Page 13 of Cowboys & Hot Sauce (Festival of Hearts #5)

Burke

The midday sun beat down on the fairgrounds as I methodically disassembled the dunking booth.

Metal components clinked against each other as I sorted them into piles—brackets here, bolts there, framework in a neat stack ready for loading.

The rhythmic work gave my hands something to do while my mind churned over yesterday's events on an endless loop.

Scarlet's voice echoed in my head: "That wasn't about you—well, not the way you think."

Had I really misunderstood everything so completely?

The thought made my insides knot up like poorly strung barbed wire.

I'd built a life on being cautious, on double-checking every figure before filing, on never taking a leap without first testing the ground beneath.

And yet I'd completely misread the balance sheet where it mattered most.

"That bolt's not getting any tighter, brother."

I startled, realizing I'd been wrenching the same connection for a solid minute. Rhett stood a few feet away, his hat tipped back, watching me with an expression I rarely saw on my youngest brother's face—genuine concern.

"Just making sure it's secure," I muttered, finally releasing the wrench.

Rhett leaned against what remained of the booth frame. "Saw you coming out of Scarlet's food truck earlier. You looked like someone who just lost the high bid at the county auction."

I focused on gathering the smaller components into a toolbox, not meeting his eyes. "It's nothing."

"Bullshit." The word was delivered without heat, just simple certainty. "You've been sweet on Scarlet Landry since she first asked you to help her with algebra in high school. Now you two are finally together, and suddenly you're walking around like your prize bull just went sterile."

My hands stilled. Of course Rhett would see through the act—he might play the carefree charmer, but he missed nothing. I straightened up, swiping my forearm across my forehead where sweat had gathered despite the shade of my hat.

"We're not actually together," I admitted, the words bitter on my tongue. "It was pretend. She needed someone to convince her grandmother she was settled enough to take over Smokin' Lurline's. I was... convenient."

Rhett's eyebrows shot up. "Pretend? You're telling me what I've been seeing all weekend was an act?"

I nodded, then shrugged, then shook my head. "It started that way. Then things got... complicated."

"You mean you finally stopped denying what everyone else has known for years—that you've had feelings for her all this time."

My collar felt two sizes too small. "Maybe."

"And now?"

"And now I don't know." I picked up a rag, wiping grease from my hands with more attention than the task required. "I thought she was just using me as part of some plan. She says she wasn't. But even if that's true, this whole thing was supposed to end after the competition anyway."

Rhett pushed off from the booth frame, crossing his arms. "So, what? You're just going to let her walk away? Go back to your ledgers and pretend none of this happened?"

"It's not that simple."

"Actually, big brother, it is." Rhett's tone sharpened.

"You've spent your whole life playing it safer than a Treasury bond. When Grayson went after the big ranching contracts, when Weston joined the rodeo circuit, when I’ve gone after anything wearing a skirt and a pretty smile—you stayed behind to balance the books. Good ol' reliable Burke."

I bristled. "Someone has to be responsible."

"Responsible doesn't mean you have to avoid risk like it's mad cow disease.

" He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"You know what I saw this weekend? I saw my serious, straight-laced brother laughing in a dunking booth.

I saw you two-stepping at the barn social.

Hell, I saw you looking at Scarlet like she was the sun in the middle of winter. "

"What's your point?"

"My point is—" Rhett paused, shaking his head with a grin—"none of that looked fake to me. And judging by the way she couldn't take her eyes off you, it sure didn't look fake to Scarlet either."

My chest tightened like a cinched saddle, remembering how Scarlet had felt in my arms under the string lights, how her eyes had sparked when we'd stayed up planning the restaurant's future.

"You don't understand," I said. "Scarlet is... she's like a wildfire. All spark and energy. I'm—"

"The steady hand on the brake," Rhett finished. "Predictable as a Sunday sermon. The guy who double-checks his grocery receipts."

I shot him a glare but couldn't argue.

"That's exactly why you fit together," Rhett continued, spinning his hat on one finger. "Did you ever think maybe she needs someone who keeps the books balanced? That maybe you need someone who adds a little spice to your meat-and-potatoes life?"

His words hit home harder than a hammer on a fence post. I turned away, focusing on dismantling another section of the booth.

"Here's some ranch math for you," Rhett said. "Calculate the odds of finding someone who makes you forget about your spreadsheets. Then figure the lifetime loss if you let her go without ever showing your cards." He paused. "That's not an investment strategy I'd recommend."

I kept working, but his words sank in deeper than I wanted to admit.

"For what it's worth," Rhett added, "that woman watches you the same way you watch her when you think nobody's looking."

My hands stilled on the metal framework. "You don't know that."

"I do. But you'll never know unless you ante up." He clapped me on the shoulder. "Weston's already got the market cornered on stubborn. Don't make it a family trait."

With that, he walked away, leaving me with a half-disassembled booth and thoughts even more tangled than before. I stared after him, wondering when my youngest brother had gotten so insightful about matters of the heart.

I finished packing up the booth components, each piece fitting precisely into its designated spot in the storage container. If only emotions could be organized so neatly.

Looking across the fairgrounds, I spotted Scarlet's empty food truck. She'd already packed up, the bright red vehicle with its flame decorations conspicuously absent from the vendor area. The sight left a hollow feeling in my chest.

"Burke?" Pete Jackson, one of the festival organizers, approached with a clipboard. "You done with the booth teardown?"

I nodded, signing off on his checklist.

"Shame about Scarlet having to rush off," he commented. "Lurline called her right after the competition. Something about an urgent meeting over at the restaurant with that Walker gal."

My head snapped up. "Bethany Sue?"

Pete nodded. "Yep. Scarlet looked mighty worried—had to borrow her brother-in-law's truck since her food truck's too big for those tight parking spots downtown."

Before I'd fully processed what I was doing, I was striding toward my truck, all careful calculations abandoned. For once in my life, I didn't need a balance sheet to tell me what to do.

The drive to Smokin' Lurline's took exactly seven minutes.

I counted each one, fingers tapping against the steering wheel.

The restaurant stood at the edge of Main Street, its weathered wooden sign hanging proudly above the entrance.

The parking lot held only three vehicles—Lurline's ancient Buick, Bethany Sue's pristine white SUV, and Grayson's truck, which must be what Scarlet borrowed.

My heart pounded as I pushed through the door, the familiar scent of hickory smoke and spices hitting me like a welcome-home. The dining area was empty, chairs upturned on tables for the Sunday afternoon closure. Voices drifted from the back office.

I rounded the corner just as Lurline and Bethany Sue rose from their seats at a small table. Bethany Sue's smile was tight as she extended her hand to Lurline, who shook it firmly.

"I understand your position, Mrs. Landry," Bethany Sue was saying. "But should you reconsider, my offer stands until the end of the month."

Lurline nodded once. "I don't expect to change my mind, but I appreciate your interest in our little establishment."

Bethany Sue turned, her eyes widening slightly when she spotted me in the doorway. Her perfectly arranged features reset quickly. "Burke. What a surprise." Her gaze flicked over my dusty jeans and work shirt. "I was just leaving."

She brushed past me without another word, the click of her heels fading down the hallway.

Lurline settled back into her chair, those sharp blue eyes—so like Scarlet's—taking my measure. "Well, don't just stand there like a fence post, Burke Tate. Come in if you're coming in."

I stepped into the small office, removing my hat. "I heard Scarlet was meeting you here."

"She's running late." Lurline gestured to the chair Bethany Sue had vacated. "Which gives us a chance to talk."

Something in her tone made me think she wasn't entirely surprised to see me. I sat, placing my hat on my knee.

"I turned down Bethany Sue's offer," Lurline said without preamble. "In case you were wondering."

Relief washed through me. "That's... good news."

"Is it?" Lurline raised an eyebrow. "Depends on who you ask. Girl had a solid business plan. Impressive projections. Financing already in place."

"But it wouldn't be Smokin' Lurline's anymore," I said. "Not really."

A hint of a smile touched Lurline's lips. "No, it wouldn't." She leaned back in her chair, regarding me steadily. "Did you know a restaurant chain from Houston offered to bottle and distribute Scarlet's Texas Tornado sauce? Would've been quite profitable for her."

My stomach dropped like a stone in a well. "I didn't know that."

"She turned them down flat." Lurline held my gaze. "Said it would mean too much time in Houston and not enough in Sweetwater. Imagine that."

The implications sent my pulse racing. "She's planning to stay."