Page 4 of A Baby for the Texas Cowboy
She gulped in another deep breath of the still-warm Dallas night air. And then another.
Until she went inside, she still had her secret and her job.
Until she went inside, she could still pretend she was free.
Hesitating was cowardly, and she wasn’t going to play the accommodating, good girl anymore.
Tinsley unzipped her cropped, rust-colored leather jacket and jerked opened the vendor door.
She heard Kane’s song. The announcer’s resonant tones and the roar of approval of the crowd. She’d been representing Cowboy Wolf Whiskey for more than a year now, first in Portland, Oregon, and then traveling around with the tour as the distillery was a sponsor. She’d also hit up local distributors, bars and liquor stores while on the road to sell whiskey and other Four Wolf spirits.
She’d loved the job. Loved the life and had blown the door off sales.
She’d never seen a cowboy in her life until the tour—and a bull rider? Not on her radar. Now she counted many as friendly acquaintances, and Kane was one of the nicest and best riders.
By the sound of the bell and the wild cheering, Kane had stuck his eight seconds.
She flashed her vendor badge and made her way deeper into the arena. There was a standing room only viewing section for staff or vendors, but Tinsley needed to be closer so that she could snag Anders before he got hours of busy with locker-room BS, autographs, promotion meet and greets, and, of course, the buckle bunnies.
Two more riders got tossed—one at the three-second mark, the other at five. Both popped up and launched back over the fence to the backstage. Safe for one night but likely sore.
And planning to ease their aches with a whiskey or beer at the bar or a ride with a local adoring buckle bunny. How many had Anders been with since the wedding? Dumb question. She hadn’t asked for or expected fidelity.
Tinsley kicked up her walk into her studied swagger. This was not going to go well if she didn’t find her attitude. Attitude was ninety percent of success. The last ten percent was sheer will, and hers was titanium.
She strode backstage, flashing her badge, a smile, and, after unbuttoning two buttons of her now snug Henley-style T-shirt, a fair share of cleavage.
Predictable.
No one looked at her badge.
But she put an extra hip sway just to keep the security’s attention on her ass and not on their job.
Anders’ song,Thunderby Imagine Dragons, blared through the speakers. The crowd, already hyped, jumped to their feet. Anders was from Texas, and while his small town wasn’t anywhere near Dallas, Texans were Texas true.
He was also currently in first place on the tour and this was the last four-week leg before a short break and then the finals in Las Vegas.
Tinsley’s heart lurched. Bull riding might be sexy and badass, but it was dangerous.
She stood on her tiptoes and leaned forward so she could see the chute. The crew was there, struggling with the bull. She could hear it hitting the bars. The clang seemed amplified, and she imagined she could hear the shudder of power streak through the metal all the way to her fingers curved around the blue-painted bars.
Anders still stood, straddling the pen and looking down, analyzing. His best friend Kane vaulted up and conferred with him. Kane and Anders laughed—even though he wore a helmet, she could see his dimples flash.
Bull riders were insane.
Adrenaline junkies.
He could die.
Or be permanently injured.
She’d seen it happen during her season traveling with the AEBR.
More than once.
But she couldn’t take her eyes off Anders. Kane hopped down; Anders leaned toward the bull, looking down, and seemed to be waiting for something.
He’s good.
