Page 117 of Knox

God made me to take care of you, to protect you.

She ran her hands up her bare arms, her gaze on Vegas.

What if…what if God had shown up in her life through Knox? She drew in a breath.Your soul is thirsty.

It was. So very thirsty.

Lord, if You’re out there, please…She didn’t even know what to ask for.

Or rather, she did.

But she’d already said no to her tomorrows.

13

“Kelsey, you’re wound so tight I think I’m going to lose the hotdog I had for supper just looking at you. Please, take a freakin’ breath. Everything is going to be okay.” Tate stood in the doorway of the Yankee Belles’ dressing room, one hand on the jamb, the other looking out toward the concourse of the Las Vegas Western Complex.

The smell of animal flesh, dirt, beer, and a hint of manure filtered down the hall, mixed with the concession area offerings of popcorn, pizza, and ball park dogs, and didn’t help the mess in Kelsey’s gut.

And not because she was afraid. Tate had distributed the two pictures of the men suspected in the bombing in San Antonio. Plus, he’d cordoned off the Belles’ dressing area with double security. He wore an earpiece and had spent not a little time briefing the crew of the arena of possible threats.

No, they were probably safe from whoever wanted to hurt Glo.

And she’d run through her set without a glitch in rehearsal. Not a moment of hesitation as the lights fell, nothing to take her by the throat and send her to her knees.

Tate was right—everything was going to be okay.

Except she’d probably put too much hope in the idea that Knox might show up. Had shot a bullet prayer into the heavens with too much expectancy.

Silly.

He wasn’t coming, and of course not because she’d walked away. Told him not to follow.

The man probably came to his senses. Who wanted this life anyway—playing in dirty stadiums, staying up until all hours, pasting on a smile…

Down the hall, the crowd cheered as another poor cowboy got thrown from a bull. She glanced at the clock. Thirty minutes to showtime—the rodeo was nearly over. And NBR-X had sold out tonight, thanks in part to a killer bull they’d brought in to impress the crowd. Were pitting some old PBR rider against him.

Apparently, rodeogoers had been spooked by the events in San Antonio, but maybe after tonight—and her concert—they might get back on track.

Dixie’s violins were lined up against the wall, and now she sat in a chair, checking her phone. She looked amazing tonight in a pair of black leather pants and a white, sequined shirt, her long blonde hair down and twined with flowers.

Glo sat with one leg over the arm of a lounge chair, picking at her Dobro. Her arm had healed fast, but not enough for her to play tonight. Carter had hired a guy from Vegas who’d rehearsed with them for the week.

Elijah Blue was out in the wings, hanging with him somewhere.

Glo had opted for a short, black tiered dress with flouncy long sleeves, and red cowboy boots that showed off her legs. One look at Tate’s face when he’d knocked on the door to check on them, his gaze lingering on Glo, said that despite her efforts, he still saw her injury. What he’d nearly lost. Poor man, he recovered quickly, hiding it, but she sort of hoped that she’d see that look of desire on Knox’s face again, someday.

Apparently not.

Kelsey wore a pair of cutoff jean shorts, a white oversized blouse with cutout shoulders, and fringed boots. No feathers tonight, but she did braid one thick section of hair and let it fall into the tousles of the rest.

“C’mon,” she said, pushing herself out of the chair. “Let’s go watch the rodeo.”

Dixie looked up at her, raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I have to get out of my head. So, I’ll go watch strong, brave men try to cheat death.”

“I’m in,” Dixie said and got up.

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