Page 5 of Let Her Buck

Truth is, I saw her leaving the paddock earlier, shoulders tight, that guitar case clutched like a lifeline. I didn’t know why shewas running, but I followed anyway. Some things don’t need explaining.

She hesitates—just a flicker of it—then shrugs one shoulder. “Okay.”

It’s a small word, but it feels bigger than that.

We start walking, and she falls into step beside me. Easy, like she belongs there. The crowd thickens near the food stands, and someone nearly barrels into her with a plate of deep-fried something. My arm goes out on instinct. I catch her elbow and guide her closer to me, out of the way.

She startles, just a little, and looks up. Her cheeks are pink now, her freckles brighter in the glow of the string lights overhead.

“Sorry,” I murmur. “Didn’t mean to grab you like that.”

“No,” she says quickly. “It’s fine. You…kind of saved me from being mustard collateral damage.”

That earns a real smile from me. “Can’t have that.”

Her arm brushes mine as we keep walking. I don’t move away.

We pass the Ferris wheel, the carousel, a group of kids chasing each other with candy apples and sticky fingers. It’s loud and bright and busy, but there’s this quiet between us that feels good. Easy. Like maybe she understands how to leave space for silence.

“So,” she says after a beat, “is this…a date?”

I glance down at her. “Depends. You want it to be?”

She blinks, probably surprised by my bluntness, and looks away toward the lights. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

“I’m not here long,” I admit. “But I know what I like. And I like you.”

Her breath catches. She doesn’t say anything right away, but I don’t press. Instead, I tilt my head toward the games. “You any good at ring toss?”

She laughs, a soft, surprised sound. “Absolutely terrible.”

“Good. I like a fair fight.”

We head that way, her laughter still lingering in the air between us. I watch her, simply unable to look away.

There’s something about her.

Laney.

The way she laughs like it sneaks up on her. The way her eyes search the world like it’s holding secrets she’s not sure she’s allowed to know. There’s a light in her, bright and quiet all at once. Not the kind that demands attention, but the kind that draws it anyway.

It draws me.

And I don’t usually get drawn in. Not like this.

We keep walking past the rows of fair booths, but I’m only half-aware of the lights or the music or the smell of kettle corn in the air. The rest of me is tangled up in the way she keeps glancing at me like she’s trying to figure me out, and not because she’s suspicious, but because she’s curious. No one’s ever looked at me like that before. Not really.

Most people just see a bull rider with a scar down his face and a reputation that gets whispered about behind calloused hands.

But not her. She saw me before I even stepped forward.

And damn if that doesn’t shake something loose in my chest.

I wasn’t raised to believe in softness. Hell, I wasn’t really raised at all. Grew up bouncing between foster homes and state-run group centers, where birthdays got forgotten and nothing came without strings. You learned quickly how to survive. How to fight. How to keep your head down and never expect more than a bed and maybe a sandwich if you kept your mouth shut.

Family? That was for other people. Kids in movies. And I figured I wasn’t the kind of person who got things like that.

So I stopped asking.

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