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“Sounds like Pete's got more guts than sense,” I quipped, the words dancing off my tongue as I joined in the merriment.
“Ah, but that's the spirit of Whittier Falls,” a cowboy with a weathered face and kind eyes said. “We might get knocked down, but we sure as hell get back up again.”
His words resonated deep within me, a reminder of why I'd come to love this town and its people. It was a place where each day was a new adventure, a chance to write your own story amid the rolling hills and under the vast, open sky.
A boot-stomping beat pulsed through the sound system, wrapping its rhythm around my heartbeat as I sipped a fizzy drink that tickled my nose. The tang of whiskey and laughter filled the air, mingling with the savory scent of fried delicacies being passed around on well-worn trays.
“Care to dance, miss?” A lanky cowboy with a mischievous dimple in his cheek grinned down at me, a hand extended in invitation.
I hesitated for a fraction of a moment, casting a glance at Sutton, who nudged me forward with an encouraging smile. “Go on, Eryn. Show 'em how it's done.”
Shrugging off any lingering reservations like an old coat, I placed my glass on the bar and accepted the cowboy's offer. His fingers were warm and confident around mine as he led me to the dance floor, which was alive with the shuffle of boots.
“Hope you can keep up,” I teased, letting the flirtatious edge in my voice match the playful spark in my partner's eyes.
“Darlin', I was born ready,” he drawled back, spinning me into the throng of dancers.
We fell into a two-step, the moves I’d once learned for a dancing competition coming back to me. I wasn’t great at it, but it didn’t seem to matter, and my partner led me along with practiced skill.
With each step and twirl, I found myself losing track of time, my worries dissolving into the notes of the steel guitar and fiddle. I laughed, the sound light and carefree, as the cowboy dipped me low enough to make my hair brush the floor, earning an appreciative whistle from the onlookers.
“Looks like you've done this a few times before,” I said, breathless from the whirlwind of movement.
“Maybe just a time or two,” he replied with a wink, pulling me back upright.
And there it was—fun, pure and simple, something I hadn't realized I'd been craving until it bubbled up inside me, infectious and irresistible. The joy of movement, the thrill of connection without expectation, the magic of music that spoke a language all its own.
As the song wound down, I allowed one last spin before coming to a stop, the applause of the patrons acting as a punctuation mark to our performance. I was beaming, cheeks flushed with exertion and elation, when the atmosphere shifted subtly, like the pressure change before a storm.
He wasn’t announced by anything so mundane as a jingle of the door or a shout of greeting. But suddenly, Gray Anderson was there, standing just inside the entrance of the Dusty Barrel. His presence seemed to suck the casual ease out of the space, replacing it with a charge that was palpable.
The laughter and clapping around me dimmed to a hush as I felt the heat of that blue-eyed stare. Gray's presence was like a magnetic field, pulling my attention from the lively crowd to him alone. A rush of conflicting emotions swirled through me as he began to navigate his way through the sea of people, each step deliberate, aimed directly towards me.
For a moment, the world seemed to tilt on its axis, and I stood there, caught in the gravitational pull of those piercing eyes. I realized too late, I was still holding my dance partner’s hand.
“Uh-oh,” I whispered under my breath, recognizing the possessive intensity in his gaze, a moment of deja vu from the last time we were here. The look was raw, and it was all about me.
My heart did a little skip and jump routine, pounding out a rhythm that matched the thud of his boots on the wooden floor. Every instinct told me to look away, play it cool, but I was caught—snared by those eyes that spoke of storms and fires I had no business flirting with. Yet here I was, doing just that without saying a word.
“Gray Anderson doesn't look too happy,” I muttered to the cowboy, who let go of my hand and disappeared into the crowd.
I tried to ignore the shiver that ran down my spine at the sight of Gray cleaned up and out of his ranching gear. His starched blue shirt matched his eyes and hugged his muscled frame in a way that was downright sinful, and the dark jeans seemed molded to his long legs. The man could give the rugged cowboy statues scattered around town a run for their money.
He was close now, so close I could catch the faint scent of leather and soap and something undeniably masculine that belonged to him alone. My breath hitched as he stopped a mere breath away, towering over me. The protective barrier of the dance floor throng vanished, leaving us in an invisible bubble that felt charged with electricity.
“Having fun?” His voice was low and gruff, sending a ripple of awareness dancing down my spine. There wasn't a hint of actual curiosity in his question—it was a challenge.
“Always,” I shot back, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze head-on, refusing to show any intimidation.
“Seems like it,” he drawled, though the edge to his tone suggested he wasn't thrilled about it, especially when it came to me dancing with anyone but him.
“Jealous?” The word slipped out before I could stop it, my own surprise at the brazenness of it reflected briefly in the widening of his eyes. But then something shifted, and the air between us sparked with a silent acknowledgment of the tension we were both pretending didn't exist.
“Maybe,” he conceded after a beat, the corner of his mouth twitching in what could have been the start of a smile or a scowl—I couldn't be sure. It was maddening and exhilarating all at once.
“Good.” I couldn't resist the urge to poke the bear just a bit more, my playful bravado a stark contrast to the rapid beat of my heart. “Keeps things interesting.”
His response was a look that said he was onto my game, but rather than calling me out, he took a half-step closer, crowding my space and stirring up a storm of want inside me that I hadn't even realized I'd been holding back.
