Page 21 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

She talks to people. Teases them back. Doesn’t spend all her time waiting for somebody to admire her.

It’s refreshing.

Which is why, after spending an hour talking to her at the rodeo grounds, long after Emmett left us behind, I decide the obvious solution is to invite her to dinner.

“Come eat with us tonight.”

Arizona looks up from her notebook. “That sounded less like an invitation and more like a scheduling decision.”

“That’s because I’ve already decided you should come.”

“You make a habit of inviting strangers home?”

“Only the ones I like.”

Her eyebrow lifts. “You’ve known me for an hour.”

“Exactly. Imagine how much fun we’ll have after two.”

That gets a laugh.

I enjoy making her laugh more than I probably should.

Arizona closes her notebook and studies me. “You normally this persistent?”

“No. Sometimes I’m unconscious.”

She shakes her head, smiling despite herself. I’ll take that as progress.

Eventually she agrees, and I spend the drive back to Dusty Spur feeling pretty pleased with myself.

When we pull into the ranch yard, Arizona climbs out of her truck and looks around while the evening sun stretches across the pasture.

Dusty Spur always looks good this time of day. The horses are scattered through the fields. The mountains sit dark against the horizon, the house lights already glowing through the windows.

Arizona takes it all in quietly.

Then one of the horses abandons its hay and starts walking toward her.

I point. “There it is.”

She looks around. “There what is?”

“The evidence.”

She furrows her brow in confusion. “What evidence?”

“You’re clearly some kind of woodland princess.”

Arizona laughs.

The horse reaches her and nudges her shoulder.

“See?” I say. “I’ve known that horse three years. He barely tolerates me.”

“Maybe he has standards.”

That one actually hurts. I respect it.