Page 97 of Dirty Cowboy

Emma lifts her chin, steel in her spine. "Well, I plan to throw Caroline right off her mighty seat. Where is she?"

Annabelle points to the center ring where the demon-spawn stretches, all smug and full of fake charm. "Caroline comes here from LA every Harvest Fest."

Of course, she does. Like a plague of locusts, showing up just in time to spread misery.

"And how often does she hit on Eric?" Emma asks.

"Every Harvest Fest," Annabelle deadpans, rolling her eyes.

Unfortunately, that part’s true, too.

The twang of a country song sweeps through the pub, boots stomping in time with the rhythm. The room hums with energy—beer flowing, laughter ringing out, pumpkin spice and warm cider tickling the air. Misty and Blake join our group, and Annabelle grins, grabbing Emma’s hand. "Come on. Let’s show Emma something she’s never done before."

Emma plants her feet. "I don’t know how to line dance."

I step in, offering a reassuring smile. "Just follow my lead."

The wooden floor vibrates under our feet as the song kicks up. I keep close to Emma’s side, calling out steps over the music. She glances down at my boots, then hers, a frown of concentration forming.

"Step, tap, step, slide," I repeat, nudging her with my elbow.

It takes a moment—longer than I expect—but then her body finds the rhythm. Her hips sway, the tension in her shoulders eases, and soon, she’s moving like she’s been dancing her whole life.

When she nails a full sequence without missing a beat, her laughter bubbles over. "I did it!"

"You’re a natural," I tell her. And I shouldn’t be surprised, given the performance I saw at the strip club.

We peel off the dance floor and collapse onto a row of hay bales, still catching our breath. The girls giggle and chatter, the night settling into an easy rhythm, untilsheappears.

"Well, well. If it isn’t Lords Valley’s pie-eating loser," Caroline sneers, her voice as grating as nails on a chalkboard.

Annabelle’s jaw tightens. "You’re not winning this year."

Caroline shrugs, faux innocence painted all over her face. "You’d better stay away from the apple pies, Annabelle. The inches are starting to show on your hips."

Annabelle’s face turns crimson. "Why don’t you get on the bull already and break your damn neck?"

"Don’t worry," Caroline grins, sharp and gleaming. "That championship’s mine."

Before I can step between them, Emma rises. A quiet, calculated smile plays on her lips as she places a hand against my chest with a clear signal that she’s got this..

She extends a hand toward Caroline. "You must be Caroline." Emma’s voice drips with false sweetness. "Emma Silver.Reigningchampion."

She gestures to the banner hanging overhead, then flashes the diamond on her finger. "AndEric’s fiancée."

Caroline’s eye twitches.

"You’re the fiancée?" Her voice pitches higher, eyes darting between us.

I meet her gaze head-on. "That’s right."

It’s like striking a match in a room filled with gasoline. Her expression curdles, lips twisting into a sneer.

"Jesus, Eric. She could be yourdaughter.What grade is she in?"

My blood boils. "Don’t be a bitch, Caroline. You’re speaking to myfuture wife."

Her eyes narrow, calculating. "Wait a minute…Silver?As in, Julian and Tristan’s little sister?"

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