Page 9 of Buck Me, Cowboy

But it’s the unguarded moments that feel most real. When Rebecca touches my cheek to adjust my position, and her hand lingers longer than necessary. When I brush a strand of hair behind her ear, and she leans into the contact. When our eyes meet between poses, and something electric passes between us.

“You two have incredible natural chemistry,” the photographer comments as he reviews shots on his camera. “These are going to be beautiful.”

As we wrap up, Polly shakes both our hands. “This is exactly the kind of story our readers love. Thank you for being so open with us.”

Walking out of the administration building, I’m hyperaware of Rebecca beside me. The performance is over, but her hand is still in mine, and neither of us seems inclined to let go.

“That felt...”

“Real,” she finishes quietly.

“Yeah. It did.”

We stop walking, standing in the shadow of the building, while fairgoers stream past us toward evening events. The question hanging between us is whether what we felt in there was good acting or something more dangerous.

“Amos, when you said those things about wanting to be part of something lasting—”

“I meant them.” The admission comes out before I can stop it. “Every word.”

She studies my face like she’s trying to read the truth there. “This is getting complicated.”

“Maybe complicated isn’t the worst thing that could happen to us.”

Before she can respond, my phone buzzes with a text. I glance at it and my chest tightens.

“What is it?”

“My mother. She wants to talk.”

Rebecca’s expression immediately softens with concern. “That’s good, right?”

“I don’t know. She doesn’t usually...” I trail off, staring at the simple message:Call me when you get a chance. We should talk.

“You should call her back.”

“Yeah. I should.” But I don’t move to dial. Instead, I find myself looking at Rebecca, thinking about the way she described family Sunday dinners, the easy belonging that’s the foundation of her family.

“I’ll call her tonight. After the People’s Choice competition.” I slide my phone back into my pocket. “Right now, I want to help you win this thing.”

As we head toward the exhibition hall, Rebecca’s hand still in mine, I realize something has shifted. This started as helping each other out—her getting magazine coverage, me having a distraction from my uncertain future. But somewhere between the diner conversation and the interview, it became something else.

I love this woman.

CHAPTER 5

REBECCA

The large outdoor tent hosting the People’s Choice competition is buzzing with activity and people. The semi-final round of the competition just ended, and I’m already on pins and needles as the judges confer. They’ve said they’ll announce the results after the People’s Choice voting concludes.

“This recipe has been in my family for three generations. My grandfather taught me to cook this almost before I could walk.”

I ladle another sample into a paper cup, steam rising between my face and the fairgoer’s as I hand it over. The outdoor tent area buzzes with activity—families strolling between booths, the competing aromas of different chilis creating a complex symphony that makes my mouth water despite having tasted my recipe a dozen times today.

The older woman tastes my chili, and her eyes go wide. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but this is better than my mama’s chili. You’ve got my vote!”

The woman smiles at me as she drops her token into my voting jar before moving on to the next booth. I watch her go, pride and nerves warring in my chest. The people’s choice competition runs parallel to tomorrow’s juried event—different prizes, but both matter.

“Between you and me,” Sam—a stunningly beautiful woman who is an acrobat and one of the guest judges—says, leaning over my booth to talk to me. “You have a winner here. I don’t know how the finals will go, but I’m unofficially telling you that you’ll be in the finals.”

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