Page 147 of Tessa and Nash

Boone doesn’t either.

But neither of them presses, because the McCoys don’t always talk. We just do.

“Fine,” Boone says finally. “But you’re coming.”

Dallas nods. “And you’re dancing.”

“Absolutely not,” I say.

Faith beams. “Absolutely yes.”

Rusty barks, passing his vote.

I point at him. “Traitor.”

He sneezes.

We pile into trucks, kids bundled, Faith chattering, Rose laughing, Boone calm at the wheel.

I ride in silence, staring out at the snow fields and fence lines, trying to convince myself that tonight is just a barn dance.

Just music, lights, and people.

It isn’t a performance where everyone watches my every move to decide whether I’m lying, failing, or falling apart.

The rodeo grounds are lit up for the event, strings of lights hanging from beams and lanterns shining.

Fiddle music pulses. Boots thud on wood. Laughter and voices and the scent of chili and beer hit me in a wave.

Buckhorn at its most Buckhorn.

We step inside, and immediately someone calls, “McCoys!”

Someone else cheers. Kids dart between legs. Ellie spots Becca Haskins and waves enthusiastically, greeting Buckhorn royalty.

And everywhere I look, there are eyes.

Some smiling. Some curious. Some sharp.

I spot Hank Lawson near the back, leaning against a post, beer in hand. He’s watching the crowd picking his target.

His gaze catches mine, and he smiles.

My stomach twists.

Boone claps my shoulder. “Don’t look like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to bite someone.”

I glance back at Hank and force myself to look away.

“I’m fine,” I say again, because apparently I’m committed to that lie tonight.

Dallas heads toward the food table with Faith and Rose. Boone goes to talk to Sheriff Tate Carson. Maggie is immediately cornered by Virgil Tucker and Clara Jenkins, who’s vibrating with excitement.

And then I see her.