Page 20 of Rogue Cowboy (Montana’s Rodeo Cowboys #3)

“T he rodeo is my second favorite time in Marietta,” Riley informed him after they’d finished eating their fill of roasted chicken, Caesar and fruit salads, baked beans and corn.

They walked toward the Graff Hotel where there was a large roped-off area and alcohol tent set up for local distilleries, breweries and even a few wineries to show off their offerings.

Cole enjoyed the occasional beer or whiskey with his cousins but didn’t intend to drink around Riley, as she’d told him she’d never drink again after that night.

He intended to push her to talk to her parents and would even attend counseling sessions with her if she wanted him to but didn’t feel there was a need to encourage her to drink if she didn’t feel comfortable.

He didn’t miss it. But she wanted to support Tucker and Laird, who were pouring their whiskey brand and new beer, lager and cider selections.

“Christmas in Marietta is magical. The snow. The lights. The Stroll. The gingerbread house competition, and the Christmas-tree decorating and auction. Telford Family Ranch always submits one—and we buy ours.” She laughed up at him.

Her enthusiasm was contagious. “And a couple of years ago, the chamber and city started sponsoring a Christmas light display in Crawford Park and along the riverfront park. It’s magical. ”

“A lot of magical going around.” He tugged on her messy braid in a style he’d never seen before. He craved the contact—unexpected as he’d never been a particularly physical person.

Was she trying to stress the geographical distance between them?

He already knew Last Stand to Marietta was fifteen hundred miles north on I-25.

Couple long days driving or a day of travel on a plane.

Not insurmountable when he’d spent most of the past few years on the other side of the globe for months at a time.

They said hi to Tucker. Riley took a sniff of a whiskey shot and made an adorable yuck face that had made Laird double over laughing and urge her to leave as she was a bad advertisement. She handed it to Cole.

“Do you like it?” she asked him anxiously. “I don’t want to be rude.”

“You trying to peer pressure me?” Cole asked.

“C’mon, Texas, show Riley how to shoot whiskey,” Laird called out.

“I don’t need to drink to have a good time with you, Riley,” he said in a quiet voice. “I want you to feel safe.”

“I’m safe with you,” she said. Sighed. “I never drank until LA. There I tried to fit in, but I didn’t like it. Not ever.”

He touched her cheek with a knuckle. “Do what you want, Riley. Do what feels right.”

She searched his eyes and must have found what she was looking for because a smile quirked her lips and she tipped the shot glass against her lips but didn’t swallow.

“Woohoo it burns,” she sang out. “Laird Wilder, you are the best whiskey brewer in the west.”

She executed a little dance move and jazzed her hands. Cole laughed and barely resisted pulling her into his arms.

“That’s what I’m talking about.” Laird laughed at her silly.

The first band tuned up.

“You up for some two-stepping Cole?” Riley asked. “The first set is kind of a lesson or review so families can dance together before the kids have to go home to bed.”

“Always.”

*

“This is crazy.” Riley laughed as Bowen Ballantyne, a local rancher who moonlighted as a country music songwriter and occasionally played open mics, joined the band and began calling out—badly sometimes—the moves to some popular country dances.

They were in the middle of the electric slide.

The street was packed. Most people were in loose lines trying to follow the music and the steps, but others were freestyling or watching and calling out encouragement and a few kids ran around dodging in and out between the couples.

As Riley and Cole and a few other couples weren’t tripping over themselves or others, they soon found themselves in the front toward the stage.

Riley was already sweaty when the band swung into a country song and Bowen, accompanied by his cousin Bodhi, who’d finished medical school and had set up his first-year rotation at the Marietta Hospital, hopped up on stage to help Bowen out.

Bodhi loved the crowd and the adulation—home boys and former pro rodeo stars always ate up the attention.

“Hey, girl,” Bodhi tagged Riley in the middle of the song. “Get on up here with your partner and show these folks how it’s done.”

“What?” She stared up at him, thinking Bodhi had lost his mind or her ears had gone crazy.

Bodhi grinned, sure of his charm, and crooked his finger at her.

“Riley Telford, you’re not shy. Saw you demonstrating a dead man’s drop on a horse today, so get on up here and bring your cowboy.”

The band continued to play the opening chords of Alan Jackson’s ‘Little Bitty’ on a loop while Bodhi called them out.

“Get up here, girl. You too, Kane and Sky Wilder. Get on up now. Everyone else hold on to your partner because we are doing a two-step demo before we cut you all loose for the night.”

The weird thing was, Riley wanted to show off with Cole.

It was like the night had cast a spell. She loved to dance and hadn’t in…

six years. She’d let what happened to her not only shake her confidence but also rob her of everything she loved—music, singing, creating, dancing, performing. Everything that made her her.

“Do you want to?” she asked Cole, who waited for her answer.

“With you? Yes.”

“Let’s go,” she decided, tugging on his hand, determined to squash the scaredy-cat voice that she thought would start hissing at her any second now, only it didn’t.

She ran up the stairs, only remembering that she wore a flouncy, shortish skirt—not her usual jeans.

She’d stood on stages for years in skirts, and if her underwear made an appearance, well, at least it covered everything, was new and matched.

Kane and his wife greeted them, Kane tipping his hat and shaking Cole’s hand while Sky hugged her.

“Let’s show the crowd how it’s done,” Sky said, holding out a pinkie.

Riley giggled—the gesture was so unexpected from a famous artist who was married and a mother of four. She pinkie-swore and felt like she was seventeen again, setting out, claiming her dream with only her creativity, guts and a guitar.

Bodhi and Bowen stood back, the band started to play the song, and Cole led her through the steps as if they’d danced together for years instead of only twice.

She remembered what he’d told her about her palm to the sky, and she just watched his face, anticipating what he was going to do before he did it, and in her peripheral vision, she saw Kane leading Sky in a circle on the stage.

Bodhi called out some of the moves they were doing, and he also just let them dance.

Riley loved the feel of Cole’s body-warmed navy western shirt with black velvet piping sliding through her fingers when she touched his back or shoulder, and his abs and obliques felt like sculpted, sun-warmed metal beneath her fingers as she grazed his waist. She laughed in joy and closed her eyes, wanting the rest of the world to disappear while she danced with Cole as if six years and thousands of miles had never happened.

The band swung into Little Big Town’s ‘Happy People.’ Riley sung along with the words and danced and let the night and the music and Cole’s touch take her far away, even as she felt grounded in the moment.

The crowd cheered and stomped their feet when Bodhi reintroduced them to the crowd.

“That’s how it’s done in Montana,” Bodhi said, handing the mic back to his cousin.

Cole helped her down the stairs, and they walked side by side, and she kept her fingers linked with his.

Kane said something to Cole, who nodded. They shook hands and Kane and Sky disappeared into the crowd.

“Feels like the night’s just getting started,” Cole said.

“Yes,” Riley said. “I could dance with you all night.”

“Sounds right.”

*

Several hours later they joined what had become a trickle of people headed back to the fair and rodeo grounds.

Ranching hours were long and started early, and though Riley had wanted to dance all night, the band had called it a night before ten due to noise curfews and probably the livestock needing their beauty sleep.

Tonight had been one of the best nights of his life.

Riley had shone, and that had had nothing to do with the glitter that was now on his hands and his shirt—and probably in his hair—and he wore it with pride.

Damn, his cousins would laugh themselves sick.

But he didn’t care. For the first time it felt like Riley could be his.

She used the word ‘magical’ more than a few times tonight, and it had felt like that to him, though he was under no illusion that everything would go smoothly.

She’d have good moments, some bad, but he intended to walk beside her, encourage her, support her.

But even that wouldn’t be enough. Spending time with her over the past couple of days had really shown how her life was in Montana.

Fifteen hundred miles away from his ranch and his family.

He’d faced bigger challenges, but he owed his family, especially his paw-paw, everything, including his loyalty. His mouth was dry just thinking about that series of conversations and decisions.

“I want to check the horses,” Riley said, and as they headed right to walk across the park, she snagged two bottles of water from a large cooler similar to the ones that had been set up along the street.

She unscrewed the cap and handed him the bottle. He took a long drink, watching her the whole time, both amused and a little…unsettled. No one had taken care of him since he’d been little.

“I think that should have been my move,” he said.

She smiled cheekily. “Big hunk of Texas cowboy. Think you’re so tough, but I’m on to you.”

“Are you?” He wondered how much of him she did see. Thought she understood.