Page 27 of Rogue Cowboy (Montana’s Rodeo Cowboys #3)

“You were both great.” Riley checked her watch.

“We can head over to the small exhibition arena. You two have the first time slot before the speeches start so you may get a bit of a crowd, but a lot of people are already heading into the stands.” She tried to soften their excitement at the buzz they’d created just in case they didn’t have as big of an audience as yesterday’s exhibition.

There had been times when she’d been ten to twelve and had been demonstrating trick riding skills or busking for tips alone with just her guitar and no mic, and only her mom and dad had stayed to watch while other people walked by, maybe stopping briefly.

“I know,” Petal said, stroking Cinnamon’s nose. “We are part of the rodeo color. No one can compete with the rodeo queens or the cowboys.” Petal accompanied her statement with a little hip swing that made Petal’s father and grandfather wince a little.

“So this is how it starts,” her brother Witt, an orthopedic surgeon, said quietly, dread in his voice. His wife, Miranda, holding hands with their twin toddlers, laughed.

“Strap in, Dad.”

Riley’s father slapped his eldest son on the back. “I’ll give you some tips since you were long out of the house before Riley hit the dreaded girl puberty.”

“Really, Dad? Can you sound any less evolved?” Riley huffed to cover her embarrassment as Cole absorbed every nuance of her family’s teasing.

But before she could introduce Cole to Witt and her sisters-in-law Miranda, Piper and Ginny, Riley heard a growing wave of exclamations and laughter.

“Damn, some cowgirl’s going to be missing that,” Remington Cross, Arlo’s dad and one of Rohan’s friends and business partners said, laughter coating his voice.

Horror bloomed as Riley watched the white, brown and black blur race through the aisles, tail waving like a jaunty flag while her bra dangled out of his mouth.

One barrel racer lunged for it, but the dog danced away and then went up on its hind legs like a show horse and tossed its head so the bra did a little dance in the sun, earning more laughter.

Another barrel racer tried to corner the dog, and it watched her, clearly enjoying the game, and he jumped over the rider’s outstretched arm and raced down another aisle of booths.

“I’ll go,” Cole said quietly.

“Don’t you dare.”

Riley noticed her mom looking at her, a question in her eyes, but strangely, she too seemed to be trying not to laugh. Dang it. Her mom had been the one to buy her some pretty bras and matching panties on their rare shopping and tea outing in Bozeman last spring.

“Show’s over,” Riley said with forced nonchalance, willing the words to be true. She could still hear laughter and exclamations from the other aisle. Her face flushed hot. “Girls, let’s get you both to the small arena now.”

But as Riley turned around, there was the dog sitting in front of her, bra dangling.

No way, little man.

The dog walked forward, dropped her bra a few feet in front of her and then sat down again, one paw up as if to high-five her for his cleverness.

“Ahhhh,” she gurgled.

“He’s so sweet,” Petal said. “Do you have a treat?”

The rejected biscuit felt like a burning lump of coal in her back pocket.

No way was Riley picking up the bra. No way, especially as a bigger crowd gathered. The old Riley would have made a joke, picked up the bra and stuffed it in her pocket and swaggered off, embarrassed, yeah, but in control. This new Riley wanted to hide, and she hated that.

“He’s waiting for a treat,” Arlo said.

“Biscuit in your pocket,” Cole said softly, his arms brushing her shoulder.

“I’m not rewarding him for stealing,” she said firmly.

“I’ll take the bra,” Cole said. “There must be a lost and found.” But when he reached for the colorful scrap of lace and satin, the dog picked it up again and danced back.

“You win, buddy,” Cole said, and Riley had the feeling he too was trying so very hard to keep his expression schooled into innocence. Great, even Cole the serious was trying not to laugh at her predicament.

The dog approached and dropped the bra on her boots this time.

The universe hates me.

“Ahh, thank you,” she said, realizing she had no choice.

She handed the dog the biscuit she’d tried to lure the thief with earlier. He took it gently and then danced back, smiling again before taking off.

“I’ll take the bra to lost and found, cowboy,” Sarah Telford said to Cole. “Less gossip that way.” She picked up the bra, shook it off and hip-checked her daughter. “No worries,” she whispered. “I have a key to your trailer.”

She winked, and Riley felt her pink cheeks blaze red.

“See y’all at the exhibition,” her mother said. “The Wilders are saving us some seats so we can watch Petal and Arlo take Cinnamon and Spice through their paces before the rodeo. And now, once a mother, always a mother.”

Sarah strode away, not toward the lost and found, but toward the lot where all the rigs were. She waved the bra above her head like a prize she’d won.

“What was that about?” Arlo demanded.

“Gram’s kinda weird,” Petal explained.

“The bra was fire. I’d like a pink bra.” Arlo looked at her mom, who raised her eyebrows and smirked at her husband.

“Aaaaand, I’m out,” Cross said.

“Coward,” Shane called after her husband as he stalked toward the exhibition area.

“Girls, let’s go.” Riley used what she hoped was an I’m-in-control teacher voice and headed to the small arena, holding on to what little of her dignity remained.

Do you ever have dreams of flying?

Flying symbolizes freedom, liberation. Rising above challenges.

Riley hit send. She didn’t want to tell him she had dreams of drowning. Flying sounded much better. She wondered if she could will it—lucid dreaming so she could fly.

Are you feeling free?

Thinking about mustering out. Coming home.

Her heart leapt as she read the words. What did it mean? What did she want it to mean?