Page 69 of Riding the Storm
Shawn thinks the whiskey deal’s what I’m looking forward to this week. The sponsors, the cameras, the rodeo crowd.
But the truth?
The true wild ride is sitting beside me—wearing boots, a chip on her shoulder, and a fading hickey she hasn’t forgiven me for.
And, God help me, I can’t wait to be alone with her.
The plane touches down with a jolt that rattles me awake, and Bryce looks down with that lazy grin that makes me want to slap him.
“Welcome to Lawton, Chuck,” he says as I lift my head from his shoulder and swipe the drool from the corner of my mouth.
I unbuckle my seat belt and stretch my arms over my head. “Looks thrilling,” I mumble as I glance out the window at the small regional airport baking under the early summer sun.
He chuckles low. “You’ll change your mind once you try the barbecue.”
“If you say so.”
We deplane, and I run to the restroom while Bryce fetches my suitcase. I meet him at the baggage claim carousel, and we head outside. The heat hits us like a slap to the face. Bryce leads the way through the parking lot, where a teen stands beside the shiny black GMC Sierra Denali Ultimate that Shawn arranged for us. It gleams like a polished mirror, chrome and leather everywhere.
I whistle. “This is the rental?”
“Must be,” he says as he signs for the truck and tucks the key fob into his pocket.
“Wow. Shawn went all out,” I say as he picks up my suitcase like it weighs nothing and tosses it into the back seat. “What, were all the regular trucks sold out?”
He shrugs. “Dry Canyon’s footing the bill. Might as well ride in style.”
I circle the truck, dragging my fingers along the paint. “Style? This thing looks like it should come with a chauffeur and champagne service.”
Bryce opens the door for me and tips his hat as if he were the chauffeur. “You complaining about the ride, ma’am?”
“Justobserving. You, in a luxury pickup—it’s kinda funny. Like putting a bull in a tuxedo.”
He smirks as I climb in. “Long as the bull looks good in it.”
He does. Damn him, he does.
It’s a short ride to the hotel, a nice place near the Lo Ranch Arena, which is actually located in the town of Apache, Oklahoma. It’s a casino hotel with a big sign boasting Garrett Tuttle as its headlining performer in the music venue this week. The parking lot is full.
“Why’s it so crowded?” I ask as we pull in.
Bryce throws the truck in park. “Rodeo’s in town.”
“Oh, right,” I mutter. “That makes sense.”
Inside, the air-conditioning feels like heaven. Bryce handles check-in while I take a walk around. There are guests milling around the lobby; some are in bathing suits, headed for the pool. I peek inside the casino, and it’s packed with patrons.
When I wander back, I hear the desk clerk say, “One room, two queens.”
I stop short. “Hold up. One room?”
Bryce doesn’t flinch. “That’s what they’ve got. Everything else is booked.”
I cross my arms. “How awfully convenient.”
He meets my glare with a calm look that I want to shake off of him. “Rodeo’s in town,” he repeats.
“Uh-huh.” I lean toward the desk clerk—a sweet-faced girl with a long braid and too much lip gloss. “There’s nothing else?”
