We talk for over an hour. I never move from my spot, but he climbs down once to get me a jacket when he notices I’m shivering. It’s a Wrangler denim jacket. He lays it so gently over my shoulders. I can't help but bring my nose to my shoulder. It smells so good with notes of cedarwood and musk. Having his scent all over me stirs feelings inside of me that make me want to crawl out of my skin—in a good way.
Talking with him is like talking to an old friend. He tells me he’s from Tennessee. No shock there. That’s the capital of country music. I figure he probably started out somewhere nearNashville, maybe playing in smoky bars and county fairs before being discovered. I tell him I’m from Montana and grew up on a ranch called the Saxxon Ranch, but I don’t go too deep into it. Just enough to keep the conversation flowing without giving too much away. We talk about rodeo, music, horses, travel, and everything in between. The conversation flows, and there’s definitely a connection—whether it’s just friendship or more, I’m not sure. But it doesn’t matter because I’m not looking for more and I have enough friends.
I have to admit though, Charli was right. Getting back on the horse feels good—it’s as if I never stopped riding, muscle memory takes over. Just talking to a man, no pressure, no expectations. It’s not a date; it isn’t anything too intimate. Hell, it isn’t even reality. It’s just a moment. A soft, unexpected pause in the middle of a life that rarely slows down. There’s that feeling though between us, the kind you feel in your chest but try to ignore in your head. This time I will ignore it because let’s be real, our worlds don’t exactly fit.
I spend a lot of time on the road for rodeo, and when I’m not chasing barrels, I’m at the ranch. Between managing the guests and helping out with ranch work, there’s not much time in between for anything else. My family is everything to me, and it takes a special kind of person to understand my lifestyle, just as I’m sure the same would be for him. He’s on a tour bus half the year, playing in different cities every weekend, chasing a dream that doesn’t leave much room for staying in one place.
Whatever this little spark is, I have to face what it really is—a nice conversation on a beautiful night—between two people who are attracted to each other but know it will never be anything more than this. But damn…it was nice while it lasted.
My gaze lowers to his mouth as he speaks to me. He has a beautiful mouth. Lips that sure as hell looked kissable. I’m surehe is good at it too. I push that thought out of my head—time to get out of here before I do something I’ll regret.
I sit up straight. “Thank you for the drink, Denton. It was nice getting to know you a little. I had a good time tonight.” I stand up, make my way toward the ladder, and climb down before he can try to convince me to stay.
“Wait, Sorrel?—“
There it is. Fuck. I gotta get out of here.
He chases after me, shimmying down the ladder himself. His boot catches on the metal bar and he nearly slips. We both gasp and then he starts laughing.
“I’m fine. Just hold on a minute please before I kill myself on this damned thing.”
“Okay, I’ll wait,” I say. I’m forced to stay put, standing there patiently so he can safely make it down. I’d feel terrible if he got hurt chasing after me.
He lets out a breath of air once he’s down on solid ground. I shrug off his jacket and hold it out to him. He takes it from me and rakes his hand through his hair.
“Can I walk you back to where you’re staying?” he asks.
“Oh, uh…sure. My rig’s parked on the west side of the lot.”
We walk in silence, the night air cool against my cheeks. It’s quiet now except for the crunch of gravel beneath our boots. I keep my head on a swivel, silently praying we won’t run into any more trouble. When we reach my trailer, a few soft whinnies greet us from the pens nearby. I smile at our greeting.
Pointing to my rig, I say, “This is it. Thanks for walking me back.”
“Of course, it’s my pleasure,” he says, tipping his cowboy hat so proper I let out a quiet chuff.
He hesitates for a moment, then scratches the back of his neck. “So, uh…do you think we could maybe exchange numbers?Just in case I ever have more urgent questions about barrel racing or…something?”
He’s joking—kind of. I pinch my lips together. But reality is already creeping back in. I have an itch in the back of my mind I can’t scratch. Something’s off… That’s when the memory hits me like a freight train.
“How do you and Huck know each other?” I blurt out, brows knitting together.
The look on his face tells me that there’s something he’s hiding.
He pinches the bridge of his nose and looks down at his boots. “We rodeoed together in college—he’s always been an asshole. I never liked the guy.” He pauses, but I sense there’s more coming. “I have to be honest with you, Sorrel. I was back behind the chutes during the bareback riding with a couple of buddies I haven’t seen in a while. I overheard him talking about you. He knew you were here and was talking about finding you after your run.”
“So, you already knew my name? It wasn’t my raw talent and sorta good looks that caught your eye?” I tease, knowing I had already figured that out earlier. And I obviously knew Huck would have known I was here. He always watches the barrel racing so I’m not surprised he planned on trying to find me.
He laughs and shakes his head. “Well, yes and no—truthfully, when you came out of the alleyway and I heard the announcer say your name, I recognized it. I saw your picture on the big screen and how beautiful you were—I mean are. I can’t lie, a thought crossed my mind—I need to meet that girl—and well, here we are.”
“Well, I guess it’s your lucky night, Denton Reed. You can thank Charli too. If it wasn’t for her, I’d be home by now.”
“Really? Shoot, then I better start counting my lucky stars. Maybe I’m lucky enough to get that phone number from you then?” He smiles big, a small dimple forming on his left cheek.
It’s so cute, I bite the inside of my cheek and look away. But the fact that he and Huck know each other makes me question everything. They obviously have some sort of history. Maybe this is some kind of competition over girls that’s been an ongoing thing. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt, but I’m not sure I can. The hesitation I’m feeling lingers like a dark cloud over my head. I have to go with what my gut is telling me.
“Honestly, I had a great time with you tonight. But we live two wildly different lives, and I’m just not in the right place right now to explore anything with anyone—uh, not that I’m—uh, assuming you want to… I know you were just asking for my phone number but my answer is no.” I meet his eyes, hoping he can see I mean it kindly.
He clutches his chest and keels over. “Ouch, you barrel racers are ruthless.”
