Page 89 of Ride Me Cowboy

HE WASN’T WRONG ABOUT Nash. Beau’s music producer twin arrives the very next afternoon, presumably just about as soon as he could make it here from Phoenix. He arrives alongside a plume of high-speed dust, a slammed door, and a bellowed, “What the hell is going on?”

I’m the only one in the house, so there’s no one else to face the music but me. I stalk out to the kitchen to find him pouring a quick slosh of coffee from the machine into his mug. His body is a line of tension.

“Hey,” I say, so as not to startle him.

He whirls around. “Mackenzie’s gone viral and I’m the last one to hear about.”

“She’s gone viral?” I ask, pulling my phone out of my pocket. When I checked this morning, she’d had even more likes andcomments, and our followers had exploded exponentially, but holy crap.

Nash is right.

When I check the ranch account again, the comments are flying in thick and fast. The hashtag ‘MackenzieSings’ is trending—Cassidy must have added that.

I don’t even realize I’m smiling ‘til I look at Nash and see the glower on his face.

“What’s the problem?” I ask. “This is good news, isn’t it? Great news for Mack.”

“She’s like a sister to me,” he says, jamming his hands on his hips, reminding me forcefully of Cole. “And I’m a music producer. Why the hell hasn’t she given me a demo or something?”

I grimace, and contemplate not answering—after all, this is up to Mack, not me. But she’s probably already having a meltdown at the way things are turning out. If I can pave the way a bit with Nash, that’s probably for the best. “She didn’t want you to think she was taking advantage of you. I mean, if you hadn’t liked her music, it would have put you in a pretty awkward position.”

He swears. “Not like it? Are you kidding? I’ve been looking high and low for Mackenzie, but holy hell, she’s thewhole package.She’s gorgeous and natural, her voice is totally unspoilt, she writes her own songs, she’s a music producer’s damn wet dream. I am so angry with her right now, I can’t even tell you.”

“Well, how about don’t be angry with her,” I say, laughing. “She can’t help being both talented and considerate.”

He glares at me like it’s the last concession he wants to make.

“And the good news is, now you know, and you can offer her some big fat recording contract or something.”

“You!” He says, and from the way he’s looking past my shoulder, I gather someone else has walked in. I spin around to see Mackenzie frozen just inside the door jamb, the color draining from her face. “Why the hell haven’t you shown me what you could do?”

Her eyes go wide, and she looks at me, appealing for help.

“We just went over that,” I say.

“This is between Mack and me,” Nash says, then grimaces. “Sorry, Beth, no disrespect intended.

I lift my hands up, to silently accept his apology. Then, Nash is moving closer to Mack, though he stops about six feet away. I watch, fascinated by what he’ll say next. It’s clear he’s hurt, that he feels like he’s the last one to find out.

“The others didn’t know either,” I rush to reassure him. “Cole, Beau, Austin, Caleb. It’s just Cassidy and me.”

“Cassidy knew?”

Whoops. I’ve dropped her in it now.

“I asked them both not to say anything,” Mack explains quickly. “I only told Beth because I thought she might be able to use some of my music for backing tracks, for the videos. Because, you know, it’s hard to get good royalty free music. I could give her music for nothing, and she could use it, and…” her voice trails off, and she starts fidgeting her hands in front of her. “I can’t believe you saw it and drove out here.”

“Honey, the whole world’s seen it,” Nash says, but with his lips compressed in a line of impatience. “You’re what the internet calls a viral sensation. TikTok is full of remixes, those British girls have made a dance.”

“What?” she screeches, and she looks so incredibly pale I think she might actually pass out.

Nash is one step ahead of me, though, putting a hand on Mack’s elbow and guiding her across to the kitchen table, drawing out a seat. “My guess is, you’re going to have an inbox full of offers by nightfall.”

“How can people…I don’t understand,” she shakes her head as she sits down uneasily. I go to get a glass of water then change my mind and pull a bottle of wine from the fridge. Austin was telling us about it last night—this time a Riesling. I pour a handy measure for Mack and carry it across to the table.

“She can’t drink that, she’s only twenty.”

“Desperate times,” I murmur, and Mack throws me a look of gratitude.

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