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Drop-dead beautiful, yes, but her air of determination clouded by vulnerability when she’d walked through the door, read the room, and stayed even though something inside of her had definitely been urging her to flee—that alone would have ensured that he would cross the bar to welcome her.

Bodhi found himself making a slight bow, which had Beck all kinds of triggered. Hilarious. Normally, he didn’t have to try with women. They came to him. Gave it their best shot. In the world of rodeo, he hunted the win—beating other cowboys and amassing points, prize money, and buckles and more, yet for the female fans, the buckle bunnies, he was the prize they avidly hunted.

But this woman, despite her boots and jeans, was no cowgirl. Everything about her screamed refined. Controlled. Untouchable. And Bodhi wanted to touch. But it was far more than physical. He could sense something in her in a way he hadn’t with other women or likely he hadn’t tried. So much was going on beneath the surface, he was fascinated. Something had happened to her. Something life changing. He could feel it. Smell it. And it put him on edge—he could feel his protective nature roaring to be pointed in a direction and released like an arrow from a crossbow. For the first time in forever, Bodhi found his interest stirred more than cock deep.

“Dibs,” he’d said to his cousins.

What an arrogant ass.

Like she was there for him—his for the taking.

But it didn’t stop him from zeroing in and moving on her.

“What’s your poison?” he asked, leading her back to the bar and helping her to perch what was a delicious, rounded bottom—poured into what looked like the popular new, western-style jeans—onto the barstool he’d been blocking.

Bowen gave him a warning look.

Find your own.

Beck, jittery all night checking his phone, looked miserable.

Too bad.

Bodhi could have helped him out, but Beck had tried and failed to put Plum Hill, everyone’s favorite place on the ranch, on the line as a prize. And now that this unexpected beauty had entered Grey’s, Bodhi was finally having fun. The Rodeo Bride Game. As brilliant as it was dumb. Still, games and challenges were how they rolled, and if this one got Beck off the fence and Bowen cutting loose, it would be totally worth it to give Granddad a taste of the future. Anticipation zipped through his veins. Endless possibilities rolled out the red carpet. Anything could happen.

“I usually drink wine,” she said, looking a little embarrassed, “but I don’t think that’s a good choice here.”

He loved the way she spoke. Her voice was low, smooth like a late-night radio DJ, educated and cultured. He could listen to her all night.

In bed.

Damn. She was not a fortune cookie pithy statement, and he was not making his usual moves here.

“Rocco’s would have a better wine list,” he agreed.

“I’ll make sure to check it out before I leave.”

His heart jumped. Of course she wasn’t local. Small town. He would have noticed her well over a decade ago.

“How long you in town?” He tried to sound casual, but everything inside him tensed.

She looked him up and down, and damn if that didn’t bring him to half-mast.

“Depends,” she said slowly, her gaze on his. Her tongue lightly touched her top lip, and he hardened more. Her mouth was a fantasy giving him so many dirty ideas he needed to ignore.

“On?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Let me buy you a drink, and you can bounce your options off me. I’m a good listener.”

The corners of her take-me-to-bed-now sexy mouth quirked in what could be amusement, and suddenly making her smile, then making her laugh shot up on his to-do list. She had such grave eyes. Haunted. And she was so still, as if prey hiding from a predator.

“Is that what women have told you you’re good at?” Her eyes lightened and her mouth quirked a little more.

Shock tingled down his spine and amusement bloomed.

“I’m not sure it’s the first thing that would come to mind,” he admitted and tapped the brim of his hat with his finger again.