Lincoln Carter was every cowgirl’s dream in a black felt hat, starched jeans that hugged his thick, muscular thighs, and a darkgrey button-down. The top two buttons were undone, showing just a peek of the soft chest hair I used to trace with my fingertips.
I slid my gaze up and down his body, stopping when I was met with that cocky smirk of his. “What’re you girls talking about?” he asked.
My cheeks heated as he stared straight at me. Surely, he hadn’t heard me. The door was closed. Wasn’t it?
Cleo grinned. “We were just talking to Josie about making difficult choices.”
“Is that right?”
“Sure is,” Lennox said, holding up two pairs of boots. “See, I was in town today, and I couldn’t figure out if I should keep the old boots I’ve broken in, but these,” she held up a black leather set with light grey stitching, “are clearly the better choice.”
Lincoln nodded, covering his smile with his hand. “Yeah, I agree. Can’t go wrong with those. They’re damn good looking and dependable.”
“Well, maybe they aren’t,” I mumbled, turning toward my sister. “And you know damn well if you wear those tonight, your feet will be covered in blisters in about two hours.”
She grimaced but slid the new pair on anyway.
“You girls about ready?” Lincoln asked, raising his forearm and letting it rest on the door jamb. He was clearly enjoying the conversation too much. “Bishop’s out in the truck waiting.”
“We’re almost done!” Lennox called out, giving Lincoln her best smile. Little shit only did it to get under my skin and prove a point.
Consider it made.
The thought of Lincoln looking at anyone else like he looked at me had my hackles rising. It was enough for me to make a promise to myself to reevaluate my decisions later. Preferably when the man of my dreams wasn’t staring my way, making my heart do little flips.
josie
. . .
The Lone Starwas packed when Bishop’s old truck pulled into the crowded parking lot. “Dammit,” he said, slapping the steering wheel as someone stole the spot he’d eyed near the end of the dirt lot. “Why are there so many people here tonight? Who the hell is playing?”
Lennox shrugged. “I don’t know. One of my friends was talking about them, but” she said, pulling up her phone and scrolling, “according to their website, the lead singer’s actually from the area.”
I felt Cleo straighten beside me. “What’s his name?”
“Lawson Wilde,” Lennox replied. “Oh, and he’s stupid hot.” She thrust the phone into Cleo’s hands to show us the video she’d been watching.
Lawson was standing in front of a crowd. He wore a smile as his arms were outstretched, basking in the echo of his fans screaming his words back to him. An old guitar hung in front of his body, supported by a tooled leather strap over his shoulder. Mid-length hair peeked out of a cap, sticking to the back of his neck after hours of performing under lights.
“Yeah, I’d say he’s the reason for the crowd,” I laughed, nudging Cleo’s arm, but she didn’t move. Her eyes were glued to the man on the screen. It may have just been the funky lighting of the video, but it looked like her skin had grown pale. “Hey, you okay?”
Cleo swallowed, nodding slowly. “Yeah, it’s just weird,” she said, forcing a laugh before handing the phone back to Lennox. “I went to high school with him. That’s not his name, though. Must be some kind of stage thing I guess.”
“Really?” she asked, not looking up from her phone. “What’s his real name?”
“Grady,” she said, drawing out the name like she hadn’t said it in ages.
“Huh. Maybe you could work your charms and get us autographs,” Lennox said, scrolling through his social media.
“Yeah,” she said, chewing on her lip. “Maybe. I dunno. Doubt he’d remember me. Wouldn’t wanna get your hopes up.”
I slid my hand over and found Cleo’s, giving it a squeeze. She didn’t have to say anything. I knew her well enough to know there was something else on her mind. It wasn’t easy for someone to show back up in your life when you least expected it—I would know—but I’d be there when she felt like talking about it.
“Well, this better be worth it,” Bishop mumbled, putting the truck in park. “Because it’s gonna take ages to get a beer.”
“Oh no,” Lennox pouted, setting her phone down to meet Bishop’s gaze in the rear-view. “How will you ever survive?”
“I won’t,” he shot back, returning her glare. “I’ll leave your ass here and find somewhere less crowded.”
