Page 17 of A Cowboy's Twinkling Lights Lasso
I chuckle. “I tried my very best to get into trouble to see you.”
She giggles, and her face brightens a shade of pink. “You lil’ southern charmer. You reminded me of your dad at that age. I still see bits of him in you.”
That’s bullshit. I may look like him, but there’s no way in hell we shared anything else.
She pats my hand a final time before walking to the wine-tasting and cookie-decorating area. We’re the last station of the twelve months.
“I didn’t know you crochet.” It’s the first time Flora has initiated a talk with me.
Dani disappeared again, not that Flora needed her. She’s got taking pictures down to a perfect routine.
“That was a long time ago.” I sound gruff.
Shit. Wasn’t I the one who offered professionalism? I gotta wrangle my emotions before they stampede out of control.
I lighten my tone. “Sometimes the cell was better than being at home.”
Our eyes lock, and that familiarity of rare understanding hangs between us. Our struggles and fears had always seemed to resonate with one another. And she’d never dismissed them like my old man. Instead, she listened to every word. She’d understood—or so I thought.
“Like I said, it was a long time ago. Things are different now.”
An uproarious laughter erupts from the station hosting the month of July—my brother’s spot. Whatever dirty little pickup line he’s used has roped laughter from anyone within hearing range—including the three judges perched on the stage.
“Your brother is going to win.” Flora stops beside me, making sure our bodies don’t brush. It’s probably a good thing. The cotton material of her ivory dress is as thin as a whisper in the wind.
“Yeah, he’s a cocky bastard.”
“You know, I know a little secret about the judges.” She sends me a sideways smirk.
I fold my arms over my front. “Spill the tea.”
“They’re not judging the guest’s laughter. They’re judging the photographers.”
I glance back at my brother, who shoots off a second line, generating another round of laughter. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
“Interesting twist.”
“It is.” She’s quiet for a few beats. “Considering we are at an advantage, we could win this friendly competition very well.”
“We could.
“And donate the money to the charity—to the animals.”
“That would be very kind of us.”
“Is it cheating if it’s for a good cause?”
“Wiping that smirk off my brother’s face would be cause enough.”
She pivots on the heel of her cowboy boots and holds out her hand. “You crack the cheesy pickup lines, and I’ll get the judges’ attention.” She shrugs. “They want a reason to watch us anyway.”
“Agreed.” Her small hand disappears in my large grasp. It takes everything inside me not to hold her longer than needed.
Then her eyes light up like it’s Christmas morning. “Wait, I have an idea.”
Twenty minutes later, there’s a lineup waiting beside our station as I strut over wearing Flora’s idea. Deep red velvet Santa pants swish with my every step, and the weight of a big old sack slung over my shoulder. She even had time to deck out my Stetson with a thick red band and fluffy white trim.
