Page 7 of Cowboys & Hot Sauce
Walking to my truck through the half-dismantled vendor area, my chest tightened with each step, my thoughts scattered and unfocused. The collar of my shirt felt suddenly too tight, and I found myself taking longer breaths than usual. This wasn't just a simple favor anymore. The way my pulse had quickened when I'd kissed her cheek, the easy way we'd fallen into complementing each other's work styles, the fact that I'd actually enjoyed myself—these weren't the reactions of someone just playing a part.
"Ready for dinner with the family?" I asked, opening the passenger door for her.
"As ready as I'll ever be," she replied, meeting my eyes in the fading light.
Climbing into the driver's seat, I tried to focus on the practical aspects of the evening ahead—what questions Wayne and Donna might ask, how to maintain our cover story. But one thought kept intruding, making my fingers tap restlessly against the steering wheel: I had agreed to this scheme to help Scarlet convince her grandmother she was settled enough to take overSmokin' Lurline's. But who was going to convince me that when Monday morning came, I'd be ready to go back to being just Burke Tate, ranch accountant, the reliable brother who never took risks?
Because right now, sitting beside Scarlet Landry as we drove toward her childhood home, I was starting to wonder if the most dangerous risk of all was never taking one.
Chapter Three
Scarlet
The soft glow of my bedside lamp illuminated my childhood bedroom, where I quickly changed into an emerald sundress after Burke and I arrived from the festival. I glanced at the clock—nearly 8:30, right on time for dinner. My room was a time capsule of my teenage years: photos crowding the bulletin board—me with a dozen friends at homecoming, dressed up for prom with my date Clay Mercer, and one particularly embarrassing shot of me at sixteen covered in flour while proudly holding a lemon cake that had somehow survived my early baking attempts. A small collection of vintage cowboy boots I'd accumulated over the years still lined the bottom shelf of my bookcase, and a few of my watercolor paintings—mostly Texas wildflowers and sunset landscapes—hung in simple frames on the wall.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered to my reflection. "It's just dinner."
Except it wasn't just dinner. It was dinner with my family—including MeeMaw—where Burke and I would pretend to be a couple. The same Burke Tate who'd patiently tutored me through math when I was falling behind. The same Burke who'd shown up at my food truck today and helped me serve customers like we'd been partners for years. And now he was downstairs,probably making small talk with my daddy while I tried to calm my pulse, which was jumping like a startled jackrabbit.
After running a brush through my tangled hair, I headed downstairs to the kitchen where Mom bustled around the stove while MeeMaw arranged a bowl of fresh-cut zinnias from the garden. I could hear the low rumble of Burke's voice from the living room, mixed with Daddy’s occasional commentary.
"There you are, sugar," Mom said, wiping her hands on her apron. "Set these rolls in that basket, would you?"
MeeMaw's sharp eyes assessed my dress. "Well, don't you look nice. Special occasion?"
Heat rushed to my face. "Just thought I'd freshen up after a day at the festival."
"Mmm-hmm." Her knowing tone made me fumble with the dinner rolls. "Nothing to do with that cowboy sitting in our living room, I suppose."
Mom swooped in to rescue a roll before it hit the floor. "Oh, leave her be, Mama. I think it's sweet. He's always been such a nice young man."
I followed the sounds of conversation to find Burke and Daddy deep in discussion about engines. Despite our long day at the festival, Burke somehow looked composed—his shirt unwrinkled, his expression alert and engaged.
Burke glanced up, his face brightening when he saw me. "Hey."
"Hey yourself," I replied, feeling oddly shy.
Daddy clapped his hands on his knees and stood up. "I'll go wash up. Burke here was just telling me about that engine rebuild I did for the ranch last spring."
"Running like it's brand new," Burke assured him. "Your work's the best in three counties. Grayson says we should get another decade out of it, easy."
"That's what I like to hear," Daddy beamed, clearly pleased. "You know, not many mechanics understand those older model tractors anymore. They're built different—solid."
"Like they used to make things to last," Burke agreed.
I watched in amazement as Burke effortlessly conversed with my father about torque specifications and carburetor adjustments. My father had always been a man who preferred action to words, except when it came to engines. Yet here was Burke, drawing him out, showing genuine interest. Was he really this good at pretending, or had he always paid this much attention to my family?
The sound of tires on gravel announced another arrival. Minutes later, my brother Tyson appeared with his girlfriend Emma, a pretty floral designer whose blonde hair was twisted into an elaborate braid adorned with tiny daisy clips.
"Sorry we're late," Tyson said, kissing Mom's cheek. "Emma had a last-minute wedding consultation." His eyes widened when he spotted Burke standing beside me. "Burke? Well, I'll be damned—I mean, darned," he corrected, glancing at MeeMaw. "What's the Tate family financial wizard doing here?"
"Tyson," I said, my fingers intertwining with Burke's as naturally as if we'd held hands a hundred times before, "Burke and I have been dating for a few months now."
My brother's eyebrows shot up. "You and the guy who helped you pass math? The same guy who stayed up all night to help you finish your senior project when you'd left it until the last minute?"
"I didn't leave it until the last minute," I protested, my face flushing. "The requirements changed three days before it was due!"
Burke chuckled beside me. "As I recall, we went through an entire pot of coffee and two bags of Cheetos. You still managed to get an A, though."
