Page 60 of Halo

Chelsea nods. “Don't forget your socks, mija.”

The music blasts louder through the speakers, an old Alan Jackson song drawing everyone's attention to the dance floor. Most of the kids gather around as Nick steps into the middle, demonstrating a simple step-touch with exaggerated stomps. He points to his feet and counts out the rhythm, slowly at first, but one by one, the children fall into line behind him—including Grady, who picks it up remarkably fast.

“Wow.” I turn to Chelsea. “He's actually really good.”

“Nick?” She laughs. “Oh, yeah, he's incredible. Comes with being a Crawford, I guess.”

I furrow my brow. “What's that supposed to mean?”

She stares at me. “You're kidding.”

I shake my head.

“Girl, his family owns the Crawford Cattle Company out near Weatherford—hence the name. They're a bit controversial in the rodeo world. They rescue and rehabilitate livestock. Horses, cattle, goats, donkeys ... pretty much anything with four legs.” She nods toward Nick. “The kids in that family are born with boots on their feet. Two-stepping and line dancing are practically family traditions. He's taken us out to a few honky tonks when we've gone to Fort Worth.”

We both glance back toward the dance floor, laughter echoing into the darkening sky as more parents crowd in. Nick beams at Grady, who stomps and wiggles through each step with surprising confidence, and my heart squeezes at the sight.

I can't help but feel an ache deep within my ribs. I had asked Nick to dance with me—borderline begged him like a moron.

And he said no.

I don't get it.

Suddenly, the familiar twang of a fiddle and a handsome voice singing about his pretty little Cajun queen plays over the speakers.

Nick stills.

He lifts his gaze until his eyes are locked on mine.

My skin prickles up my neck as he slowly walks toward me with a slight strut in his step. He extends his hand to me. “C’mon. The King is on.”

I offer a crooked smile before taking it. “And here I thought you didn't dance, Cowboy,” I tease.

He leads me onto the dance floor before effortlessly twirling me into his arms. “It's hard to dance when you're being swept off your feet, darlin’.”

My breath hitches as the noise around us fades to the background. His hand settles on my lower back, warmth radiating through the fabric of my dress and unraveling every doubt in my mind.

“Follow me.”

I nod, somehow already breathless.

He pulls me flesh with him, the planes of his chest strong and hard. His skin carries the scent of leather and spice and summer-soaked cotton, and gosh, I could get lost in it.

He eases us into the music, our bodies finding the rhythm together. His movements are unhurried, but deliberate. Effortless, but intentional. It's what I've come to expect of him.

“Do you trust me?”

I narrow my eyes, a grin pulling at my lips. “Should I?”

He chuckles. “This only works if you trust me.”

I suck in my bottom lip.

And nod.

A mischievous grin spreads across his face as he quickens our pace. My laugh bursts free as he guides me through a series of smooth steps. The world blurs around us, music and laughter melting into one joyful rhythm.

“Nick—” I squeal.