Page 62 of Rogue Cowboy
“Cole?”
She smiled—a real one that felt foreign even as it felt right.
I’m home.
He hadn’t expected that.The realization hit like a stone, but that too felt right—finally after so many years of him feeling disconnected.
A ripple of laughter raced through the arena, distracting from the moment.
“Look Riley,” Petal called out.“Some cowboy had it worse this morning.”
Cole looked and saw the same stray dog they’d seen several times this week racing across the arena, a pair of dark denim jeans—stiff like they were new—dragging behind the dog with its tail jauntily high.
“Some cowboy’s lost his britches,” the announcer said.
The dog paused, and Cole almost expected him to bow, before he ran off with his prize.
“Maybe you’ll lose yourbritchesthat you’ll swear up and down aren’t yourbritches, next, Riley.”Arlo looked around Cole at Riley, stretching the word out like it was foreign and funny.It probably was to her, although Cole didn’t think even his grandparents called jeans britches anymore.
“Unlikely,” Riley said like a queen, and he settled in to watch the beginning ceremonies.He’d told Riley he would help her when the barrel racing started.He’d not expected to enjoy sitting in the stands watching the queens entering to cheers before they circled the arena, carrying different flags, and displaying keen horsemanship skills.There were also some awards and other announcements so common to small-town rodeos.
“That will be us someday,” Petal said, standing up to see better.
He watched, but his attention was mostly on Riley—the feel of her small body pressed against his side like she belonged there.
A bit later—after the mutton busting where one of Riley’s nieces was competing, with her brother Boone helping, and a few other entertaining small-town rodeo rites of passages, and the introduction of the rodeo clowns and the riders who would corral any bulls or broncs that got a bit too frisky, the first of the rodeo’s prelim competitions was set to start.
“I’m going to head back to get ready to help,” Riley said and lightly touched his thigh, and he felt it like a brand.
I got it bad.
Sarah Telford made her way to where they were sitting, shepherding three young children in tow, and he and Riley moved so they could take their places.
“Do you need us, Riley?”Petal asked, clearly torn between duty and fun.
Riley smiled.“No, Cole’s coming so enjoy,” she said.“You might want to compete in the junior barrel racing next year, so take notes.”Riley tapped her phone with one finger before tucking it back into her pocket.
Cole followed her slim but taut figure down along the side of the grandstands as she excused herself each row.Cole slipped through the railings and dropped down about ten rows.
“Show-off.”She climbed through and dropped down three rows where he caught her.
“Just a cowboy trying to impress a cowgirl,” he said drolly, laughing at himself because while he had been trying to be expedient, it had been, he was ashamed to admit, a bit of a flex.
“When we were on base, some of the soldiers and I would challenge each other with parkour to make staying in shape more interesting.”
“It definitely worked.”The open admiration in her voice pleased him in a way that was embarrassing.He’d been a tool on his football team and the ranch and in the military—not an object to be admired.
And yet.Many women had hit on him over the years, but Riley was the only one who made him want to work harder.
“While you are in town, you should have Rohan show you the business he and a bunch of his vet friends are building.They do man things in the woods and mountains.”
Had she accepted that they would be together—a couple?Husband and wife?Satisfaction bled through him.Or was the ‘while you’re in town’ the most significant part of that sentence?
“Man things?”He chose to focus on that.
“So he says.”She grinned impishly.“Probably chest beating’s involved.Maybe boy-part measurements.”She laughed, when his mouth dropped open at the ‘boy part.’
“I’m not a boy.”
