Page 8 of The Cowboy's Friendly Wake-Up Call

I keep my hand wrapped around Lance's and pull him down the aisles one by one until we reach a section that’s clearly dedicated to a different type of operation entirely.

A booth selling trinkets like hats and sunglasses and farm-themed bumper stickers marks the transition to a row that is clearly marketed to the female sector.

Two booths down from the bumper stickers is a large set up with a plywood cut out of a barn as a back drop and an enclosure penning in a handful of fluffy little goats that watch the peoplemoving around them with only enough interest to find out if they have treats.

The space is filled with women standing three deep, all chatting excitedly about whatever the big draw here is.

When I recognize the goats, my gaze scans for the woman who owns them, but when I spy Singer Kelly in the throng, Lance's fingers won't let go of mine.

Lance

I'm probably being a dick, but I'm not letting go of Mercy's hand just so she can run over there and throw herself at the model that Singer Kelly hired to draw attention to her booth this year.

Besides, we'll be here all day. There's already a line of women vying to get their picture taken with the dude dressed in nothing but overalls.

As Mercy pulls me closer into the booth, I think he might actually be wearingonlythe overalls. With one strap undone and some of the buttons down the side left open, making it clear how built the guy is.

He looks like a damn stripper, holding one of Singer's Pygora goats. A young one, probably one of the ones born this spring.

Women are going ape shit over the guy.

I don't let go of Mercy's hand, just do my best to keep up with her as she pulls me through the crowd. But she doesn't even stop to get a closer look at the guy taking pictures with the women, she heads straight for Singer, finally forcing me to let go of her hand so she can hug her friend from back home.

"Oh my gosh! This looks like it's really working out. You're so popular!"

"Yep, it's been incredible. All the bored wives are eating Liam up-- I think some of them would eat him up literally if I let them!"

Singer and her brothers inherited their family ranch a few years back. The place was run down and deep in bankruptcy when Singer took it over after her brothers left town with no interest in saving the old homestead.

She got rid of the cattle and started raising Pygora goats and alpacas, selling their fleece for the profit and their cuteness for the traffic to the rooms she rents out in the house she remodeled herself.

Looks like she pulled a smart move, capitalizing on the sex sells model that other companies showing here have taken advantage of for years-- only targeting the females in attendance instead.

The girls chat for a bit and then Mercy pulls me away as I give Singer a quick hug and congratulate her on her marketing genius.

"This place has beer somewhere, right?" She grins up at me, locking her fingers through mine again as she tugs me toward the doors that open onto the outside area where concession stands line a parklike setting that leads out to barns where they hold livestock auctions throughout the week long event.

"Should be a few places out with the concessions," I confirm, letting her lead me outside, loving the looks I get from some of the men here as their eyes fall from Mercy's luscious curves to the way she's hangin' onto my hand.

Let them think she's mine.

I got no problem with that.

"The usual?" I nod toward one of the beer booths, the one wrapped in paper to make it look like a tropical hut made out of palm fronds.

Mercy looks where I'm gesturing, and her eyes light up when she sees her favorite beer on tap behind the counter.

"Two limes," she reminds me-- like I'd forget.

We make our way toward the booth together, but her hand drops away from mine as I get in line and she heads over to the bandstand where a live band is belting out country favorites for the crowd.

It's early October, but the afternoons still get plenty warm. Cold beer sounds good to more people than just me and Mercy.

The line is long and it doesn't move fast enough to put me back beside Mercy as quick as I'd like.

From this distance, I watch her as she pays attention to the band, longing to be hers so I could stand there behind her with my hands on her hips as they sway with the music.

"Oh, sorry."

---