Page 9 of Brand Me, Cowboy's Second Chance

“Not so smug now, are you?” She murmurs and leans in close enough that her tits nearly press into my face.

It’s the best kind of torture. My hands find her waist. My fingers dig into her denim waistband. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me, ” I growl.

“Oh, I think I do, ” she whispers, and the way she rolls her hips just a little proves it.

A groan escapes me, low and primal. My head drops back into the grass. “Careful, ” I murmur, voice hoarse. “You keep this up, and we’re gonna give the cows a show. ”

She leans in, close enough that her lips almost brush mine. “Maybe I’m not worried about the cows. ”

“Hey, hate to interrupt whatever the fuck this is,” a familiar voice calls out, lazy and too damn amused. “But y’all do remember the gala’s in, what… three days? Are you planning on getting The Velvet Spur set up, or are you just gonna dry-hump each other into next week? ”

I turn my head and glare up at Holden. He’s standing a few yards away with Geoffrey beside him.

“This is better than reality TV, ” Geoffrey chuckles. “Carry on. I want to see where this plotline goes. ”

Anny jerks up like she’s been caught red-handed. She lets out a mortified laugh as she scrambles off my lap. She’s already halfway back to the barn before I can say anything. Her hair bounces and her boots kick up dust like she’s running from something a hell of a lot scarier than my brothers.

“Fucking cock blocks, ” I grumble and drag a hand down my face as I sit up.

“Hey, I call it like I see it, ” Holden shrugs, still grinning. “And what I saw was borderline illegal for daytime hours. ”

Geoffrey smirks. “You’re welcome. She looked like she was two seconds away from wrecking you, man. ”

She already did.

My eyes still track her retreating form. “Y’all done? ”

Holden claps a hand on my shoulder as he turns. “We’ll leave you to your feelings. But don’t forget you’ve got a list here… flowers, fairy lights, five-star beef, security.”

“I’ve got it.” I exhale a long, slow breath and watch Anny until she disappears around the corner.

CHAPTER7

ANNY

I'm standing outsideof the Velvet Spur in a black dress that hugs every curve like it was custom-tailored for chaos. The satin catches in the breeze, clinging to me like it's got a personal grudge.

The neckline dips lower than I'm used to. The heels make my calves scream. And being nearly six feet tall in them? I feel like a spotlight is trained on me. There's no blending in tonight. No fading into the background. Not that I ever could.

I tug at the top of the dress then give my reflection in the glass door one last scolding look.Get it together Anny. You can survive three hours.

With that I push through the double doors. The Velvet Spur is glowing. The combination of candles and string lights make it light up like a country music video dream sequence. It’s country living with a touch of elegance. Wildflowers spill from every corner. The scent of roasted vegetables, smoked meat, and Patty June's famous biscuits lingers in the air.

Every cowboy in Sagebrush Creek has squeezed into a dress shirt. The cowgirls on their arms are rocking fringe, micro skirts, and big hair. The silent auction is in full swing, and people are starting to crowd around the paddock gate for the live bidding. The sound of fiddles and faint laughter hums beneath it all.

And then I see him.

Fallon Kingridge is smack-dab in the center of it all. He’s a picture of relaxed arrogance with his head thrown back, laughing at something Callum said. He's holding a beer like it belongs in his hand. The button-down he’s wearing fits him so perfectly it's a sin. The sleeves are rolled just past his elbows and there's a glint in his eyes. It’s a slow-burning charm that draws every woman in the room toward him like moths to a flame.

My stomach does this traitorous flip. Fallon is magnetic. He always has been. But now? He's a wildfire.

I keep moving toward the bar, avoiding the clusters of gossip like landmines. I duck past Brynn Rose and Brandi June, who are definitely watching me with thinly veiled judgment. I should’ve worn my boots. There’s something about this dress and this hair that makes me feel like an imposter.

I head for the bar and grip the edge harder than necessary. My nerves rattle like pennies in a tin can. I’m technically working tonight which means I should be circulating and doing the rounds. I need to make sure everything's running smoothly. But the setup is flawless and it feels like my job here is done. Which leaves only one task left for the night… survive. That’s where the liquid courage comes in.

I'm halfway through my first sip of wine when I feel that low tug in my belly. I glance up completely unsurprised to find Fallon's eyes locked on mine.

Everything stills around me.

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