Page 2 of Destry

“I got it,” I said without breaking my stride.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him standing just outside the stalls, arms crossed, cowboy hat tipped low over his eyes. His button-down shirt was unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up, exposing chocolate tattooed skin and forearms roped with inked muscle. I didn’t need to look directly at him to know every woman within a five-mile radius was probably following his every move.

Not me.

“Looks like that damn saddle is about as big as you are,” he teased, stepping into my path like he had all the time in the world.

I huffed, adjusting my grip. “I’m still carrying it, aren’t I?”

Destry grinned, lazily, like he had nowhere else to be. He massaged his bearded jaw and arched his brow.

“Stubborn.”

“Independent.” I moved to walk past him, but he reached out and grabbed the edge of the saddle with one hand like it weighed nothing.

I glared in annoyance. “Seriously?”

“Very fucking serious.” He winked. “Let the shit go, I got it.”

I sucked in a breath, debating whether it was worth the fight. But my arms were screaming and I still had a full shift ahead of me. So, I let go. Just this once.

Destry hoisted the saddle over his shoulder with ease and walked toward the stall like he owned the place. Which, to be fair, he kind of did. The Callahans had more money than anyone around here, but you’d never know it by looking at him. Hemight have been a champion bull rider, but he was still just a cowboy.

He set the saddle down, then turned back to me with his eyes full of amusement. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

I crossed my arms. “I had it handled.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No the fuck you didn’t.”

The way he was looking at me, like I was some kind of puzzle he wanted to figure out, made my skin prickle. I didn’t get flustered by cowboys, especially not ones like him, but Destry Callahan was sort of hard to ignore. Unfortunately for him, I was really good at deflecting.

“Well,” I said, brushing the dust off my jeans, “if you’re done playing hero, I’ve got work to do.”

His grin widened, slow and sexy. “Don’t work too hard, Savvy.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“Too late, it’s already stuck.” He tipped his hat and strolled off, leaving me standing there, half irritated, half… something else.

Damn cowboys.

I shook it off and got back to work because no matter how many championships Destry Callahan had won which had countless numbers of women throwing themselves at him, I vowed not to be in that number. I didn’t have time for distractions. I had a plan and no smooth-talking bull rider was going to get in my way.

CHAPTER

TWO

Destry Callahan.

I had seen plenty of women come and go through the rodeo over the years. Barrel racers, trick riders, buckle bunnies, didn’t matter. Most of them had the same look in their eyes when they saw me. Admiration or I want you to fuck me, sometimes both.

Not Savannah Gentry. She barely even fucking looked at me and damn if that wasn’t the most interesting thing that had happened all week.

I leaned against the fence with my arms crossed, watching as she moved through the arena, brushing down one of the quarter horses. She worked fast, efficient, like she’d been doing this her whole life which, if I had my guess, she probably had. I had seen her pretty ass around town before, working odd jobs, always keeping her head down. She wasn’t the type to linger or flirt like the others.

Now that she was working the rodeo, I had a front-row seat to her pretty ass and time to enjoy the view and I damn sure liked it. A lot.

She was small, stubborn as shit, and moving with a kind of purpose I didn’t see often. The women out here had one goal. Save a horse and ride a cowboy. Some folks worked hard because they had to. Savannah worked like she was trying to prove something to the world or maybe, trying to prove something to herself.

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