Page 14 of Hawt Cowboy
“Nothing … yet.”
She exhales, shaking her head. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is. We’re supposed tolooklike a couple, not act like we’re in a bar fight.”
“That’s funny,” I mutter. “It sure feels real enough.”
Her eyes narrow, but there’s color rising in her cheeks. “Cash …”
“I ain’t sayin’ it’s smart,” I interrupt. “But I don’t like the way he talked to you.”
The silence that follows is thick. She studies me, expression softening just a fraction. “You really would’ve hit him, wouldn’t you?”
“Guess we’ll never know.”
For a long moment we just sit there. Finally she says, quieter, “Let’s just get through today, okay?”
I nod, but inside I know the truth. I’m in deeper than I planned. And damn it, maybe Campbell’s right. Women like Savannah that are sharp, driven, and all buttoned-up with ambition. They don’t stick around once the mess is cleaned up. They fix what’s broken, smooth the rough edges, then move on to the next wildfire that needs containing.
So what happens when she’s done “handling” me?
The thought settles heavy in my gut as she starts the engine, and for the first time in a long time, I realize I’d rather take a hit in the arena than watch her walk away when this job’s over.
Chapter 11
Savannah
Cash’s hand hangs out the open window, catching the wind like he’s got not a care in the world. I’m glad he’s over all his anger. Meanwhile, my nerves are staging a full mutiny.
Between the viral photos, Marlene’s marching orders, and Darren Campbell’s smug grin still burned into my memory, I’m running on caffeine, adrenaline, and pure denial.
Cash glances over, catching me frowning. “You always think that hard, or is it just when I’m around?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
He smirks. “Too late.”
I resist the urge to smile. Barely.
We pull into the fairgrounds for the afternoon sponsor event — a charity meet-and-greet with fans and a few local press outlets. Cash’s name is plastered on banners again, and mine might as well be right beside it thanks to those photos.
Before we step out, I turn to him. “Remember what Marlene said. You and I are together now — at least in public.”
He tips his hat, all innocent charm. “Together, huh? Guess I better hold your hand, sweetheart.”
“Try it and lose a finger.”
He laughs, but when we start walking toward the tent, his hand brushes mine anyway — casual, testing. Cameras flash, and I don’t pull away. For optics. For professionalism. Definitely not because my heart’s suddenly trying to break out of my chest.
Inside the sponsor pavilion, the noise swells with laughter, music, questions from fans. Cash signs autographs, poses for selfies, and plays the perfect rodeo cowboy. I hover near his side, answering PR questions and fielding sponsor reps.
One fan squeals, “Oh my gosh, you two areadorable! How long have you been together?”
Cash doesn’t miss a beat. “Long enough that she knows all my bad habits.”
I shoot him a warning look, but the fan sighs dreamily. “You can see it in your eyes. You really love her.”
Cash looks straight at me. His grin fades just a little, something softer flickering there. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Reckon I do.”
My breath catches before I can stop it.
