Page 55 of The One Who Saw Her: Boone

He blinked like he was genuinely searching for the answer and looked almost sad when he found it. "It used to be fishing down by the river but lately I haven't had time for much of anything."

And if that didn't make her chest ache, she didn’t know what would.

She imagined him out there—hands calloused, sunburn creeping over his neck, every hour swallowed by the ranch and the weight of keeping his father's promise alive. No time for himself. No space to breathe. All so the land didn't fall apart on his watch.

Her heart twisted with a painful knot of admiration and guilt, because while she’d been stressing over spreadsheets and client bios, he’d been shouldering the world with quiet determination. She wanted to reach across that space, brush back the sweat-soaked hair from his forehead, and tell him someone noticed and cared that he existed beyond work and duty.

"That sucks," she said, because nothing else really fit.

His chuckle was low and tired. "It really does."

She opened her mouth to say more, but he shook his head—a quiet, gentle signal to move on. So she let it go.

"If you could instantly be amazing at any skill, what would it be?"

"Dancing." He said it without hesitation. "Ballroom dancing because I'd love to sweep someone off their feet."

An insistent heat pooled low in her stomach. She imagined his strong, confident hands at her waist, his body temptingly close, his good parts lined up with her good parts, so close she could feel him pressing into her most intimate place, doing the kind of ballroom move that would make her head spin for all the wrong reasons.

She pressed her thighs together, but it didn’t stop the wetness from collecting there.

His lips curved and a wicked flash sparked in his eyes as he tracked exactly where her thoughts had just gone. It was like someone lit a match over dry grass with enough heat to scorch the earth.

"I'd pay to see that," she said, her voice coming out smokier than intended. "Bonus points if you spin me into a wall."

Oh God. Did I just say me?

“Boots, if there is a scenario that involves you and a wall, there will be a hell of a lot more going on than dancing.”

CHAPTER 22

Vivi couldn’t decide if she needed a cold shower or a strong drink. Seeing as her shower still smelled like sandalwood and naked cowboy, she’d called Jo and asked to meet at the Tipsy Cow.

It was everything the Drunken Rooster wasn't. Dark wood walls absorbed the warm glow of old lanterns, and wagon wheels served as sturdy tables, scarred from years of elbow marks and spilled beer. The air smelled of whiskey and questionable decisions.

Dented wood floors spanned the room and outlined a circular dance floor that was packed with people line dancing. At one end was a long L-shaped bar with a copper top, at the other a padded pit with an electric bull. But in the center sat a small stage with a disco ball and two metal poles, which she had a sneaking suspicion weren't used for pole aerobics.

Spanning an entire wall, next to antique, tin advertisement signs, was a neon sign with blinking words that read: If it ain’t from a tap or bottle we ain’t servin’ it. Which ruled out her appletini.

A familiar tingle raced down her spine. Without even looking up she knew who was looking her way.

Boone stood at the back of the bar by the pool table, stick in hand, looking relaxed and way too handsome in a pair of dark jeans, a light blue snap shirt with a white Western designs covering it, and that same white cowboy hat she'd seen on him that first night.

Their eyes locked and he smiled, slow and sure as he raised his beer in salute. She tried smiling back, instead shifted uncomfortably on the barstool. Vivi looked back at her friend Jo and blinked.

Tonight, her friend wore tight black jeans slashed at the knees with razor blades, a vintage Led Zeppelin tee, and Doc Martens. Her hair was streaked with blue highlights, and her massive tattoo was on prominent display. She looked like she should be at a biker bar instead of a small-town saloon.

Suddenly, Vivi felt ridiculous in a red, off-the-shoulder, silky dress and knee-high black leather boots. It was one of those read-the-room moments she should have had when she saw Jo walk up in jeans.

"Remind me again why I'm the only one dressed for this hunt?” Vivi asked. “A hunt that was supposed to be a team effort?"

"This is my hunting outfit," Jo said around a bite of hushpuppies. "Of course, it's also my work-on-my-motorcycle outfit."

"Couldn't you have at least worn a shirt without cut-off sleeves?"

"This is a small town. I can't risk people saying I've lost my edge. It's already bad enough that I'm part of this honeypot scheme of yours."

Vivi peered around the crowded bar, her eyes landing on Boone and a ping of something close to jealousy burned a hole in her belly. Because there he was, looking like a cowboy god, surrounded by several beautiful and adoring women. All female, all attractive and, by the looks of their body language, all ready to go.