Page 20 of Hawt Cowboy
He grins. “Just makin’ conversation, Dalton. Didn’t realize you were the jealous type.”
Savannah cuts in, voice sharp. “We have to be somewhere.”
I open her door, eyes still locked on Darren. “Yep, rodeo stardom calls.” As she climbs in, he calls out, “See you in the arena, Dalton. Don’t fall off your high horse.”
I shut her door, jaw tight, then climb behind the wheel.
She doesn’t say anything for a while, just watches the road stretch out ahead of us. Then, she breaks the heated silence. “You can’t let him get to you.”
I grip the steering wheel a little tighter. “Yeah. Easier said than done.”
But deep down, I know it’s not just him. It’s her. It’s us. And I’m already too far gone to pretend otherwise.
Chapter 15
Savannah
The highway stretches out in a long silver ribbon ahead of us, cutting through open country and summer haze. The bracelet Cash bought for me is something I keep admiring. I feel pretty … like I haven’t felt pretty in a long time. It’s as if he’s bringing something out of me that’s been buried.
Cash drives in silence, one arm slung casually over the wheel, his hat tipped low. Every so often he hums along to a song on the radio, and I catch myself watching the way his jaw moves, the way his forearm flexes at times.
Stop it, Savannah. You’ve got to keep this professional … friends at most.
Except the word “professional” feels like a joke after everything that’s happened -- the motel, the bracelet, the way he looked at me this morning like I was something worth protecting.
My phone buzzes, snapping me out of it. Marlene Tate. I already know this can’t be good.
Savannah, just saw the sponsor photos. Fantastic! You and Dalton look amazing together. Everyone’s eating it up. Tell him to keep that charm rolling because the team’s running with a new angle—“The Woman Behind the Cowboy.” Expect a follow-up shoot this afternoon. Don’t screw this up. Oh, I love how you’re dressing the part. Great job!
I exhale hard. “Unbelievable.”
Cash glances over. “What now?”
“Marlene’s doubling down on this circus. She wants a new photo shoot, another one. Apparently, I’m now ‘the woman behind the cowboy.’”
He grins. “Has a nice ring to it.”
“I’m not amused.”
“Sure you are. Deep down.”
I shoot him a glare. “No. Deep down, I’m plotting her demise.”
He chuckles, steering us off the highway toward a sponsor ranch on the outskirts of town. It’s a sprawling property lined with white fences and banners sporting the brewery’s logo. Trucks, horses, and photographers already buzz around like bees.
Inside the sponsor tent, the event coordinator meets us with too much energy for the heat. “Ms. Brooks! Mr. Dalton! So glad you both could make it. We’ve got wardrobe prepped for both of you. Nothing fancy, just casual western chic. The spread will run inRodeo Life Magazinein a couple of months!”
I paste on my professional smile. “Wonderful.”
Cash leans close, voice a low drawl. “Casual western chic, huh? That mean you’re wearing one of those skirts I picked out?”
“Keep dreaming.”
They usher us toward a small trailer parked behind the tent for a makeshift dressing area. Two wardrobes, one narrow space, zero breathing room.
Inside, it’s barely cooler than outside. Cash peels off his shirt to change into a sponsor-branded one, and I instantly turn away, pretending to scroll through my phone.
“Something wrong?” he asks, amusement curling his voice.
