Page 1 of Let Her Buck

Chapter One

Laney

“You’ve got this, Laney. Seriously,” my best friend tells me. “Your voice sounds like honey and heartbreak had a baby. People are gonna lose their minds as soon as you open your mouth.”

I clutch the strap of my guitar case a little tighter, my palm rough against the worn leather from years of handling reins and hay bales. It’s hot as sin out here, and the buzz of the county fair only adds to the nervous pressure squeezing my ribs.

Sweetheart Bend’s annual county fair is a big deal. Folks dress up, dust off their boots, and pretend life’s a little sweeter, a little glossier for a week. For me, it’s a chance to sing in front of a crowd that still remembers the great Fiona Grey, my nana…

It’s a chance to prove myself.

“Sadie, I nearly tripped on the mic cord during sound check,” I mumble with a resigned huff.

“Minor detail,” Sadie says with a dismissive wave of her perfectly manicured fingers. “You could trip, fall, and face-plant into the guitar stand and still sound better than half the singers on the radio.”

I laugh in spite of myself. That’s Sadie. A one-woman pep rally wrapped in red lipstick and glittery eyeshadow. She became mybest friend in kindergarten, and she hasn’t let me doubt myself for more than five minutes straight ever since.

She suddenly goes very still, eyes locking on something in the crowd. Her whole face lights up.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, clutching my arm. “He’s here.”

I follow her gaze, already knowing who I’ll see.

Evan Jennings. Sweet, quiet, the kind of guy who looks like he’d rather pet a stray dog than make conversation. He always wears soft, faded shirts and old boots, like he was born gentle.

He’s leaning against the rail of the arena a few yards away from us, sipping something from a paper cup and peering out at the bull riders, completely unaware of the girl who’s been hung up on him since the third grade.

“Of course. Evan…” I drawl, rolling my eyes playfully. Sadie always goes crazy at the sight of him.

“I still don’t get what it is about him,” she mutters, adjusting her curls in her compact mirror. “He’s not even trying to be cute. He’s just…nice. All the way through.”

“You’ve got time to figure it out,” I tease.

She squares her shoulders like she’s about to walk into battle. “Okay. I’m doing it. I’m gonna go say something smooth and charming. Like… ‘Hi, I’m Sadie, and I like your elbows.’”

I snort. “Solid plan.”

“Wish me luck.”

She rushes off before I can say anything else, leaving me alone at the edge of the arena. I scan the ring just in time to see one of the riders thrown violently from the bull’s back, his bodyslamming into a barrel. The rodeo clown dives out of the way, and a collective gasp tears through the crowd.

My heart jumps into my throat as a familiar image flashes through my mind in all its horrible glory.

I hate this.

I swallow hard, shaking my head as if to dispel the painful memory. I just have to go through the motions until I perform, and then I’ll be fine.

I glance over at the rider again, wondering…hoping he’s alright. I guess I shouldn’t pity him—he chose this life. Bull riding is a wild sport. Too wild. Too dangerous. Papa used to say it’s not about the thrill, but the control. But from where I’m standing, there’s nothing controlled about flying through the air like that.

Heart twisting in my chest, I look away from the rider scrambling to get off the ground.

And then I see him.

A man—no, an Adonis—moving through the crowd like he owns the dirt beneath his boots. People notice him, stepping aside for him. He doesn’t push, doesn’t ask. He just walks with the kind of quiet power that makes youfeelhim before you see him. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a low-brimmed cowboy hat pulled low over dark, messy hair. His jaw is perfectly chiseled, marked by a thin scar that cuts clean down the right side like someone tried and failed to take him down. Sunburnt. Rough around the edges in a way that’s entirely intentional.

He doesn’t belong here. He’s not from around here. I would’ve noticed a man like him.

The air shifts, heavy and thick, and I blink, thinking maybe I imagined it…until he turns, just slightly. Not enough to meet my gaze, not really. But he looks toward me, and it feels like a hook catches low in my belly. A pull. Something ancient.

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