Page 3 of Wild and Wanted

His faded blue jeans were dusty and looked old and soft and worn and so very, very tactile. Stevie tangled her fingers together to stop the ridiculous urge to reach out. Boots peeped out from the hem of his jeans, sitting commandingly in the stirrups. As worn and dusty as his jeans, there was nothing fancy about them – they were working boots.

Everything about him, from his face to his clothes to the way he held himself on the horse, spoke of a man more sure of himself every minute of every day than Stevie had felt in the entirety of her life.

And damn if that wasn’t the most compelling thing of all.

She hadn’t known what to expect from this Wyoming dude ranch her record label had banished her to – so she could get some country in her – but it had not been this man. This man who was still staring, grim-faced, but seemingly just as reluctant to break eye contact.

Stevie wasn’t used to men like this. The men in her world were capable and accomplished but in a very different way. Like her father. They ran companies and sat on boards and donated to charities and political parties. They drove expensive cars that were polished until they gleamed and wore Armani suits and ties and expensive Italian leather shoes. Maybe loafers on the weekend at the country club or on their yachts.

They went to church every Sunday with their wives and children.

This man looked like he’d never set foot in a church in his life. Or if he did it would be sure to collapse around those big broad shoulders. He looked like an unapologetic sinner, from the mane of curly hair to the pointy toes of his dusty work boots, and she had no idea why that set her body humming but it abso-freaking-lutely did.

Of course, now there were different men in her world but still nothing like the cowboy. Record label people. Hollywood types. Agents. Who didn’t always wear suits and ties but still smelled like money. Who all had opinions on her next step after she’d taken home that shiny Grammy.

Opinions on how to make her rich and famous.

Thankfully, with her mother as her manager, there was a buffer between her and them – something every people-pleaser needed. A person to save them from themselves. Because, truthfully, she wasn’t sure she wanted this for her as much as everyone else wanted it for her.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. She was supposed to be doing this all with Yolanda. The older, outgoing sister. The curvy, gregarious, extroverted front singer who took every song Stevie wrote and spun it into magic.

Sure, Stevie could sing too – they’d both been blessed in that department – but that wasn’t her grand passion. She was the writer, Yolly was the songbird.

But Yolanda had passed and the song Stevie had written about her sister – ‘Forever Without You’ – and had posted to their YouTube channel as an act of dedication had been picked up and used in the biggest movie of last year.

And won her a Grammy for the best country song along with a dream contract to write more of the music she loved.

The treadmill ever since had been relentless. And not just from industry executives who insisted she also sing and tour but from fans and her mom, too. Sure, her mother had her back but since Yolly’s passing her entire life had become dedicated to honouring her eldest daughter, and Stevie couldn’t say no to that.

A national tour! This was Yolly’s dream. Do it for your sister.

So here she was living her sister’s life, still unsure about this path and everything on it. Unsure what she wanted other than the opportunity to write the country songs she’d been inspired to write since she’d first heard Miley Cyrus sing ‘The Climb’ when she’d been six.

Unsure until now, that was.

Because standing here, staring at this cowboy, Stevie knew she also wanted him. She didn’t understand how that was possible just from eyes meeting across a dusty arena even though she wrote songs about it. She didn’t know what it meant in reality. She didn’t know how to make it happen. Or whether she even should.

She just knew, as her fingers smoothed over the slim band of the purity ring gracing her left hand, that it was so.

Taking the pledge at sixteen with a bunch of other teens in her church hadn’t been much of a deal. After Yolly had refused – that hurdle having already been knocked over three years prior – it had been important to her mom and the idea of waiting for the right person hadn’t been as abhorrent to Stevie as it had been to her sister. She’d like the idea of her first time being with someone special – not necessarily a husband despite what her mother thought – but not just any guy who came along, either.

And looking at this man, she got it now. She really got it.

A brief incline of his head in her direction had Stevie sucking in a quick breath, a hot jolt of embarrassment punching her in the chest as she took an involuntary step back. Had he read her mind? Could he see the fevered swirl of images in her brain? She hoped not because while she may be a virgin, she was no ingenue. Thanks to Yolly’s penchant for spicy, definitely not-suitable-for-work romance novels, she had a very fertile imagination.

‘Stephanie?’

Turning wildly to face her mother, hoping that the heat in her cheeks could be blamed on the sun riding high overhead, Stevie forced a bright smile. ‘Hey.’ Her voice was bright too, probably overly so.

Nothing to see here. Definitely not thinking about mystery cowboy shirtless.

‘I got the keys and directions to the cabin.’

Her mom jingled the key that was attached to a keychain sporting a round logo in the form of a cattle brand with the letters RVR.

Redemption Valley Ranch.

In the other hand she held a flyer-sized map. ‘We’ve got the day to ourselves, get the lay of the land. There’s plenty to explore before the cookout tonight.’