Page 18 of Rogue Cowboy (Montana’s Rodeo Cowboys #3)

“H ey, girl.” Tucker Wilder’s warm honey voice with the sexy husk broke into Riley’s contemplation of two embroidered blouses at Marietta’s Western Wear store. “What are you doing in here without your Texas hottie? I thought he was glued to your side.”

Riley flushed a little. “He’s not my hottie,” she denied.

“Please.” Tucker’s eye roll said what she thought of that denial. “A man that fine is meant to be showed off.”

Riley laughed. She could never tell when Tucker was being serious unless it was something about horses—then she was knowledgeable and endlessly helpful. Riley had always idolized Tucker. Still did.

“He is…all that,” Riley admitted, though she held back her opinion that she wasn’t ready for any of that.

“The way he looks at you is for real, Riley,” Tucker said, a little more soberly.

“And that just might scare the boots off a free-spirited, creative cowgirl like you. I know when I met Laird, I didn’t know my head from my ass.

He was so different. Wide open. Vulnerable.

No BS. And he looked at me like I was the answer to a question I was too afraid to ask. ”

“That about sums it up,” Riley said glumly. “Cole’s so generous of spirit and patient, I can’t do any of my dodge moves.”

“Maybe it’s time to stop dodging.” Tucker shoulder-bumped her. “You looking for something to wear to the steak dinner that wows him?”

Was she?

Dang, she was.

But what will I do then if he’s wowed?

“I wasn’t planning to go to the barbecue or the steak dinner. I was going to stay with the horses the whole time so my family and a couple of the ranch hands could cut loose for the whole night.”

“But now you have a gentleman cowboy caller,” Tucker intoned in a singsong voice. “Sacrifices to the gods of kick up your boots and have some fun must be made.”

“Yeah,” Riley said steeling her willpower and shoving the blouses back on the rack.

Yes, they were feminine and beautiful, but she didn’t need new, pretty blouses and had no business spending money embracing vanity.

She no longer sought the limelight and would never wear the blouse again when Cole returned home.

“What vibe you going for?” Tucker asked, pausing from perusing the gauzy sundresses.

Riley paused. It had been so long since she discussed clothes with a girlfriend—forever maybe.

Riley’s mom had sewn her competition blouses and a lot of her dresses when she sang at open mics—colorful, but conservative—and her manager in LA chose what she wore and then hired a stylist and together they decided what she wore, where she appeared, what she sang and what she said, what she ate, who she performed with, and the eventual band she signed with.

Nothing had been her choice except that stolen weekend with Cole.

“I don’t need anything,” Riley said, well aware of how careful her parents and family were with finances—everyone contributing. “But…wasn’t counting on Cole arriving and even though there’s no future in it, I just…”

Tucker nodded. “Clothes can buff a shine to a cowgirl’s confidence,” Tucker said. “Plus you have two promising students for your horse tricks repertoire at your training stables. As a business owner you want to build a brand.”

Riley hadn’t thought about that.

“This.” Tucker pulled a shortish black ruffled skirt off a sale rack. “With the black rhinestone ankle boots I know you have.”

Riley smiled. Tucker had bought her those boots when she’d earned her first win in the junior category at the Three Forks Rodeo. Good thing she hadn’t grown much since then.

“And a white button-down tied at your waist, and an extra button undone and a touch of sparkle with some glittery body lotion for the barbecue. Do you have a statement necklace?”

Riley had no idea what a statement necklace was.

“And your hair is gorgeous. Wear it in a messy fishtail braid with a few jewel clips. It will drive your man crazy.”

“Tucker, Cole’s not my man, and I don’t know how to do a fishtail braid.”

“Oh, easy,” store manager Joanie Monroe joined them.

She googled something on her phone and held it up to Riley’s face.

“And we have hair accessories because…well, of course.” Joanie and Tucker laughed like it was a done deal, and Riley guessed it was since she walked out half an hour later, arm in arm with Tucker and a shopping bag with the black skirt, a sheer-ish white shirt with embroidered stars and a touch of bling, a sundress and a few accessories.

Riley felt like some sort of contagious madness had descended, and that feeling quadrupled when they walked one block toward the fairgrounds and ran into Cole with Tucker’s husband Laird, along with several of the men Laird and her brother worked with in the outdoor adventure and survival business.

Cole looked at the shopping bag and then at her. His smile stole her breath.

“Shopping,” he said like it was a good thing.

“You’re in trouble tonight, cowboy,” Tucker said saucily and held out her hand and introduced herself before walking into her husband’s arms.

“I look forward to it,” Cole said. His navy gaze felt like a touch and for Riley, everyone else faded away.

He too held a few shopping bags, and that seemed so human for him—a thought that Riley knew was ridiculous.

If anyone from Hollywood descended on Marietta to cast a cowboy hero, they’d have plenty of locals to choose from, but Cole, to her mind, took the prize.

She looked at him—stoic, confident but not flexing—and wondered what in the heck did he see in her worth keeping?

Tucker was still smiling, a wicked light in her eye, and she leaned into her husband and looked at Riley and winked.

“Come by our trailer, Riley,” Tucker said. “I’ll put the glitz I told you about on the glam. The glitter’s edible.”

Riley blushed.

Tucker’s laugh was playful. Her expression cheerfully ‘gotcha,’ and Riley knew this was the opening to say something smart, tease Tucker back, so she could ease the growing sexual tension that clawed through her, the more time she spent with Cole.

She felt consumed with the impossible vision of dancing with Cole under colorful lights, being close, his lips against her neck, his tongue slipping between the not particularly impressive mounds of her cleavage. Her nipples pinched at the thought.

Would she have the courage to experiment with a little physical flirting in the safety of the crowd during the street dancing?

She knew Cole could dance. Six years ago, they’d walked by a country-western bar on La Cienega Boulevard an hour before closing.

Cole had wanted to see the street because it had been in a Kenny Chesney song.

The band had been playing one of Riley’s favorite-at-the-time songs, and she’d started singing, and hopping up and down, trying to see beyond the doorman since she’d been too young to enter.

Cole had swung her into an easy Texas two-step, effortlessly guiding her through double outside turns, lariat and shadow position with a whispered ‘keep your free hand angled toward the sky.’ Later, she wondered if that had been a metaphor she should have heeded.

She still thought of that night that had culminated in a spontaneous sidewalk dance and mini concert that hadn’t once made her feel self-conscious or out of step—something that year and a half in LA had done daily.

Could she resurrect that joy-filled girl who’d sung and danced and basked in the attention?

Could she save that girl who’d fallen in love with a Texas soldier cowboy who’d never once made her feel that she’d taken a wrong step, and when she stumbled, he caught her and smiled like she was special?

Then he kept moving them both forward and spinning around and righting themselves through all life tossed in their path—trash on the sidewalk; distance; lonely, dangerous deployments; trauma; career crashes; health crises; failure; running away; financial disaster and whatever happened next.

Could she stop playing turtle to have a true chance with Cole?

Yes.

No. She could never leave her family. Never leave Montana even though once she couldn’t wait to seize adventure and escape. Be free.

And look how that turned out.

But she’d called Cole. Whispered that she needed help. Needed him.

Not her parents. He’d come.

And even though when he’d once texted he could visit on leave, and she’d shut him down, he was here now. Strong. Radiating the promise of forever if she were brave enough to try.

“You’re a million miles away, baby,” Cole whispered in her ear, startling her even as he grounded her.

“Only six years,” she said, looking at him. And then finally grabbing her wits, she responded to Tucker.

“I once saw a body lotion in LA in a boutique on Melrose that had glitter that changed color with body heat.” Riley spoke her response out loud. It had also changed scents with arousal, but she kept that part of the memory to herself.

“Did you now?” Both Cole and Tucker spoke at the same time.

“Jinx, cowboy,” Tucker said playfully. “You know what that means.”

“Nope, but I think I’m about to find out,” he said, his gaze never leaving Riley’s.

Flag in the mountain. Riley’s heart leapt. She felt claimed in a way that should have terrified her. Or pissed her off like his public declaration of courting.

“Let’s walk around.” Riley tucked her arm through Cole’s and turned back toward town. “See a few things before we turn the horses in for the night and get ready for the barbecue.”

She felt like she’d claimed him back. Now how could she find the courage to follow through?