Page 8 of Buck Me, Cowboy

The offer catches me off guard. “What?”

“After all this fake dating stuff is over. You could meet my family. If you wanted to.”

My chest clenches with longing. Does she even realize the power her invitation has for me? The idea of sitting around a table with a huge family, is all I’ve ever wanted. Despite the distance between us, I love my mom, but it was always just us when I was young, and even then I craved the community and belonging of family.

“I’d like that. More than you know.”

“So,tell me how you two met.”

Polly Williamson settles into her chair in the small conference room, her tablet ready, as the photographer adjusts the lighting behind her. The professional setup makes everything feel official, but Rebecca’s hand in mine feels completely natural.

“I was judging a charity cook-off in Raytown.” The lie comes easily, maybe because it’s essentially true—just compressed in time. “One taste of Rebecca’s chili and I knew I had to know the woman behind it.”

“He kept asking for more spice.” Rebecca’s laugh is genuine, and I remember yesterday’s flirtation, the way she challenged me about handling heat. “He calls me his Spice Girl.”

“And how did that first date go?”

“She made me wait two weeks before she’d even consider going out with me.” I grin at Rebecca, improvising. “Said she needed to make sure I could handle more than just her cooking.”

“Could you?”

“Still working on proving myself worthy.” I look at her, and my heart just about stops. There aren’t even words for how badly I want her to be my girlfriend. To be my wife.

Polly makes notes, clearly charmed by our banter. But the strange thing is, it doesn’t feel like a performance anymore. When I look at Rebecca, the words coming out of my mouth feel natural and true. Every moment with her has been easy like this.

“What do you love most about each other?”

Rebecca answers first. “His authenticity. He sees right through pretense—mine and everyone else’s. And he genuinely listens when I talk about my family, my dreams. Along with all my family, Amos is my biggest supporter. He makes me feel like anything is possible.”

The photographer captures her expression as she speaks, but I’m too focused on her words to notice. She’s describing qualities I’mnot sure I actually possess, but hearing her say them makes me want to become the man she sees.

“Amos?”

“Her passion.” The words come without thought. “The way she lights up when she talks about her grandfather’s legacy. She’s passionate and driven, and the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Polly leans forward. “That’s beautiful. What about your families? How do they feel about the relationship?”

“Sunday dinners with her family are my second favorite thing in the world.” The lie feels less like fiction and more like prophecy.

“And what’s your favorite thing?”

I look directly at Rebecca. “Rebecca.”

Her eyes widen, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far.

“What are your future plans together?” Polly asks, beaming with happiness, like we’re giving her the juiciest interview she’s ever had. It’s clear that she’s on our side and favors our story.

This is dangerous territory. We haven’t discussed how to handle questions about the future because we don’t have one—not a real one. Not yet. But watching Rebecca talk about preserving family traditions and building something lasting, I hear myself saying things I’ve never planned.

“I want to be part of something real. Something that matters.” I squeeze Rebecca’s hand. “She’s taught me that home isn’t a place—it’s the people you choose to build a life with.”

The photographer snaps rapidly as Rebecca stares at me, something vulnerable and surprised in her expression.

“That’s incredibly romantic. And very different from the typical rodeo cowboy image.”

“Rebecca changes everything.” The words come out more intense than I intended. “She makes me want to be better than I’ve ever been. When we met, I realized I’d been searching for something more for a long time, but I didn’t know it until I met her. She changed my life.”

For the posed photos, we move around the room—Rebecca leaning against my chest while I point to something in the distance, both of us laughing at the photographer’s directions, my arm around her shoulders as we look at her family photos.

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