Page 9 of Cowboys & Hot Sauce
"I know," I sighed, handing him another plate. "I just wish she could see that I've matured—that I'm ready to commit to Sweetwater, to the restaurant." I glanced toward the living room where laughter erupted over something Daddy had said. "To building something that lasts."
Burke set down the towel, turning to face me fully. The kitchen light caught the tiny scar above his right eyebrow—a thin white line I'd never noticed before.
"For what it's worth," he murmured, his voice low, "I see it."
The air between us thickened, charged with an electricity I hadn't expected to feel. My gaze dropped to his lips, and I suddenly wondered what it would feel like if he kissed me. The thought startled me so much I nearly dropped the plate I was holding.
"Careful," he cautioned, steadying my hands with his own. My skin prickled with goosebumps despite the kitchen's warmth.
"I should probably..." I gestured vaguely toward the living room, unable to finish the thought.
Burke nodded, stepping back slightly. "It's getting late anyway. I should head out—early day tomorrow with the festival."
"Right," I said, feeling oddly disappointed. "The festival."
We rejoined my family in the living room where Burke graciously accepted one last serving of cobbler from my mother before announcing he needed to leave. My parents insisted on walking us out to the porch, with MeeMaw following close behind.
"Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Landry," Burke said. "Best meal I've had in a long time."
Mom beamed. "You're welcome anytime, Burke. Isn't he, Wayne?"
Daddy nodded. "Come by the shop sometime. I'll show you that new hydraulic lift I installed."
On the porch, under the yellow glow of the porch light and the watchful eyes of my family, Burke turned to me. "I'll see you tomorrow at the festival? Around eight? I could use your help setting up the dunking booth for the charity fundraiser."
"I'd love to," I replied, genuinely looking forward to it. "The food truck's all prepped and ready, so I'll have time in the morning."
He smiled, then leaned in for a hug that felt perfectly natural—his strong arms enveloping me, the scent of his soap mingling with the lingering smoky sweetness of the evening. Fora moment, I let myself lean into him, my head fitting just under his chin as if we'd embraced a hundred times before.
"Goodnight, Scarlet," he said softly, his breath warm against my hair.
"Goodnight," I whispered back, reluctantly pulling away.
As his truck pulled out of the driveway, headlights sweeping across the yard, I remained on the porch, tracing the lingering warmth of his embrace.
Back inside, I closed the front door, leaning against it for a moment. The conversation from the kitchen drifted down the hallway.
"They make a handsome couple," Mom was saying.
"He seems good for her," Daddy agreed. "Steady."
MeeMaw's response was too quiet for me to hear, but I didn't need to. I knew what she was thinking: was this relationship real? Was I truly ready to settle down in Sweetwater? Or would I run at the first sign of trouble, like I had in the past?
I touched my fingers to my cheek where Burke's stubble had lightly brushed against my skin during our hug. For the first time since we'd agreed to this charade, I found myself wishing it wasn't pretend. Wishing that the tender look in his eyes had been real. Wishing that tomorrow wasn't just about convincing MeeMaw, but about spending more time with Burke Tate—the steady, practical cowboy who somehow made my chaotic heart feel like it had found a place to land.
And the most terrifying part? I wasn't sure I wanted our charade to end when the festival did.
Chapter Four
Burke
The sun had barely climbed above the horizon but sweat already beaded on my forehead as I hammered the final stake into the ground. The dunking booth—my assigned responsibility for this year's Summer's End Festival—was almost ready. I stepped back to survey my work, calculating the load-bearing capacity of the platform and confirming the trigger mechanism had the right tension.
Sweetwater's fairgrounds bustled with early morning activity as vendors and volunteers prepared for the day ahead. The smell of funnel cake batter and grilling sausages already wafted through the air despite the early hour. Nearby, carnival workers tested the Ferris wheel with loud mechanical groans that promised later delights.
"Looking good there, financial wizard."
I turned to find Rhett sauntering toward me, hands in his pockets and an easy smile on his face. My youngest brother had the irritating ability to look perfectly comfortable in any situation—even at eight in the morning in scorching Texas heat.
