Page 5 of Buck Me, Cowboy

Rebecca’s eyes widen, but she keeps her mouth shut as she stares at me.

Polly Williamson lights up. “Wonderful! This is exactly the kind of authentic love story our readers adore. Can we schedule something for tomorrow morning?”

“Absolutely.” I slide my arm around Rebecca’s waist, feeling her stiffen slightly before relaxing against my body. “Whatever helps get Rebecca’s story out there.”

After Polly Williamson walks away with promises to call later, Rebecca turns to me with exasperation and something that might be gratitude.

“I bet they didn’t ask the men if they had their wives with them.”

“Probably not.” I keep my arm around her, not wanting to let go of her. “But you know what? I didn’t have to do that, but it’s plain as day how important this is to you. If fudging things a little helps you get what you want, it’s worth it. Plus, this means I’ll get to spend more time with you, and that is all this cowboy could hope for.”

Color rises in her cheeks as she bites her lip, and I know I have a shot. Not just at helping her, but at something real with thiswoman who challenges me and makes me want to be better than I’ve ever been.

“I’m riding this evening, and there’s the square dance after. I’d be honored,” I tip my hat at her, “if you’d join me for both.”

She’s fully blushing now, but smiling in a way that unlocks something deep within me and makes me think this is the kind of moment – and Rebecca is the kind of woman – that you get a shot at only once in a lifetime. “It’s a date, cowboy.”

As I walk away from her station, I catch myself glancing back at her workspace, watching her return to work with complete focus and a big, beautiful smile on her face. I can’t stop thinking about the passion that lights her up when she talks about family legacy, the challenge in her eyes that sees beyond what other women see.

She’s the kind of woman I want to build a legacy with.

CHAPTER 3

REBECCA

Ladies and gentlemen, Amos Cross on Blazin’ Fury!”

My heart races as I watch Amos position himself on the bull in the chute. The rider before him got thrown hard into the dirt, and the rodeo clowns had to distract the bull while two paramedics came into the arena to help him. The danger is real, but it's still exciting as all get out.

I also can’t look away. His reputation precedes him—the people in the stands around me are talking about Amos’ skill, his fearlessness, and the way he makes eight seconds on an angry bull look easy. I know he knows what he’s doing, but that doesn’t stop me worrying about him.

The chute opens, and I hold my breath. The bull—massive and furious—spins and bucks with violent energy, but Amos moves with him like he knows exactly how the bull is going to move. His thick thighs grip the bull’s sides, muscles straining against the denim of his jeans. His free hand cuts through the air for balance while his riding hand grips the rope tightly.

Amos is magnificent. When Blazin’ Fury spins left, Amos is already shifting his weight. When the bull bucks high and kicks, Amos flows with the motion like water, never losing his balance.

A fire builds in my core as I watch him ride the bull. The memory of our flirtatious exchange floods back—the way he called me Spice Girl, how his voice dropped when he promised to handle whatever heat I was serving. Seeing him like this, showcasing his skill with power and confidence, sends a tug of yearning straight through my core. I want to know what it would like to ride Amos.

Eight seconds feel like an eternity. The crowd roars around me, but I’m transfixed by the strength of his body and his amazing skill.

When the buzzer sounds and Amos leaps clear of the still-bucking bull, I’m on my feet cheering before I realize what I’m doing. The score flashes on the board—eighty-seven points, well into winning territory—and pride swells in my chest like he’s actually mine to celebrate.

“Oh my God, did you see that ride? He’s incredible!”

The excited female voice behind me breaks through my euphoria. I turn slightly to see a group of young women a few rows back, all eyes glued to Amos as he waves to the crowd.

“I’m definitely getting ‘ride a cowboy’ checked off my Fair Bingo card tonight. He’s the hottest one here.”

“Good luck! Half the women here are after Amos Cross.”

I force myself to look at them—reallylook. They’re everything I’m not. Thin and conventionally pretty, with carefully applied makeup and cut-off jean shorts that leave little to the imagination. The kind of women who probably get every manthey set their sights on. They’re not the kind of woman a man says no to.

I glance down at my pretty cotton dress, suddenly self-conscious about my thick curves and minimal makeup. I’m not in the same league as these women. The confidence I felt during our flirtatious exchange at my booth wavers. Why would a man like Amos—who could have his pick of women in every town—want someone like me?

The doubt twists in my stomach as I watch those confident women eye him like prey. Maybe helping me with the magazine was just cowboy politeness. Maybe the heat I felt between us was one-sided attraction on my part.

But then Amos appears at the base of the bleachers, still dusty from his ride, scanning the crowd. When his eyes find mine, the smile that spreads across his face is warm and genuine, and filled with what looks a lot like unfiltered joy.

He takes the steps two at a time until he reaches my row, then wraps his arms around me and swings me off the ground in a spontaneous celebration that takes my breath away. I’m vaguely aware of camera flashes going off—one of the magazine photographers catching the moment—but all I can focus on is the solid warmth of his chest against mine and the way he’s looking at me like I’m the only person in the arena.

---