Page 19 of Fixing to be Mine (Valentine Texas #5)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SUNNY

T he fairground lights come into view long before we pull into the lot.

Rows of trucks line the dirt road. The air is thick with dust and the kind of excitement that can’t be faked.

A steady thump of country music hums through the evening heat, layered with laughter and the occasional cheer from the arena.

In the distance, there’s a Ferris wheel and a few carnival rides.

Colt drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the console between us. His fingers tap out a slow rhythm like he’s at ease, but I can feel the energy rolling off him. It’s focused, a little wired, or maybe that’s only me. I try to keep my breathing even.

This isn’t the first time I’ve gone somewhere where all eyes will be on me, but I’m nervous. I want to fit in here.

Colt kills the engine, and we sit still. I’m suddenly hyperaware of everything. The cutoffs clinging to my legs. The weight of his hat on my head. Nerves flutter beneath the surface of my skin. I’ve stood in front of thousands of people before, but this is different. I care if this town likes me.

His eyes move slowly from my neck to my waist to my thighs, like he’s memorizing something. Or maybe warning himself not to.

“Are ya ready?” he asks with a lazy smile.

“Are you?” I counter.

He grins wider, and it’s easy, cocky, and unfairly hot. “I was born ready, darlin’, especially for this.”

Colt hops out of the truck and walks around the front to open my door.

He’s wearing a black Stetson, and it suits him.

I step out into the buzz of the small-town energy.

The rodeo grounds are packed with trucks lined up like dominoes.

Horse trailers are parked on the other side.

The air smells like kettle corn and fried food with the faint scent of hay.

Kids run wild with gigantic sticks of bright blue cotton candy while speakers blast country music.

In the distance, an announcer speaks, followed by cheers from the crowd.

“This is unreal,” I whisper.

It’s like we’re walking onto a Hollywood set, and the two of us are the main characters.

“I’d agree with that,” he says.

Our hands brush together, and then Colt catches mine, interlocking our fingers like they belong there. I feel that electric shift again. It’s the same one I experienced the moment our eyes met in Remi’s kitchen when he dropped that mug and it shattered across the floor.

As we enter the fairgrounds, laughter and gossip are already in motion.

Sweat gathers at the back of my neck, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way in my entire damn life.

Colt greets everyone we pass by name, even the little kids, offering howdies and head nods.

The small talk he makes is smooth and polite.

He’s incredibly charming, and I find a man with manners very sexy.

But I remind myself that the bar I have set for men is in hell.

It’s why I don’t trust myself or my decisions right now.

Colt glances over at me, and his perfect lips tug at the corner of his mouth. “Lookin’ real good, darlin’.”

My cheeks heat, and I almost forget the role I’m supposed to be playing to fool the town. “Do you think they’re buying it?” I lean in and ask him.

He leans over and whispers in my ear, “No doubt ’cause I almost am.”

His hot breath and lips so close to the softness of my neck makes me lose my fucking mind.

“Stop flirting,” I tell him as my heart pitter-patters a little harder.

If he doesn’t stop, I might do something I shouldn’t, like trip the wire between our boundaries. He’s walked the fine line, but hasn’t crossed it.

I’m not convinced he will, and I don’t know if I can.

It’s a dangerous place to be while the clock counts down. Part of me doesn’t want to leave with regret because what if Colt Valentine is the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me?

We walk hand in hand, past a small crowd near the food trucks and deeper into the heart of it all. The scents of charcoal and cattle settle in my lungs, and the excitement of the crowd watching mutton bustin’ washes over me. Kids hang on to the back of sheep as they bolt out of the gate super fast.

Colt covers his mouth and yells, “Keep holdin’ on.”

A few seconds later, the little girl rolls off on the ground.

“Do they raise you to do that?”

Colt licks his lips, meeting my eyes. “Yep.”

He glances away, and I’m so damn thankful for it.

I cannot fall in love with this man. I cannot.

With an easy stride and cowboy confidence, he pulls me away so we can continue the tour around the arena and vendor area. I like seeing him in his element, but he’s never too far from me. Our bodies constantly touch, and neither of us pulls away even though it drives me wild.

“Thirsty?” he finally asks, looking up at a six-foot lemon on top of a booth.

“Oh, you have no idea,” I mutter, waggling my brows at him.

“I got something that will quench your thirst,” he adds, shooting me a wink as he steps up to the booth.

I snicker beside him as he orders us two of the biggest hand-squeezed lemonades possible. A minute later, we’re holding lemon-shaped cups. I take a sip, hoping this cools the heat bubbling inside me. It’s sweet and refreshing, like Colt.

“The last public event I was at was with Tessa,” he says. “Everyone thought I’d get back with her.”

“Oh,” I say, twirling the straw around in my big cup. “Being here is a bigger deal than I thought.”

“Apparently. Too many people in my business.” He takes a long drink before scanning the crowd.

“You’re proving them wrong,” I tell him. “Good job. You should be proud. That shit is hard to do, not everyone can. It’s sending a clear message.”

“Which is?” he says.

“You’re moving on. Congrats.”

He reaches for my hand and threads his fingers through mine. “And what about you?”

Families, couples, friends in boots and jeans and cowboy hats steal glances at us as we pass them. Thankfully, I understand how to act in the spotlight.

I breathe in a little deeper, not knowing how to respond. “I’m not going backward.”

Music spills from the speakers strung across the arena, where they’re doing barrel racing. Light beams down overhead. This place is alive and packed. The two of us take a seat on the bleachers and watch.

“Fenix has the record.”

I draw circles on his palm. “She doesn’t ride anymore—like, at all?”

“No.” He lets out a long sigh. “I heard rumors that she quit college and riding because of someone else.”

“Who?” I ask, wanting to know more.

“I was told a broken heart can destroy a person,” he explains. “She doesn’t talk to anyone about it. Still hasn’t started riding again. Beckett and Harrison have begged her to give lessons at their barn. Sponsors call her every damn week.”

The crowd perks up as the announcer’s voice cuts through the summer haze, interrupting our conversation.

“All right, folks, keep your eyes on the chute. Up next, riding out of West Texas with more championship buckles than I can count, Jace Tucker.”

The name means nothing to me, but the crowd goes wild. I scan around and realize it’s nothing but women. This man has a fan club.

Colt’s posture shifts beside me—shoulders back, arms crossed over his chest. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

I squint toward the gate as the rider appears—tall, lean, and confident in that quiet way that makes a woman look twice. He adjusts the brim of his hat, loops the rope once around his hand, and settles into the saddle like he was born there.

The calf bolts from the chute. Everything after that happens too fast for me to track.

Jace leans low, the rope spinning above him once, twice, and then he lets it fly.

It lands clean around the calf’s neck, and before I even blink, he’s off the horse and on the ground, tying it in three quick motions around its legs like it’s second nature.

The whole thing takes seconds. Maybe less.

The crowd roars.

Colt lets out a slow clap. “Still has it. Of course he does.”

“Who is he?” I ask, watching as Jace tips his hat toward the stands and heads for the rail with unhurried ease.

“Jace Tucker,” Colt says. “Used to live here. Was best friends with Emmett. Raised hell, won everything, and then he packed up and went pro. One of the best ropers in the circuit.”

“He’s good,” I admit, still watching him.

Colt glances at me sideways. “Don’t get any ideas, darlin’.”

I smirk. “Relax. He’s not my type. Way too young. Under twenty-five is a hell no.”

“Yeah?” Colt raises an eyebrow.

“Also, too much swagger. Don’t want to be with a man who craves attention or has a fan club,” I say, even though I can’t quite stop watching the way Jace moves, confident, like a man who takes what he wants.

Colt grunts. “Mmhmm. That swagger’s about to cause some trouble.”

I glance across the arena; I catch someone else watching Jace.

Fenix.

Her jaw’s tight, and her arms are crossed over her chest. And whatever she’s thinking—whatever that look means—I get the feeling I watched a fuse light itself. She’s livid.

Colt tilts his head as he watches them. His brows furrow.

“What?” I ask.

“If I find out Jace is the reason Fenix stopped riding,” he says, more to himself than anything else, “I’ll fucking kill him.”

I squeeze his thigh and pull him out of whatever big-brother spiral he’s in.

He wraps his arm around me. “We should probably head to the stage. London plays at nine. We miss it, and she’ll never forgive us.”

“Let’s not be late.”

We scoot out of the bleachers and wander past food trucks, where people are gathering near a stage.

String lights blink on above us, and London strums her guitar. It’s a song that’s slow and easy, one meant to draw people onto the grass in front of the stage.

“Wow, she’s incredible,” I say, recognizing talent immediately.

“Yeah. I’m proud of her,” he says. “She’s been working hard. Wants to make a career out of it. Now that she’s twenty-one, she’s been booking more gigs.”