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REBECCA

L adies and gentlemen, Amos Cross on Blazin’ Fury!”

My heart races as I watch Amos position himself on the bull in the chute. The rider before him got thrown hard into the dirt, and the rodeo clowns had to distract the bull while two paramedics came into the arena to help him. The danger is real, but it's still exciting as all get out.

I also can’t look away. His reputation precedes him—the people in the stands around me are talking about Amos’ skill, his fearlessness, and the way he makes eight seconds on an angry bull look easy. I know he knows what he’s doing, but that doesn’t stop me worrying about him.

The chute opens, and I hold my breath. The bull—massive and furious—spins and bucks with violent energy, but Amos moves with him like he knows exactly how the bull is going to move.

His thick thighs grip the bull’s sides, muscles straining against the denim of his jeans.

His free hand cuts through the air for balance while his riding hand grips the rope tightly.

Amos is magnificent. When Blazin’ Fury spins left, Amos is already shifting his weight. When the bull bucks high and kicks, Amos flows with the motion like water, never losing his balance.

A fire builds in my core as I watch him ride the bull.

The memory of our flirtatious exchange floods back—the way he called me Spice Girl, how his voice dropped when he promised to handle whatever heat I was serving.

Seeing him like this, showcasing his skill with power and confidence, sends a tug of yearning straight through my core.

I want to know what it would like to ride Amos.

Eight seconds feel like an eternity. The crowd roars around me, but I’m transfixed by the strength of his body and his amazing skill.

When the buzzer sounds and Amos leaps clear of the still-bucking bull, I’m on my feet cheering before I realize what I’m doing. The score flashes on the board—eighty-seven points, well into winning territory—and pride swells in my chest like he’s actually mine to celebrate.

“Oh my God, did you see that ride? He’s incredible!”

The excited female voice behind me breaks through my euphoria. I turn slightly to see a group of young women a few rows back, all eyes glued to Amos as he waves to the crowd.

“I’m definitely getting ‘ride a cowboy’ checked off my Fair Bingo card tonight. He’s the hottest one here.”

“Good luck! Half the women here are after Amos Cross.”

I force myself to look at them— really look.

They’re everything I’m not. Thin and conventionally pretty, with carefully applied makeup and cut-off jean shorts that leave little to the imagination.

The kind of women who probably get every man they set their sights on.

They’re not the kind of woman a man says no to.

I glance down at my pretty cotton dress, suddenly self-conscious about my thick curves and minimal makeup.

I’m not in the same league as these women.

The confidence I felt during our flirtatious exchange at my booth wavers.

Why would a man like Amos—who could have his pick of women in every town—want someone like me?

The doubt twists in my stomach as I watch those confident women eye him like prey. Maybe helping me with the magazine was just cowboy politeness. Maybe the heat I felt between us was one-sided attraction on my part.

But then Amos appears at the base of the bleachers, still dusty from his ride, scanning the crowd. When his eyes find mine, the smile that spreads across his face is warm and genuine, and filled with what looks a lot like unfiltered joy.

He takes the steps two at a time until he reaches my row, then wraps his arms around me and swings me off the ground in a spontaneous celebration that takes my breath away.

I’m vaguely aware of camera flashes going off—one of the magazine photographers catching the moment—but all I can focus on is the solid warmth of his chest against mine and the way he’s looking at me like I’m the only person in the arena.

“Did you see that?” His voice carries pure joy and adrenaline.

“I saw it.” My feet touch the ground, but his arms stay around me. “You were amazing up there.”

The doubt from moments before melts away under the intensity of his gaze. Whatever this is between us, it’s not one-sided. The Fair Bingo girls can have their fantasies—I have his arms around me and his attention focused solely on my face.

“Come on.” He takes my hand as the next rider prepares. “Let’s get out of here.”

As we leave the arena together, I catch a glimpse of the women who were discussing their conquest plans. Two of them are flirting with other cowboys, but one is looking at me with daggers in her eyes.

“You’re sure you know how to do this?”

Amos grins as he leads me onto the wooden dance floor surrounded by hay bales and strung with lights that cast everything in a warm, golden glow. The live band warms up on the small stage, fiddles and guitars creating the kind of music that gets into your bones and makes you want to move.

“Darlin’, I’ve been to enough county fairs to fake my way through a square dance. Besides, how hard can it be?”

Famous last words. Within minutes of the caller starting the first song, we’re laughing as Amos spins me in the wrong direction and we nearly collide with another couple. But he’s a quick learner, and soon we’re moving together with surprising harmony.

“We need a believable story for people who ask.” He speaks quietly as we allemande left with another couple. “How we met, how long we’ve been together.”

“You tried my chili at a charity event, and it was so good you asked me out on the spot?” I suggest as we promenade around the square.

“Perfect. And we’ve been seeing each other for... three months?”

“That works. Long enough to be serious, not so long that people wonder why they haven’t seen us together.”

Creating our fake history should feel calculated, but dancing with Amos makes everything feel natural.

I’m laughing at something he whispers about the overly enthusiastic caller when I notice them. The Fair Bingo girls from the rodeo have entered the dance area, and they immediately spot Amos. Like predators identifying their target, the one who glared at me earlier starts moving in our direction.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” Amos notices my sudden tension as we bow to our corner.

“Nothing. Just...some women are staring at you.”

He follows my gaze to the approaching woman, then looks back at me with something warm in his expression. “That’s nothing new, Rebecca. I only have eyes for you, darlin’.”

Before I can respond, he reaches up and strokes my jaw with his hand. The touch is gentle and intimate, sending a flutter through my chest and making my breath hitch. Amos’ tender touch is more personal than a kiss.

The music shifts to a slower song, and Amos leads me into what the caller announces as a “sweetheart waltz.” Couples around us move into closer embraces, and when Amos pulls me against him, the heat of his body through his shirt makes me dizzy.

“This feels nice,” he murmurs against my ear, his breath warm against my skin.

“It does.” I let myself relax into his arms, following his lead as we sway to the music. For a moment, I forget about the approaching woman, the fake relationship, the magazine story. It’s just us dancing together like we’ve been doing this for years.

Then I catch sight of the Fair Bingo woman closing in, her determination clear in her predatory smile.

The blonde woman locks eyes with me over Amos’s shoulder.

Her expression is calculating, like she’s measuring me as competition and deciding I’m not competition at all, but merely someone for her to swat away easily so she can take what she wants.

“She’s getting closer,” I whisper, hating how insecure I sound.

Amos follows my gaze again, then looks back at me with mischief dancing in his hazel eyes. “Well then, I guess I better make this convincing.”

Without warning, he leads me into a dramatic dip that drops me low enough to see the string lights overhead. My heart pounds as his face hovers inches above mine, and then he’s kissing me.

It starts as a big, showy kiss, but the moment our lips meet, something shifts. There is nothing fake about this kiss. Amos deepens the kiss, and I respond with a lusty hunger that surprises me.

His hot mouth moves with a confidence that makes my knees weak. When his tongue sweeps across my lower lip, I part for him without thinking. The taste of him—clean and masculine—goes straight to my head.

Amos kisses me like he means it, like this kiss and relationship are real. Truly real.

When he finally brings me upright, we’re both breathing hard, and I’m completely speechless. All I see is the way Amos is looking at me—surprised, heated, and slightly overwhelmed.

“Well,” he says quietly, his voice thick with desire. “I’m all in if you are.”

I nod, not trusting my voice. Because that kiss felt completely real to me, and the terrifying part is how much I want it to happen again.

I barely know this man, but my heart knows no other man has ever had a fraction of the effect on me that Amos has.