Page 59 of Rogue Cowboy
“I’m onto your tricks.”She knew he wanted her to talk openly about what had happened in LA.It was her decision, her family to protect.She wouldn’t be pressured, even by Cole.
“Are you now?”With a finger he traced the angle of her jaw that was currently jutting out in what her dad called her ‘mulish look.’
“What tricks do I have?”
“I don’t have time to list them,” she said primly.“I need to go to work.Give me my bra.”She held out her hand.
He took a step back so that he stood outside on the top step of the trailer.He smiled, and she caught her breath at the moment of light in his usually shuttered face.
“Come get it,” he invited.
“Cole.”She popped to her feet, blouse still unbuttoned, shocked but game.Just as she took a step, his expression changed to shock.
“Hey,” he uttered and spun around.
Riley peeked over his shoulder.It was that rascally dog again.He sat about ten feet away with her fuchsia lacy bra dangling out of his mouth.
“Oh, no,” she whispered.The bra was new, along with the blouse.
“I’ll get it,” Cole said.
“No, you’ll scare him.I’ve given him food a couple of times,” she said quickly buttoning her shirt.She grabbed a dog biscuit from the box and sidled her body around Cole’s larger one.“He’ll trust me.”
The dog looked like he was grinning—daring them to get her bra.Ugh, just what she needed—every cowboy in the county and beyond to know she had a lacy fuchsia bra.She’d never hear the end of it from Boone.
“Hey, cutie,” she said in a low voice, holding out the dog biscuit.She approached.The dog danced back.Tossed the bra in the air and snagged it again, danced a bit farther back.
“C’mon, cutie,” she encouraged.“You little rascal.Do you like that name?It suits.Here, Rascal.Here’s a bisckie.”She got lower to the ground, biscuit extended farther.
Rascal looked at her.Then Cole.Then the biscuit.
“That’s right,” she encouraged, gaining confidence.She could get her new, pretty little bra back before those sharp canines damaged it.
The little thief spun around and took off at a dead run toward the livestock buildings where all the cowboys and stock contractors would be.
Riley stared in dismay, biscuit in her hand, ignored.“That’s not going to be awkward at all.”
*
Rodeo attendees filedinto the grounds, eagerly climbing up into the grandstands and spreading out blankets to save a few seats.Others lingered a moment, buying snacks, looking at the bronze-copper statue of a cowboy on a buckin’ bronc that local artist Sky Wilder had made to celebrate the reopening of the rodeo grounds after a fire had damaged the grandstands and several buildings years ago.And still more shopped in the arts and crafts booths lining the path toward the grandstand.Riley had always loved to peruse the offerings and sometimes make early Christmas purchases, but not today.
“If you see my bra, don’t make a thing about it,” she said.“I don’t want people to think we were…you know…”
“Were what?”His expression was beyond innocent.
She inwardly cringed, picturing the dog racing around the rodeo grounds with the brightly colored lacy bra dangling.Her burst of confidence was gone, crushed by the fear that soon everyone from Marietta to Livingston and Cowboy Point would be speculating about what Riley Telford was doing with the tall Texan that resulted in her bra being displayed by a rogue canine stray.
She’d be the butt of jokes and shock her parents.
She spotted Petal and Arlo posing for pictures with Cinnamon and Spice.One young fan skedaddled between them, looking shy but hopeful while her mother took a picture.
“Did you see us?”Arlo greeted after a couple more photos with other kids.“It was…” She made an exploding sound and did high jazz hands.
“You were both great.”Riley checked her watch.“We can head over to the small exhibition arena.You two have the first time slot before the speeches start so you may get a bit of a crowd, but a lot of people are already heading into the stands.”She tried to soften their excitement at the buzz they’d created just in case they didn’t have as big of an audience as yesterday’s exhibition.
There had been times when she’d been ten to twelve and had been demonstrating trick riding skills or busking for tips alone with just her guitar and no mic, and only her mom and dad had stayed to watch while other people walked by, maybe stopping briefly.
“I know,” Petal said, stroking Cinnamon’s nose.“We are part of the rodeo color.No one can compete with the rodeo queens or the cowboys.”Petal accompanied her statement with a little hip swing that made Petal’s father and grandfather wince a little.
