at the foot of the bed, skin still flushed with heat, recorder in one hand and her notepad in the other. “Okay,” she clears her throat. “Let’s rewind. You’ve been back on the circuit for a while now. What’s changed?”

He gives her a lazy, amused look. “Besides my back being sore every morning and my wife jumping me in hotel rooms?”

“Tyler…” She shoots him a look.

“What?” His grin spreads. “You said this was off the record.”

Kate leans forward and thwaps him squarely on the kneecap with the edge of her spiral notebook. “Not anymore. Behave.”

Tyler stretches, both hands folding behind his head as he reclines deeper into the pillows, every inch of him on display—miles of golden skin, the cut of his stomach the way his abs flexed ever so slightly when he shifts. “Fine fine—what was the question?”

Her eyes roll. “What’s changed since your injury?”

Tyler’s grins fades, but not completely. His gaze lifts to the ceiling, holding there for a beat before turning back to her.

“Things are different now. I’ve got more to lose.”

“More to lose?”

“Yeah.” Tyler looks at her; like really looks at her, and his hand slides up her thigh a little higher, his thumb brushing just beneath the hem of the sheet that’s draped over her lap. “You. Us.”

Kate exhales and reaches out, flipping off the recorder. “That’s not an on-the-record answer.”

“It’s true though.”

She tries to smile, but her throat feels tight. The contrast of all this—this intimacy in secret, the stolen warmth wrapped in reality’s chill—makes her chest ache. “Next weekend’s Tulsa. You going?”

“Yeah. Short notice, but I need the points.”

Tyler reaches over, plucks the recorder from her hand, then grabs her notebook and tosses it onto the end table without looking. He tugs her towards him, arms sliding just around her waist, pulling her back into the curve of his body. “How about it, reporter wifey?” he murmurs, nosing along her jaw. “Can you swing another last-minute field piece before someone figures out you’re sleeping with your source?”

Kate groans and buries her face in his chest. His skin is still warm, damp in places, smelling faintly of sweat and aftershave and whatever the hell is in that arena. “God. I’m going to get fired.” Her palm slides over his ribcage.

He laughs. “Worth it?” His fingers already trace circle on her inner thigh.

She doesn’t answer right away. Her breath catches a little as his mouth finds that sensitive spot just beneath her jaw, the place that makes her whole body hum.

“…Yeah,” she murmurs. “So far.”

Tyler’s hand slips lower. He watches as she shivers when he touches her there, and his lips curved into a grin against her skin. “Good.”

His fingers move over the tender spot just below her hipbone.

Tyler’s knuckles brush her heat and slickness, and the smug sound he makes in the back of his throat sends a fresh rush of fire through Kate’s core.

Her eyes lazily roll in their sockets. He’s hit that pocket of nerves. “Tyler—”

“Shh,” he whispers, mouth moving to her collarbone. “Let me take care of you.”

And then he does.

Tyler pulls the sheet away with one tug, tossing it from the bed like it offended him, and pushes her back against the mattress, spreading her thighs apart. His gaze drops, and Kate has a half-second to breathe before his mouth was on her.

He takes his time, savoring every reaction. His hands hold her hips, his tongue teasing her with infuriating control. He knows her too well. Knows how to make her writhe, how to keep her right on the edge and then pull back, smug every time she cures his name or tangles her fingers in his hair.

“Jesus,” she gasps, one hand fisting the sheet, the other clamped on his shoulder. “Don’t you ever—stop—”

He pulls back just enough to smirk up at her. “That a request or a complaint?”

“God dammit, Tyler.”

His grin is wicked. “Guess I’ll keep going.”

And he does, until her thighs are trembling, until her voice breaks on his name, until her whole body arches off the bed and she comes undone beneath his mouth.

Tyler kisses the inside of her thigh, and makes his way back up her body, slow and sweet and smug as hell. Kate is still catching her breath when he settles beside her again, propping his chin on her bare stomach, grinning from one corner of his mouth to the other.

“Well,” he says casually, brushing her hair from her face, “you have to come to Tulsa now.”

She stares down at him. “You’re the worst.”

Tyler locks their fingers together, edging his thumb over the ring that shines on Kate’s ring finger. “But I’m your worst, darling.”

She tilts her head to look at him, her eyes radiating warmth. “Why are we still pretending this isn’t real?” she asks.

“Because,” Tyler leans in, pressing a kiss to her collarbone, “your editor would kill me, and half the PR team would go crazy.”

Kate lets out a sigh, but she doesn’t fight back.

Vegas. After a crazy night. One of those sweet, slow-burning moments that felt like it went on forever and ended with “let’s just do it.” Now it’s all about keeping their careers in check, where she wears her ring on a chain instead of her finger, and they sneak away for weekends, staying in hotel rooms in different states.

The Tulsa rodeo arena’s nothing too fancy. Just bleachers, dirt, and a whole lotta noise. Folks pile in with their drinks and snacks, kids running wild, music playing loud enough over the speakers.

People are laughing, hollering, living it up. It’s got that lived-in, small-town feel—even if Tulsa’s not all that small. Just a good place to catch a ride and maybe lose your voice yelling loud into the crowd as a ride is bucked or completes his eight second ride.

Kate’s not sure what she expected as her SUV pulls into a spot. It idles for a few seconds as she wanders her gaze out past the hood, through the front windshield, watching the comings and goings of people. She reaches past her passenger seat for the camera bag that’s on the floorboard in the back, then grins to herself as she throws the strap over her shoulder, kills her car’s engine, and steps out.

This was gonna be interesting.

She keeps her head down, sneaking past a group of cowboys near the livestock pens, her camera bag bouncing gently on her hip. She passes by the vendor stands. She adjusts the strap on her shoulder, already feeling the sweat trickle down her neck.

Kate’s not here for the rodeo though. Not really. But to her boss, she made some excuse to come out here. Just a small, white lie—like “There’s more story to get”, and he believed it enough that she hoped in a car on a Thursday afternoon to be in Tulsa two hours later. The main event wasn’t until Saturday, but Kate’s charm was enough to convince her boss she had to be there two days earlier.

In reality, it was an excuse to show up at Tyler’s door—Room 263—at 3:30pm, spend the next two hours in bed, and finally order room service when both decided they needed to put fuel in their bodies.

When they morning came, they showered, dressed, and each left separately, taking separate cars, arriving at the grounds separately—giving zero indication to anyone.

No pressure.

Kate follows the narrow path past the pens, her boots crunching over old hay and dirt. The smell hits her like a wall—sweat, leather, bull—and her fingers curl tighter around her camera strap.

Then, she sees him.

Tyler stands beyond the chute, half-shadowed by the rails, glove in his teeth as he tightens the rope around his hand. But something in his posture—his shoulders, maybe—ease the moment his gaze lifts and lands on her.

It’s fast. Barely a second. But everything in Kate goes still. He doesn’t smile, and neither does she. There are things they don’t talk about. A marriage no one knows about. A life packed into weekend visits and middle-of-the-night phone calls. And now here he is again, about to climb on a one-ton bull, and somehow, she is the thing he needs.

He nods, only one, but it’s enough. Kate blinks hard, turns away, and finds her spot in the stands. Not press row. Now front and center. Just high enough to see the chute clear, to track him with her lens and hold her breath when the gate flies open.

Chapter Text

At 7:30am, Kate is smearing cream cheese on a toasted Hawaiian bagel, slipping on a pencil skirt, and twisting her hair into something function. Fifteen minutes later, she’s stepping into her Converse, slinging her bag over one shoulder, grabbing her keys, and locking the apartment door three floors up.

By 8:05, she’s pushing through the newsroom’s double doors. She slides into her rolling chair, drops her bag at her feet, fires up her computer, and tries to look productive.

Kate is tired—really tired—but forces her eyes to stay open. The draft from last night blinks back at her: run-on sentences, clunky transitions. She had meant to fix them before but just never got around to it.

A yawn catches her off-guard. She claps a hand over her mouth and shuffles to the coffee pot in the corner. She pours herself a cup, black and bitter, stream curling against her cheek. Back at her desk, Kate’s reading the opening paragraph again. Somewhere under the tangles is the story she’s been chasing—she just has to dig it out.

Kate rolls her shoulders, takes another drink, and starts trimming and shifting sentences. The fog in her head starts to thin. But every few sentences she tightens, she hears Tyler’s voice, the easy grin he aims at her, the way his knee presses against her. She shakes it off and keeps typing.

She’s halfway through tightening her lead when a shadow falls across her desk. “Early start, Carter,” Greg says, leaning on the edge of her cubicle with a mug of something sugary enough to keep him awake for hours.

Kate straightens in her chair. “Couldn’t sleep.” She keeps her tone light, neutral—like she hadn’t been spending half the night chasing storms with her husband.

Greg nods towards her screen. “That the rodeo piece?”

“Yep.” She adjusts the document, so the headline is front and center. “Trying to get it cleaned up before the afternoon meeting.”

He takes a sip, oblivious. “Heard you got some good quotes from Owens.”

Kate’s pulse flickers. Good quotes. Yeah. And a wedding ring in her nightstand. “He’s easy to talk to,” she says with a shrug.

Greg grins. “Anyway—meeting’s been moved up.”

She freezes. “Wait. What?” Kate rolls back from her desk. “It’s not supposed to be until later, Greg! I don’t have anything prepared.”

“Ten minutes.” He’s tapping his mug. “Plans change, Carter.”

Kate mutters something, but Greg is already walking away from her desk. Then she yanks her notebook from her bag and starts flipping pages.

Her phone buzzes.

T – Mornin’, sunshine :)

Kate smirks, despite herself, and her thumbs move fast to get out a reply.

K – Ugh, don’t do that -.-

T – Don’t do what? Wish my wonder, BEAUTIFUL wife a lovely day? :) <3

She bites back a laugh then sips from her coffee, making a face at the bitter taste. Whoever was in charge of making the coffee this morning should be fired from all future coffee endeavors.

Her fingers click on the screen as she punches back a reply.

K – Not when the ‘afternoon meeting’ is now a see-you-in-ten-minutes meeting

T – Oooh, yeah. Well, ya know… I could take your mind off it ;)

K – Don’t start

T – Already started. Now… what are you wearing?

Her pulse gives a little kick.

K – Blazer, pencil skirt, bad attitude…

T – Mm, keep the bad attitude, lose the rest. Slowly. Tell me how you’d do it

She makes a shift in her chair, heat creeping up her neck.

K – In your dreams, cowboy

T – Yeahhh, no :) Close your eyes a sec. I’ve got my hands on your knees… sliding them up… that skirt of yours doesn’t stand a chance

Her legs cross a little tighter under the desk. She chews her lip, watching the three little dots pop up on the screen.

T – Bet that skirt rides up really easy when I’ve got you on my lap

She swallows hard, suddenly very aware of how warm her office feels.

K – Stop. I’m at work

T – And?

Kate’s trying—really trying—to focus on the open file on her desk, but the words blur, and her mind remains split. She glances at the clock. Two minutes. Her pulse quickens. The phone is still buzzing, but she chooses not to answer it. Nope, not happening, Tyler.

She almost drops her phone when Greg’s voice pops in from the hallway. “Carter, you coming?”

If Tyler has anything to say about it…

Kate shoves her phone in her bag like it’s contraband, grabs her notebook, and smooths her skirt—pointless, because now she’s thinking about exactly how far it would ride up her thighs.

She drops into her usual seat just as the editor starts talking, flipping open her notebook and scribbling down something to make herself look busy. Across the table, someone drones about deadlines, ad space, and page layouts, but Kate’s mind is elsewhere—on a certain cowboy who’s probably leaning against his truck right now, knowing damn well he’s in her head.

Her phone buzzes in her bag. Her pen stalls mid-word. She tells herself not to look. She lasts maybe ten seconds. Sliding the phone just far enough out of her bag to check the screen, Kate sees his name—and one line that makes her thighs press together under the table.

Kate’s heart slams against her ribs.

From the depths of her bag, her phone buzzes again.

T – Bet you’re already wet for me

Kate’s breath catches. She can feel the person next to her glance over, and she immediately starts scribbling fake notes, nodding like she’s deeply invested in the conversation—while every nerve in her body is screaming about the man on the other end of that phone.

If she makes it through this meeting without spontaneously combusting, it’ll be a goddamn miracle.

“…photos need to be turned around same day, not two,” the editor is saying.

Kate bites at her lip. This job is here only because it’s paying her bills, not because she actually enjoys being berated half the time. But also, because there’s a heat between her legs that’s making it very hard to concentrate.

“Carter, you good with that?”

Her head snaps up. “Yep. All good.”

The editor moves on and she keeps her eyes pinned on him, clearing her throat, adjusting to get comfortable.

Every buzz from her bag is like a jolt—and she doesn’t care check them.

By the time the meeting ends, her leg is bouncing under the table, her notebook page filled with half-legible scribbles and one very incriminating T tucked into the margin.

The moment the conference room clears, Kate grabs her bag and ducks into the hallway. She glances both ways, then slips into the tiny supply closet at the end of the hall, pulling the door closed behind her.

Her hands are already fishing out her phone.

Three new messages.

T – Still thinking about you

T – Bet you’re squirming in that chair

T – Call me, Kate. Right now

Kate swallows hard, hits his contact, and lifts the phone to her ear.

He picks up on the first ring. “Finally.”

“I couldn’t—” she starts, but he cuts her off.

“Tell me you’re alone.”

She glances at the door. “Yes.”

“Good. Lock it.”

Her fingers fumble with the latch.

“Now,” Tyler’s voice drops to a slow, deep drawl, “where were we? Oh right… my hands on your knees…”

She leans back against the shelves, chewing at her bottom lip. “Tyler…”

“Mmm, that’s it. Say my name like you mean it. Now tell me what you’re doing with that skirt. Is it still in my way?”

She closes her eyes, one hand gripping the phone tighter, the other trailing unconsciously along the hem.

A sudden voice outside the door calls her name, and she freezes. “You in there, Carter?”

Her heart slams in her chest. She covers the phone, whispering back, “Uh—yeah! Be out in a sec!”

Tyler chuckles low in her ear, the sound sinfully amused.

There’s another knock at the door, a muttered, “Hurry up,” from whoever’s lingering outside in the hall. Kate fumbles for her bag, tucking her phone against her shoulder so her hands are now free.

“Where?” she whispers.

“My truck. North lot,” he says, and hangs up.

Her pulse is racing as she slips out of the closet, head down, mumbling an apology to a coworker on her way past. She’s not even sure what excuse she’s using—bathroom break, coffee run, maybe both?—but she’s moving fast.

She spots his truck instantly once she’s outside. The driver’s side window is down, and he’s leaning over the console, one elbow propped casually.

The second Kate’s in reach; Tyler pushes the door open. “Get in.”

She does, sliding onto the passenger seat, the door barely closing before Tyler’s got on hand cupping the back of her neck, pulling her into a searing kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and pent-up teasing.

“You’ve been in my head all damn morning,” he growls against her mouth. His other hand is already on her thigh, sliding up under her skirt’s hem.

“Tyler—”

“Shh.” His hand slides higher on her thigh, tracing slow, deliberate circles just beneath the edge of her skirt. “Just gimme a few minutes, Kate.”

She arches into his touch, one hand gripping the worn leather of the seat for balance. The cab is warm, Tyler’s scent surrounding her—leather, soap, and faintest hint of coffee beans from his uncle’s garden.

His fingers brush the soft lace of her underwear, and she shivers against him. He leans in, voice low and rough. “You’re already soaking for me, aren’t you?”

Kate swallows hard, heat flooding her cheeks. She seems to avoid his eyes entirely as his thumb presses lightly against her, and she catches her breath, the world narrowing down to the slick, teasing friction he’s building.

His touch grows bolder, fingers slipping under the fabric, grazing her bare skin. His movements are slow, patient, like he’s savoring every second. The way his fingers move—just enough to make her ache, but not enough to let her lose control—tugs a quiet moan from her lips.

Tyler whispers against her ear, “Tell me what you want…”

Her voice, in a breathless whisper, answers, “You.”

His grin is wicked.

His fingers explore, and she can’t help the small, involuntary movements—pressing into him, aching up, chasing that delicious, maddening edge he’s guiding her toward.

Minutes stretch, each second thick.

Tyler’s hands and mouth work in sync—teasing, coaxing, making Kate forget everything but the raw, electric heat pooling between them. Her fingers clutch his shirt, nails digging in lightly as his touch deepens. His palm presses firmly against her skin, holding her in place as he guides her closer to that edge.

She bites her lip, fighting back a moan just as he dips a finger a fraction deeper, curling it gently inside her. The sensation is exquisite—sharp and electric.

“You like that, don’t you?”

Kate doesn’t respond verbally, only groans, to let Tyler know what her voice cannot.

His fingers move slower, building heat that spread through her like wildfire. Her body arches, pressing into him, searching for more, needing more, while his other hand cups her jaw.

Tyler grins, wicked. “Let go for me, Kate,” he commands softly, voice thick.

And just like that, the tension snaps. Her breath hitches, a long, shaky moan slipping free as waves of pleasure pulse through her, muscles tightening, her racing like a drum. Tyler’s fingers never falter—pulling her through the storm until she’s trembling and breathless in his arms.

He pulls her close, lips pressing against hers, then Kate’s head fall forward against his shoulder as she hooks her breath, and the rest of her catches up.

Kate sits on her couch the next day, laptop balance on her knees, coffee gone cold next to her and there’s still a half-eaten bagel spread out on a paper plate that chills out on her coffee table.

Today is supposed to be an easy day, that’s why it’s 11am and she’s still in her pajama shorts and over-sized sleep shirt. Her hair’s a bit of a messy, lazily tossed back into a bun with little to no care for actual appearance. The weather’s shitty, rainy—as usual; typical around this time of year in Oklahoma.

But she can probably get a decent amount of work done without distractions. Easier said than done when Tyler Owens’s face fills up half her computer screen.

Tyler at the chute, pre-ride; Tyler climbing the rails…

Kate lets out a deep sigh, rubbing her bleary eyes. It was supposed to be a straightforward task, but nothing ever goes as planned. She just needs to show up, snap some photos, and write a story—pretend she’s not married to the guy at the heart of it all.

She grabs her mug and takes a sip. Brr, cold. Of course. She makes a face and puts it back down, next to the sad, half-eaten bagel that hasn’t been touched since breakfast turned into a staring contest with Lightroom.

And then, without warning—

BWAAAP. BWAAAP. BWAAAP.

Her weather radio screams at her from cross the room, loud enough to jolt her upright.

“Jesus,” she stammers out, nearly spilling what was left of her coffee. The NOAA alert tone blares, followed by a familiar robotic voice: “A severe thunderstorm warning has been issued for the following counties—"

Kate groans and pushes her laptop aside, padding over in bare feet to smack the volume button, then turns back to her window. The sky has already gone that weird shade of gray-green outside the window.

The warning isn’t a surprise. That low-pressure system has been slowly moving east for the past three days. She noticed the wind shift hours ago without even thinking about it. The pressure is dropping, the CAPE is high, the shear is low, but there’s plenty of moisture. It’s a classic late-summer setup. Things could get really bad if the line stays put.

Still, her stomach twists—not because of the storm, but because of what she’s been doing when it hit.

Kate settles in with a tea, and tries to get her thoughts re-focused. Tries being the operative word here, because five minutes later, and halfway through an article she’s calling “Back in the Saddle: The Bull-Rider Who Won’t Quit”, her phone is buzzing on the side table, and she’s reaching across stacks of magazines, notebooks, and meteorology textbooks to grab it.

T – Sky’s looking wild tonight. Right up your alley. Checking radar… storms are popping up south of here. Figure I could rescue you from a boring evening at home in your underwear…

Kate smiles, shaking her head. Of course he’s tracking the same cells she’s been half-distracted by all evening. Outside, the light’s gone sickly green. The air looks thick enough to wring out, wind nudging the treetops in restless spirals.

Her phone buzzes again.

T – So is that a yes? Come on… I’ve got snacks in the glove box. Also, I may have already packed the cooler

A laugh catches in her throat. Her stomach does the tilt, same as it does when the radar lights up in reds and purples. The storm’s calling. And so is Tyler – two systems she’s never been good at resisting.

It was working.

Cause now instead of her laptop, Kate’s staring at her camera bag tucked in the corner.

K – You drive a hard bargain, Tyler Owens :)

His reply was immediate.

T – You better get sure…cause I’m ten minutes out and you’re either getting naked or chasing with me—actually, you can do both. Chase first, get naked later :)

Kate lets out a soft snort, rolling her eyes, but the warmth in her chest says otherwise. Tyler’s like a supercell – magnetic, reckless, and gorgeous in ways that can leave you speechless. And she’s already up, closing her laptop, slipping into some jeans and boots.

Wipers squeak across Tyler’s windshield as his 2010 Dodge Ram 3500 barrels down I-44 through the rain. Kate’s got her phone out, radar app up, legs crossed on the passenger seat. Her camera bag is tucked between them on the console.

Wind shoves at the truck, rocking them once, then twice. The air turns cool in a blink.

She braces her camera against the dash. “You’re cutting it close.”

“That’s the point,” Tyler says, grinning like the devil and punching the wipes into high.

The wall of rain swallows them whole, loud enough she’d got to lean in to hear. Tyler’s one-handing the wheel, the other tapping against his thigh.

Lightning bolts shoot up from the sky, and thunder roars loudly. Kate zooms in and takes a picture, a smile spreading across her face. She’s having the time of her life—the sky is giving her exactly what she needs for the perfect shot.

A gust shoves them sideways.

Another bolt of lightning strikes the field nearby, and Kate’s finger is already on the shutter. The photo captures everything - the forked light, the wet blur of the glass, and Tyler’s profile, lit up like he’s meant to be in it.

When the roar eases and the rain shifts, Tyler glances over, still smiling. “Tell me this was worth being dragging out of the apartment for.”

“Definitely worth it.”

The rain pours down heavily, drumming on the hood. The world outside becomes pitch black, with headlights barely piercing through the darkness. “If she doesn’t here, it’s bound to pop somewhere else.”

Wind whips against the side of the truck, and Tyler leans into the wheel, trying to keep the skittish horse steady.

His aunt has a horse named Dolores. Tyler has no idea how the mare ended up with such an unfortunate name. But there were two things Dolores definitely didn’t like: anything that made noise, and him. In fact, the only person the horse allowed near her was his aunt.

Kate still has her camera up, watching the sky through the lens, while Tyler occasionally glances at the Doppler. “A hook is forming,” he says, and then Kate lowers the camera to check her phone.

“Yeah, I see it,” he mutters, flipping the wipes to high. “We’re close.”

The gate cracks open and a bull explodes out, hooves kicking dust sky-high. Tyler leans forward, elbows on his knees, watching the rider get flung like a rag doll after four brutal seconds.

Kate winces. “He’s gonna feel that tomorrow.”

Tyler gives a low whistle. “If he remembers tomorrow.”

They settle back as the pickup men wrangle the bull. Kate glances over, the brim of Tyler’s hat shadowing her eyes. “So,” she says, casually, “what was your first tornado?”

Tyler looks in her direction. “I was eight,” he says finally. “Driving with my aunt. Sirens going off, weather radio screaming, then this funnel just drops right down in the middle of the road.”

“Right in front of you?”

“Dead center. I just kept staring. But my aunt—she’s got both hands on the wheel, white-knuckled. This look in her face. Then I realized I was supposed to be scared.”

“Were you?”

Tyler hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I was.”

She nudged his boot with hers. “Still watched it, though.”

“Course I did.”

They reach the top of the hill, and the world suddenly stretches out below them—a vast, flat field fading into the distance, topped by a heavy, dark sky. In the southwest, a dark cloud is slowly lowering, blotting out the sun.

Tyler spots a gravel turnout and takes a quick detour.

Beyond the fields, the funnel cloud dips lower, spinning slowly toward the ground. Kate’s already out of the truck, camera in hand. “Dew point is steady. Wind shear is good,” she whispers, eyes bright, smile stretched wide. “Holy shit! Oh my god – the whole updraft is rotating!”

“Look at those striations!” Tyler cries out, excitedness chomping at his throat. “It’s low precep, you can see everything – oh she’s perfect.”

Kate raises her camera to eye-level. “She’s gorgeous.”

He spins around, hands on his hips. They catch each other’s eyes. He’s got that goofy grin on his face—the one that says I’m in love with this crazy woman.

In the heart of Guthrie, Oklahoma, lies the Owens ranch, a true gem, partially hidden by towering American elm and Sycamore trees.

Imagine dusty dirt roads lined with sturdy wooden fences, weathered by the relentless winds and rains of time. The barn’s weathered boards creak softly in the breeze, while the old farmhouse bears the marks of years of neglect, with chipped paint and a sagging porch.

The air is filled with the delightful aroma of fresh earth, leather, and woodsmoke—a true taste of rugged country living.

The gravel drive kicks dust behind Kate’s tires as she turns onto the dirt road and pulls through an old wooden-worn gate. It had been months since she’d been out here, but the place still smells the same—hay, horses, and of course the faint earthy tang of red dirt after a rainstorm.

A pair of cattle dogs lounge in the shade of the barn, ears flicking as Kate parks. Before she can even shut the door, one of them trots over, tail wagging. “Hey Bear,” she greets with a smile, and she gives him scratches behind the ear.

Tyler’s silhouette appears at the barn’s wide double doors, hat brim shading his eyes. He leans against the frame; one boot crossed over the other.

She grins, shutting the door.

“Ready?”

The ranch wasn’t flashy, but it was home. There was the main house on the property—two floors, five bedrooms—and the red barn with a loft the full size of the barn itself, that Tyler had transformed into a cozy studio: queen bed, clawfoot tub wrapped in wood doors with stained glass, a ‘50s style kitchen tucked into the corner, and an L-shaped couch in front of a 40” TV.

Her fingers brush a saddle, worn smooth by years of use, and a smile tugs her lips. Her gaze lingers a second longer than usual, like Tyler’s trying to read more than just her smile.

When she steps closer, the heat between them is almost tangible, like the air had thickened just enough.

He smirks and straightens, meeting her halfway. Behind him, the sounds of horses shifting in their stalls carry through the open barn, and beyond that, the pasture stretches green and cold under the late-summer sun.

Tyler swings up into the saddle in a way that makes Kate’s chest tighten in a way she hadn’t expected. “Been a while since you rode one of mine,” he says, voice low, eyes catching hers, and then a smile breaks out.

She tugs her reins gently, nudging her mare forward. Kate ducks under a low-hanging branch. The ground is getting rocky and covered in thick grass.

She waits for him, as Tyler avoids a branch. “I keep forgetting how beautiful it is out here,” she says softly, almost as if she’s sharing a secret with someone else, not just herself.

“You always did like it.”

They ride in silence for a beat, and the rest of the ranch stretches out before them. Her entire life’s been spent on a farm in Sapulpa, but Kate’s not used to the kind of foliage she sees out here in Guthrie.

The trail stretches out before them, winding through tall grasses that sway under a sky bruised in orange and blue. Tyler takes her to a cozy clearing by the river. It’s not huge, but it’s got a nice depth. There’s an old camp there, with a picnic table that’s a bit worn out and a fire pit that’s all by itself.

“Hey, where are we headed?” Kate asks, one eyebrow arched as she shot him a sideway glance from the passenger seat,

Tyler’s mouth curves into that slow, self-satisfied grin she knows all too well. “It’s a surprise.”

She lets out a groan, leaning her head back against the seat with her arms folded over her chest. “You could’ve at least given me a hint…”

“That’s the point.” He chuckles. “Makes ‘em more fun.”

Kate gives him a flat look. “For you maybe.”

He chuckles, reaching over to give her knee a reassuring squeeze. “Trust me just this once.”

“Mm-hm.”

They turn down a narrow dirt road, branches arching overhead until the last bit of sunlight was dappled and fading. Finally, the trees open up into a clearing. Kate sits forward as the truck rolls to a stop.

An old campground stretches out in front of them—weathered picnic tables, a rusty fire ring surrounded by mismatched camp chairs, the faded remains of painted signs. String lights dangle between the trees, their bulbs dull, but Tyler hops out and starts plugging them into a little battery pack.

One by one, they flicker to life.

Kate steps out. “Alright cowboy. Not bad.”

He winks, already moving to unpack the cooler from the truck bed. “Hope you like brisket.”

“Oh, you cook, too?”

“I don’t make a habit of it,” he says, as he sets the cooler down, and lays out a couple papers plates, and two solo cups. ”Then again, I’m still trying to impress you.”

Kate’s lips curl, and her heart thuds. “It’s kinda working.”

After a while, they leave the clearing, heading towards the far side of the ranch. Kate urges her horse into a trot, then a canter, and Tyler gives his a gentle nudge to match her pace. They ride side by for half a mile, her laughter carrying on the wind, the sound bright and unguarded.

By the time they slow, her cheeks are flush, hair coming loose from its tie. They make their way back at an easy walk. At the stables, Kate swings down from the saddle, and a dull ache tugs at her thighs. It’s been a while since she’s been on a horse—but like riding a bike, the muscle memory is still there.

They brush down their horses, until the sun dips low enough to turn the barn’s shadows long, and eventually find themselves drifting upstairs to the loft; “Something to drink?” Tyler asks as his boots click across the floor.

“Sure.” Kate toes off her shoes at the couch, then pads barefoot towards the tub, nudging open the wooden sliding door. “I’m just gonna wash up…”

Tyler pulls two beers from the fridge. “Just promise not to use all the hot water.”

“I’ll be fast.” She reaches for a towel, that she then drapes over a rack on the wall. “Promise.”

Kate turns the tap, steam curling up from the stream of water as it hits the porcelain. Her fingers are still on the hem of her shirt when she feels him behind her.

But she catches him looking, and her poignant look turns softer. “You planning to just stand there?”

“Thinking about it,” Tyler says.

Her smile is quick, almost daring. She peels the shirt over her head, letting it drop to the floor at her feet. When she reaches for her jeans, his hand comes to rest at her hip.

Tyler takes his time, tugging his t-shirt over his head, boots kicked aside, as Kate reached between them and unbuckled his belt. The sound of the buckle loosening seems louder in the small space.

By the time the last layer hits the floor, the shower is already fogging the mirror.

He reaches past her to pull the sliding door fully shut, the soft click of it closing sealing them in together. Without word, Kate takes his hand, guiding him under the spray. The water rushes warm over their skin, and when his palms find her waist, it feels like they’ve been moving toward this all afternoon.

His mouth finds hers again—slow at first, tasting, learning—before deepening with a quiet urgency that makes her forget caution.

Kate’s breathing hitches as Tyler’s palms move around to the small of her back, tracing the familiar curves of her hips, and the outline of her spine. His touches such ripples just beneath the surface of her skin. The water drums on as fingers tangle in damp hair and hands explore the bare planes of shoulders and backs.

She presses against him, the heat between them sparkling through the steam and settling deep in her bones. There’s a slight catch in her chest when Tyler’s fingers brush over a sensitive spot just below her ribs.

His mouth finds the nape of her neck, and for a second, the world holds its breath. Kate tilts her head back, giving him the softest invitation, and he takes it, lips brushing against her skin like a secret. The edges of restraint crumble, replaced by something warmer, more urgent but still tender.

The bed creaks softly under them, sheets tangled around their legs. Tyler traces lazy circles on Kate’s bare arm, a gentle smile on his mouth. “There’s another PBR event up in Kansas this weekend.”

“Another qualifier?”

He nods, fingers tightening just a little. “Yeah. Last big push before the finals. A lot’s riding on it.” Tyler feels her shift next to him, then sit up and pull her knees up to her chest.

“I guess that means you’ll be gone again.”

“You can come with me.” Tyler leans into her, trailing soft kisses up her leg, then she pulls away from him, sitting upright and tugging her knees up to her chest. “What’s wrong?”

Kate’s hands flex over her calves. “You know I can’t just drop everything…”

“I know,” he says softly.

She pulls back a little. “You just got back from Cheyenne.”

“Yeah, but this one’s important. And you know how it is…”

She stares at him, a knot forming in her stomach. “Right.”

“Kate—” he starts, but she’s already looking away, focusing on the faint light moving through the curtain. Tyler reaches for hand, holding it even when she didn’t squeeze back. “I need to do this. For us. I get enough money from riding…

She gives him a small nod, though her eyes stayed on the ceiling. “Yeah. I know.”