Page 10 of Cowboys & Hot Sauce (Festival of Hearts #5)
Burke
I stood on the porch of the Landry's modest ranch-style home, my hand raised to knock.
The evening air hummed with cicadas, warm and heavy with the scent of jasmine from the bushes flanking the walkway.
After a quick shower to wash off the festival dust, I'd put on a clean western shirt and jeans—nothing fancy, but a step up from what I'd worn all day at the fairgrounds.
No sense in overthinking it; this was Sweetwater, not some Dallas nightclub.
"It's not a real date," I reminded myself, adjusting my collar one last time before knocking.
The door swung open to reveal Wayne Landry, who gave me a quick once-over the same way he sized up engines—taking in all the important details with a single glance.
"Burke," he said with a nod, stepping aside. "Good to see you back; come on in. Scarlet's just about ready."
I stepped into the familiar living room where childhood photos of the Landry kids lined the walls.
My gaze caught on a picture of Scarlet at what must have been high school graduation, her hair wild with glitter and her arms thrown around two friends, their faces painted with the Sweetwater Wildcats colors.
"Voted 'Most Spirited' in her class," Wayne said, following my gaze. "That was right before she headed off to A&M. Always full of more ideas than she had time to try."
The fondness in his voice was unmistakable. Before I could respond, footsteps sounded on the stairs, and I turned to see Scarlet descending.
The greeting I'd mentally prepared evaporated instantly.
She wore a vintage dress in a swirl of turquoise and coral that somehow matched the vibrant energy she carried everywhere.
Her copper-red hair was styled in loose waves with colorful ribbons woven through a small braid at her temple.
Cherry-red vintage cowboy boots peeked out from beneath her skirt, adorned with silver studs and intricate stitching.
Everything about her was a riot of color and life against the more muted tones of the Landry home.
"You clean up nice, cowboy," she said with a smile that tightened something in my chest.
"You look... incredible," I managed, suddenly wishing I'd thought to bring flowers or something to mark the occasion, fake date or not.
An electric moment passed between us—like the split second before lightning strikes. For a heartbeat, I forgot this was all pretend.
"You kids have fun now," Donna called from the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Big day for both of you tomorrow with the last day of the festival and all."
"Yes, ma'am," I replied automatically, offering my arm to Scarlet.
Her fingers rested lightly in the crook of my elbow as we walked to my truck, and I found myself unexpectedly aware of every point of contact.
When she settled into the passenger seat, I noticed the way she automatically reached for the seatbelt without looking, like someone used to making herself at home wherever she went.
"Thanks for doing this," she said once we were on the road. "I know a barn dance wasn't part of our original deal."
I kept my eyes on the gravel road leading into town, recalculating the variables of our arrangement with every mile marker. "I've been known to suffer through a two-step or two in my time."
She laughed, the sound bouncing off the windows and making me smile. "Burke Tate, did you just make a joke?"
"Happens approximately once a fiscal quarter," I replied. "Just don't tell my brothers. They think I've had my sense of humor surgically removed."
"Your secret's safe with me."
The community center parking lot was already filled with trucks and cars when we arrived.
Fairy lights crisscrossed above the adjacent barn, and the muffled sound of a country band tuning up drifted through the evening air.
Inside, the barn had been transformed with more lights, hay bales arranged as seating, and tables laden with enough food to feed half the county.
Scarlet's hand found mine as we entered, her fingers intertwining with mine in a gesture that felt unnervingly natural. I scanned the room, nodding to familiar faces while trying to ignore the knowing looks and whispers that followed us.
"Burke! Scarlet!"
I turned to see Rhett making his way through the crowd toward us, still wearing that smug grin he'd had since catching us together at the dunking booth this morning.
Instead of his casual festival attire, he'd cleaned up for the dance in a crisp white shirt and his favorite hat, tilted at the precise angle that had half the single women in Sweetwater following his movements across the room.
"There's the happy couple," he said, his dark eyes dancing with amusement. "I see my big brother actually showed up for the dancing part too. Normally we can't drag you to these things with a tractor and chain." He tipped his hat to Scarlet. "Your influence continues to work miracles."
"I just asked nicely," she replied with a wink.
"And here I've been trying the wrong approach all these years," Rhett laughed, nudging my shoulder.
Before he could continue teasing us, I spotted Grayson and Paige making their way over. Rhett followed my gaze and waved them toward us.
"Look who else showed up," he called to them. "Turns out Burke does know how to have fun."
Grayson approached with Paige beside him. My oldest brother wore his usual serious expression, though his gaze held genuine warmth. Beside him, Paige looked radiant in her floral dress, her wedding ring catching the light as she gestured animatedly.
"It's good to see you back in Sweetwater," Grayson said, clasping Scarlet's hand. "Rhett mentioned you two have been seeing each other."
The pride in his voice made guilt twist in my stomach. Grayson had always been my measuring stick—the brother I most wanted to make proud. Lying to him, even by omission, felt wrong.
"Burke's been wonderful," Scarlet said, squeezing my hand. "I'm lucky he was willing to give me a second chance after I left town."
The conviction in her voice caught me off guard. She'd always been good at improvising, but something in her tone made me wonder if there was truth mixed with the performance.
"Well, I think it's fantastic," Paige added warmly. "Burke deserves someone special." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "He's always been my favorite brother-in-law."
Rhett clutched his chest in mock hurt. "I'm standing right here, Paige. You wound me deeply."
"The truth hurts," Grayson chuckled, clapping Rhett on the shoulder. "Though Weston might have something to say about this ranking system too."
"That reminds me," I said, scanning the room. "Is he back from Dallas yet?"
"Not yet. He’s still there with Shelby for that dog show," Grayson replied. "They should be back Monday." He clapped me on the shoulder. "But enough about that—you two should grab some food before the dancing starts in earnest."
The potluck tables were crowded with Sweetwater's summer evening favorites—a taco bar with grilled fajita meat, cold shredded chicken, and all the fixings spread across three tables.
Several electric cookers held queso dip that stayed constantly warm, while stacks of soft and crispy tortillas sat in covered warming trays.
Bowls of homemade guacamole, fresh pico de gallo, and at least four varieties of salsa—from mild to "approach with caution"—gave everyone options.
The dessert table featured a collection of no-bake treats that had been prepared without heating up kitchens in the August heat—icebox pies, chocolate-dipped strawberries, and chilled Key lime squares.
Gallon tubs of Blue Bell ice cream nestled in ice provided the perfect cool finish to the warm evening meal.
Scarlet filled her plate with a little of everything, her face lighting up at each new discovery. "I'd forgotten how amazing community potlucks are," she said. "Everything homemade, everyone trying to outdo each other."
"Small town arithmetic at its finest," I agreed, leading her to a free hay bale where we could sit. "Maximum food with minimum effort for any one person."
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the barn filling with more people as the band finished setting up. I caught Scarlet watching the dance floor, her boot tapping in time with the music as the band started their first number.
"Do you want to dance?" I asked, surprising myself with the offer.
Her gaze met mine, curiosity evident. "I didn't take you for the dancing type."
"I contain multitudes," I said, setting aside my empty plate and offering my hand. "Though I should warn you—I'm better with spreadsheets than two-steps."
The dance floor was already crowded when we joined.
The band played an upbeat country tune, and all around us, couples twirled and stepped in time with the music, their movements familiar after years of Saturday nights just like this one.
Beside me, Scarlet swayed with the beat, her hips finding the rhythm instantly while I counted silently in my head, trying to remember which foot went where.
"Relax," she said, stepping closer to guide my hand to the small of her back. "Dancing is like cooking—you need to feel it, not overthink it."
"That explains why I'm better at eating than cooking," I replied, earning another of her full-bodied laughs.
Gradually, I let her lead, my focus narrowing to the points where our bodies connected—my hand at her waist, her fingers tangled with mine. With each song, the tension in my shoulders eased, until I found myself actually enjoying the movement.
Then the band shifted to a slower melody, and couples around us drew closer. Scarlet's expression held a question as the first notes filled the air.
"We don't have to—" she began.
"I want to," I said quietly, drawing her into the proper frame for a slow dance.