Page 4 of Let Her Buck

The crowd falls quiet, leaning in, held in her spell. I don’t dare to move. Don’t even dare to blink. She doesn’t look at me this time, but it doesn’t matter. I feel it anyway. Every note, every breath.

When she finishes, the crowd erupts. I swear the applause shakes the sky.

She ducks her head shyly, her cheeks flaming as she gives a little wave and rushes off stage. I push through the crowd before I can talk myself out of it. I’ve never been the kind of guy to chase a woman. Never had to. But this one? She’s different.

She’s walking beside her friend, a short, sparkly little thing—all sass and fast talk. They’re laughing, and for a second, I consider turning around. Giving her space. Letting it go.

But then she glances up and sees me.

She stops walking.

So do I.

Her friend follows her gaze and takes one look at me, then back at her, and lets out a little knowinghmm. She steps back with a grin and a not-so-subtle wink. “I’ll catch up with you later, Laney.”

Laney.

I roll her name around in my head as I take the last few steps forward, feeling the weight of her eyes on me.

“Hell of a voice,” I say, voice low. Steady. “You sing like the world’s ending and you’re the only one trying to save it.”

She blinks, clearly not expecting that. Her lips part, just barely. “Thank you. I—I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me before.”

“They should’ve,” I say simply.

She hugs her guitar case tighter to her chest, like it might shield her from whatever’s happening between us. That spark. That pull. I feel it deep down in my gut, hot behind my ribs.

“Name’s Weston Holt,” I say, tipping my hat just enough to see her better. “My friends call me West.”

Her gaze flicks over my face, lingering for half a beat on the scar.

She swallows. “I’m Delaney Dawson. Laney for short.”

Delaney Dawson. The girl with the voice and the eyes and the kind of presence that wraps around you before you even know you’ve been caught.

I smile. “Nice to meet you, Laney.”

I don’t take my eyes off her. Not when the crowd shifts behind us, not even when someone brushes too close on their way to the funnel cake stand. She’s right here, in front of me, and something about that feels rare. Important.

Her fingers toy with the strap of her guitar case. “You, uh…you a local?”

I shake my head. “Just ridin’ the circuit.”

“Bull rider,” she says, with a little nod like she’s trying to file that detail away. “That’s…brave.”

I huff a quiet laugh. “Some folks might call it stupid.”

Her lips curve up a little, and damn if I don’t want to see that smile again. So I take a chance.

“You wanna check out the fair with me?” I ask. “Between sets.”

Her brows knit slightly. “Oh…I only had the one. Just the opener. I’m not doing a second—”

“I know,” I say before she finishes. “Meant mine.”

She tilts her head, that smile twitching again. “You’ve got another ride tonight?”

I nod once. “Later. Figured I could use a little company before I get back on.”

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