Page 7 of Titus

“Mm hm,” she scoffs.

The driver walks back out of the lodge along with three other people. Then he welcomes and helps us onto the Sprinter. Rini and I slide into the set of chairs in the front row on the passenger side so we have a clear view of the older cowboy chauffeuring us.

“I’m Rufus, one of your drivers here at the ranch. For the rodeo, we actually have three vans running from six in the morning until one a.m. We each run on thirty-minute schedules. We pick up and drop off here and at the main entrance at the fairgrounds. Don’t miss us and get stuck,” he says with a rich but wheezy laugh.

His parents must have known what he would grow up to be because no other name would fit him. If names have stereotypes, he’s the mold for Rufus. This caramel-toned man is dressed in full cowboy gear. His belly pokes out of his thick plaid shirt and his jeans are obviously his favorite pair. They have that comfortable but worn look; they’ve been through at least one hundred wash cycles. His steel toe boots even have spurs on the side and his hat is tucked comfortably on the dash of the ride. I truly want to call him Uncle Rufus.

I’m fascinated with Uncle Rufus for the entire thirty-minute journey. His rich and jovial historical lecture about the history of the ranch and Millers Pointe rodeo have me glued to his words. He’s a Millers Pointe native who grew up on a small ranch just ten miles from the fairgrounds and loves every moment of his country boy lifestyle. His daughter is a barrel racer and she competes in the morning. I make a mental note to scout out Kacey, with a K, Moore. Just off of the strength of her dad, I want her on our team.

When we make it to the main entrance, the lines are unbelievable. There are actually three separate lines marked: competitors, vendors, and general admission. I pull our vendor lanyards out of my small tote and pass one to Rini. Shemaneuvers hers over and around her hat and I place my own then pull my long hair through it.

Thankfully, our line is much shorter than the others so we enter the grounds in five minutes and follow the signs through to the Barbecue Kickoff. The rodeo is definitely in full effect. The massive carnival rides, food joints, games, vendors—local and national—and the livestock. There are tents everywhere and the entire vibe is lit. All the sounds of the town and the people are here. And it pains me to say this, but Rini is correct, I should have worn my hat. I feel like an outcast without one.

“I’m getting hungry,” Rini says.

“Girl! You didn’t hear mine growl,” I tease.

My stomach may not be growling but I’m ready to eat. The tent has to be near because the smell of the barbecue is permeating the air and tempting our stomachs. I’m definitely ready to eat some famous Millers Pointe barbecue. We have good spots in Crescent Falls but everyone rants and raves about Backfire.

The large white tent is located off from the actual arena. As soon as we enter, we are greeted by servers with bourbon drinks. I reach for a cocktail and Rini grabs a shot.

“Good food, good drinks, and hopefully good dick later,” she says, whispering her last words.

“I can’t with you.”

“Whatever! Don’t act like your mind isn’t in the gutter with mine, bitch! I know you. Look, I get it. You can be the director of branding here, but after this, I need you to just be my bestie on vacation with some fine ass cowboys. It’s my spring break and I’m outside. What happens at the rodeo stays at the gotdamn rodeo,” she says before clashing her boot shaped shot glass into my whiskey glass.

“Stays at the rodeo,” I say.

She places her empty shot glass on the cocktail table with other discarded glasses while I keep my drink. Before finding a table, my eyes take in the entire tent. Its mundane, white exterior is a stark contradiction to what’s inside. The dining and cocktail tables are all adorned with brown linens and lights are draped in the ceiling.

There’s a small stage up front with two dining tables, no doubt for the commissioners of the rodeo. There’s even a small dance floor in front. It’s filled with people dancing to the music from the live band on the left side of the stage. To the right, there’s a life size bull. Many people are taking pictures in front of and on it. The spark in Rini’s eyes lets me know she wants a pic.

We make our way through the pockets of people and I find the Jaxson Boots table. It’s near the stage and close to one of the portable air conditioners occupying the four corners. While it’s cool outside, the bourbon and crowd are generating warmth in here so the ACs are much appreciated. The table seats six but only four are confirmed for the night, me, Rini, my assistant Mandi, and our marketing manager Cal. They are both already here. After greeting them, Rini sits too.

The tables are decorated to fit the theme of the night as well. The centerpieces are small replicas of a horse saddle and cute little cowboy hats rest on each place setting. Our saddle has Jaxson Boots engraved on the side.

“I don’t think you want to sit,” Mandi leans in and says. “Destry is over there with Cavender’s.”

Cavender’s is our direct competitor and I refuse to see their logo on his shirt. So after taking another sip from my glass, I open my phone, read over his bio again, then stand. “Watch me work,” I tell them before heading to him.

I’m so laser focused on Destry as I walk that I’m caught completely off guard when I feel a hand on my arm. It’s him.Titus.I hadn’t even seen him but I definitely know his touch.When I turn back to face him, that sexy smile is on his face and those dark eyes stare into my soul.

“I hope you’re not leaving,” he says.

“Not before talking to you,” I admit honestly. Pointing my finger, I say, “My table and Rini are over there. I have to handle this first but you are for sure on my agenda for the night.”

“I hope I’m on you…your agenda for all night,” he utters andgot damn.

Why is he so sexy?

The sound of his lazy baritone awakens every fiber of my being and sends my nerves into a frenzy of excitement. It’s sensual and feral. Yes, I looked that word up as soon as I was in my ride at that gas station. My curiosity was piqued by all that is him.

When I manage to find my voice, I quickly tell him, “I’ll be right back.”

With reluctance, he releases my arm and I hurriedly continue on to Destry. The rep from Cavender walks off right before I approach. Pictures don’t do this man justice. He’s very handsome and his charming smile adds to his good looks.

“The Destry Callahan,” I say with my arm extended.

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