Page 7 of Cowboys & Hot Sauce (Festival of Hearts #5)

"You're a good sport, Burke," Mayor Davidson called from the crowd. "That water's gonna feel mighty refreshing in this heat!"

I settled onto the seat, trying to look dignified in my jeans and button-down shirt. Scarlet was right—the gossip mill would be working overtime today, but somehow, seeing her animated face as she rallied the crowd made it worth it.

"First up," she announced, "Mrs. Thornton! Three balls to dunk the man who balanced the town's festival budget three years running!"

Mrs. Thornton's first two throws went wide, but her third struck just left of the target.

"Close!" Scarlet encouraged. "Who's next?"

For fifteen minutes, various townsfolk tried their luck. Some came close, but the seat remained stable. Then Scarlet stepped up, a softball in her hand and determination in her eyes.

"I think it's time," she declared to the cheering crowd.

"You wouldn't," I called down to her.

Her smile was pure wickedness. "For the firefighters, Burke."

She wound up with surprising grace and let the ball fly. It struck the target dead center with a satisfying clang, and the seat dropped out from under me. I plunged into the water with a splash that sent ripples over the edge of the tank.

The cold water shocked my system momentarily, but as I surfaced, I heard Scarlet's delighted laughter above the crowd's cheers. Water down my face and clothes as I climbed out, but I couldn't bring myself to be annoyed—not when her bright eyes shone with such genuine joy.

"I should go change," I said, water pooling at my feet.

"Meet me at the food truck in an hour?" she asked, handing me a towel. "For the lunch rush."

"I'll be there," I promised.

Back at the ranch, I showered quickly and changed into dry clothes, my thoughts scattered like cattle.

This wasn't supposed to be happening. The arrangement was meant to be simple—pretend to date, convince her grandmother she was serious about getting settled, help her save the restaurant.

I wasn't supposed to be developing real feelings.

But I was.

When I returned to the festival, the midday heat had intensified, making the asphalt shimmer. Scarlet's food truck was busy, a line stretching several yards. I slipped around back and tapped on the service door.

"Reinforcements have arrived," I called.

She opened the door, relief washing over her face. "Thank goodness. We're slammed."

For the next two hours, we moved around each other in the tight confines of the food truck.

Scarlet crafted orders with quick, sure hands—adding just the right dash of seasonings, plating with an artist's touch, calling out updates without missing a beat.

I kept the register humming, organized the tickets by pickup time, and made sure customers moved smoothly through the line.

Despite the midday rush, we fell into a rhythm together, anticipating each other's needs before a word was spoken.

When I noticed a sauce bottle running low, she'd already reached for the backup.

When she needed more serving containers, I'd have them ready.

When the rush finally ebbed, Scarlet collapsed onto a small stool and stretched her back, arching her arms over her head.

"You were amazing," I said, genuinely impressed. "The way you kept track of all those orders while still chatting up every customer..."

She smiled, pushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "And you kept everything running like clockwork. We make a good team."

The words hung between us, loaded with possibilities neither of us acknowledged.

"We've got about an hour or so before the next rush," she said, checking her watch. "Want to grab some lunch ourselves? Maybe see some of the festival?"

The Ferris wheel caught my eye through the serving window, its colorful cars spinning lazily against the blue sky. "How about a ride? I could use a break from solid ground after that dunking."

Her eyes lit up. "Perfect."

The line for the Ferris wheel was mercifully short. We climbed into a blue car painted with stars, the metal warm from the sun. As we started to rise, Scarlet scooted closer until our thighs touched.

"For appearances," she whispered, though there was no one close enough to see.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Higher we climbed, the fairgrounds spreading out below us—food stalls, game booths, families moving between attractions like colorful ants. The Texas landscape stretched beyond, golden fields shimmering in the distance.

The wheel creaked as we ascended, our car swaying slightly with each rotation. The mingled scents of cotton candy, caramel corn, and barbecue wafted up from below, tempered by the clean scent of Scarlet's perfume intensified in our close quarters.

"It's beautiful," Scarlet murmured.

"It is," I agreed, though I was looking at her profile against the sky.

We reached the top, and with a grinding noise, the wheel stopped.

"Ladies and gentlemen," crackled a voice from below, "we're experiencing a brief technical difficulty. Please remain seated. We'll have you moving again shortly."

Scarlet laughed, fidgeting with her bandana. "Stranded at the top of a Ferris wheel. How cliché is that?"

"Completely," I agreed, feeling the tension between us shift into something warmer, more dangerous.

She angled herself toward me, her blue eyes reflecting the sky. "Burke?"

"Hmm?"

"Last night at dinner..." She hesitated. "When we were in the kitchen, did you almost...?"

My pulse quickened. "Did I almost what?"

"Kiss me," she whispered.

Everything outside our car faded to background noise. The distant carnival music, the chatter from below, the operator's voice on the loudspeaker—all secondary to Scarlet's question hanging in the air between us.

"Yes," I admitted.

She leaned closer. "Why didn't you?"

"Because..." I swallowed. "Because this is supposed to be pretend."

Her gaze locked with mine. "And if it wasn't?"

In the space of a heartbeat, the distance between us narrowed, her breath warm against my lips. My hand found hers, our fingers intertwining.

The Ferris wheel jerked into motion, breaking the spell. We pulled back, both slightly breathless despite nothing having happened.

"They always start it at the worst moment," Scarlet said with a nervous laugh.

By the time we reached the bottom, the moment had passed, though something had fundamentally shifted between us. As we walked away from the ride, Scarlet spotted a photo booth decorated with carnival-themed props.

"We should get some pictures," she said, pulling me toward it. "For MeeMaw. To make this look real."

The booth was small, forcing us to sit pressed together on the narrow bench. The stuffy warmth inside amplified the faint chemical smell of photo paper. Scarlet grabbed a sequined cowboy hat from a hook and placed it on my head.

"Perfect," she declared, selecting a feather boa for herself.

The camera counted down. For the first picture, we smiled normally. For the second, Scarlet made a silly face while I pretended to look stern. For the third, I draped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

"One more," the automated voice announced.

I leaned to kiss Scarlet's cheek—a safe, boyfriend-like gesture. At the last second, she turned her head, and our lips met in a brief, electric touch. The flash went off, capturing the moment.

We separated, both flustered. Scarlet's cheeks were pink, but she giggled, breaking the tension.

"Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all. "Reflex."

"Right," I answered, my lips still tingling. "Reflex."

Outside the booth, we collected our strip of photos. There we were: smiling, silly, close, and finally—kissing. We looked like a real couple, happy and natural together.

"These are perfect," Scarlet declared. "MeeMaw will definitely be convinced."

"Yeah," I replied, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest. The numbers weren't adding up between what we were pretending and what I was feeling.

We walked back toward her food truck, the photos tucked safely in Scarlet's pocket. I was about to ask her if we could talk about what had just happened when a familiar, honeyed voice cut through the crowd.

"Well, if it isn't Scarlet Landry and Burke Tate."

Bethany Sue Walker approached, her bleached blonde hair perfectly styled despite the heat. Beside her walked Mayor Davidson, looking uncomfortable.

"Bethany Sue," Scarlet acknowledged, her voice cooling several degrees. "Mayor."

"We were just discussing the opportunities for culinary innovation in Sweetwater," Bethany Sue said, her smile fixed firmly in place. "The Mayor's quite interested in tomorrow's competition, aren't you, Mayor?"

"Indeed," Davidson nodded. "Got my antacids ready and everything."

Bethany Sue laughed lightly. "I was sharing my vision for elevating the dining experience in town. Quality establishments that honor tradition while embracing contemporary tastes." Her gaze flicked to Scarlet. "The kind of place that would make folks proud to call Sweetwater home."

I felt Scarlet stiffen beside me.

"Lurline hasn't sold to you yet," I pointed out.

"It's just a matter of timing," Bethany Sue replied, her gaze fixed on Scarlet. "I believe in committing fully to one's community." She adjusted her pearl earring. "Stability is so important in business, don't you think?"

"I think Scarlet's commitment speaks for itself," I said, stepping slightly forward. "Her food truck's been successful across three counties, and her sauce development shows real entrepreneurial spirit."

Bethany Sue's smile remained unchanged. "How supportive. Though I wonder—" she glanced between us, "—how long various... arrangements... will last once the festival winds down." She turned to the Mayor. "Shall we continue our tour?"

As they walked away, I turned to Scarlet, whose eyes had narrowed to blue slits.

"Don't let her get to you," I said quietly.

"She thinks she has it all figured out," Scarlet muttered. "That I'll just give up and leave again."

"Then prove her wrong," I said, taking her hand. "We've got a competition to win and a restaurant to save."

She looked up at me, determination replacing the hurt in her eyes. "You really think we can do it?"

"I know we can," I assured her, even as a small voice in my head reminded me that "we" was temporary—a weekend arrangement that would end once Scarlet had what she needed.

But as we walked back to the food truck, her hand still in mine and the memory of our kiss fresh in my mind, I couldn't help hoping that some pretenses could become reality.