Page 14 of Rodeo Cowboy
He’s every definition of a cowboy: tall, broad shoulders, and a rugged face adorned with a scruffy beard. I would know. I spent my life on my family ranch ogling the hot cowboys. But our arrangement is strictly convenient—only that’s not what these Quylt sisters suggest.
“Dance with me, Ayla.”
I feel all eyes on us.
With a coy smile, I nod. His touch is firm but gentle as he leads me to the dance floor under the outdoor shelter.
The band strums the soft melody of a slow country song. My cowboy pulls me close, his hand resting on the small of my back. Leather mixed with his manly scent is intoxicating.
He’s damn gorgeous under the Stetson atop his head. And the way his denim hugs his thighs gives me all the feels.
“That was quite a warm welcoming.” I brush his hair away from the blackening shiner under his eye. The glow of the lanterns hanging from the ceiling kisses the blueing color.
“I deserved it.”
I doubt that.
“And your wrists? Did you deserve that too?”
He nods.
“Are you going to tell me why?”
He shrugs.
“You should put ice on your nose.”
“It’s alright.”
I tilt my head to meet his eyes. “Everyone is watching us.”
“Welcome to Whiskey Ridge Creek. The gossip guild is real, and my affairs are smack dab in the center.”
“Good to know.”
He presses his head against the side of mine. “Thank you for doing this,” he whispers through my hair. “I couldn’t have come back and faced them without you.” The painful way he says the words, I know they’re true. And maybe if we’d been in and out in fifteen minutes, my curiosity wouldn’t peak the way it does.
“That’s what I agreed to. You let us crash at your house until we get our ranch sorted, and I will be the perfect wife.” I weave my fingers into the back of his hair. “Even if I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not wife material. I’m not even mom material. McKenna burned the house down, and she seems to be able to get ahold of lighters like they’re falling out of the sky.”
He clears his throat. “You’re doing great.” His arm tightens around my back. “And you don’t have to be perfect. Just be you, Ayla.
“I don’t even know who I am anymore. Am I the canyon zipline tour guide? The rancher, my parents, expected? The aunt caregiver who knows what she’s doing—which I don’t. Or the wife I never wanted to be.”
“Ouch.”
I lean back. “If I had to be married to anyone, I’m glad it’s you.”
“Oh yeah. What makes me so different?”
“It’s not real.”
Silence steals us, and the steady beat of our boots against the floor carries us until the music ends.
“Thank you, folks.” The lead singer’s voice echoes through the speakers. “We’ve had a great time playing for y’all tonight. And now, it’s time for the big countdown to welcome the new year!”
The crowd cheers as the singer steps back. The mayor and the red-haired woman called Rita to take over.
My eyes scan the sea of strangers. I wave at my nieces and nephew, weaving their way toward us.
