Page 28 of Rogue Cowboy (Montana’s Rodeo Cowboys #3)

C ole stared at the giant, piping-hot whatever—a pastry—that Riley handed to him after pulling off a chunk for herself. He tore a piece off. Riley laughed and nudged him with her shoulder.

The second trick-riding exhibition had gone what his maw-maw would have called swimmingly, which had never made sense to him, but the phrase popped into his head.

Riley had shared her contact information with several parents, and he was beginning to realize that taking her to Texas was not going to be as straightforward as he’d imagined.

Some of his quandary must have showed on his face, though he tried to keep his thoughts and concerns to himself.

“Don’t worry. It’s called an elephant ear, but it’s not really from an elephant. Pass it down.”

“I know,” he said wondering when was the last time he’d indulged in something sweet.

At the Jameson Ranch, his granddad often brought a few pies home from Char-Pie, a dessert café in town.

He’d bring them to the bunkhouse for the ranch hands and whatever grandson was around.

It was his secret—as if his wife of fifty-five years didn’t know what he was up to.

But he had loved those rare slices of pie.

Did Riley like pie?

He handed the pastry to Arlo, who shared it with Petal. He took a bite, and the warm cinnamon, sugar, butter and pastry practically melted in his mouth.

“Good,” he murmured as Riley was clearly waiting for a response.

It felt strange being surrounded by her family when he’d spent so much time feeling alone.

Cross, a former Special Forces soldier, once called Ghost, had shared deets of a business he and some friends—all ex Special Forces—were building. And he’d sent a link to their website.

It was like they expected him to stay in Montana.

And he got that. It was beautiful. Riley’s family and career were here.

And he was hardly dialed in to the Jameson Ranch anymore.

But he owed his family his loyalty. Cole had met with the Wilders and toured their ranch. It wasn’t as big as the Jameson Ranch, but the wild beauty of snow-capped peaks, alpine forests and endless dark blue sky held an appeal he felt was disloyal.

He’d taken notes and pictures and had discussed the business his grandfather had asked him to. Even as he set up a follow-up Zoom meeting next week after the rodeo, promised his granddad he’d attend in person, when all he’d wanted to focus on was Riley.

His granddad had raised him. He deserved his best, not his half-assed. He had an invitation to the Telford Ranch and Three Trees later in the week. But Texas was home, and he couldn’t help but speculate that Riley might heal better in a different setting.

The announcements had started up, and he ignored them.

Most rodeos had a similar rhythm—local dignitaries spoke, the mayor, the heads of this, that, and the other thing.

Sponsors. He wasn’t aware of anything but Riley—the slight shock filtered with a soft warmth in her eyes, her beautiful lips softly pursed, open, and her hand, napkin balled, still near his face as she dapped at some of the pastry crumbs.

“Cole?”

She smiled—a real one that felt foreign even as it felt right.

I’m home.

He hadn’t expected that. The realization hit like a stone, but that too felt right—finally after so many years of him feeling disconnected.

A ripple of laughter raced through the arena, distracting from the moment.

“Look Riley,” Petal called out. “Some cowboy had it worse this morning.”

Cole looked and saw the same stray dog they’d seen several times this week racing across the arena, a pair of dark denim jeans—stiff like they were new—dragging behind the dog with its tail jauntily high.

“Some cowboy’s lost his britches,” the announcer said.

The dog paused, and Cole almost expected him to bow, before he ran off with his prize.

“Maybe you’ll lose your britches that you’ll swear up and down aren’t your britches , next, Riley.” Arlo looked around Cole at Riley, stretching the word out like it was foreign and funny. It probably was to her, although Cole didn’t think even his grandparents called jeans britches anymore.

“Unlikely,” Riley said like a queen, and he settled in to watch the beginning ceremonies.

He’d told Riley he would help her when the barrel racing started.

He’d not expected to enjoy sitting in the stands watching the queens entering to cheers before they circled the arena, carrying different flags, and displaying keen horsemanship skills.

There were also some awards and other announcements so common to small-town rodeos.

“That will be us someday,” Petal said, standing up to see better.

He watched, but his attention was mostly on Riley—the feel of her small body pressed against his side like she belonged there.

A bit later—after the mutton busting where one of Riley’s nieces was competing, with her brother Boone helping, and a few other entertaining small-town rodeo rites of passages, and the introduction of the rodeo clowns and the riders who would corral any bulls or broncs that got a bit too frisky, the first of the rodeo’s prelim competitions was set to start.

“I’m going to head back to get ready to help,” Riley said and lightly touched his thigh, and he felt it like a brand.

I got it bad.

Sarah Telford made her way to where they were sitting, shepherding three young children in tow, and he and Riley moved so they could take their places.

“Do you need us, Riley?” Petal asked, clearly torn between duty and fun.

Riley smiled. “No, Cole’s coming so enjoy,” she said. “You might want to compete in the junior barrel racing next year, so take notes.” Riley tapped her phone with one finger before tucking it back into her pocket.

Cole followed her slim but taut figure down along the side of the grandstands as she excused herself each row. Cole slipped through the railings and dropped down about ten rows.

“Show-off.” She climbed through and dropped down three rows where he caught her.

“Just a cowboy trying to impress a cowgirl,” he said drolly, laughing at himself because while he had been trying to be expedient, it had been, he was ashamed to admit, a bit of a flex.

“When we were on base, some of the soldiers and I would challenge each other with parkour to make staying in shape more interesting.”

“It definitely worked.” The open admiration in her voice pleased him in a way that was embarrassing. He’d been a tool on his football team and the ranch and in the military—not an object to be admired.

And yet. Many women had hit on him over the years, but Riley was the only one who made him want to work harder.

“While you are in town, you should have Rohan show you the business he and a bunch of his vet friends are building. They do man things in the woods and mountains.”

Had she accepted that they would be together—a couple? Husband and wife? Satisfaction bled through him. Or was the ‘while you’re in town’ the most significant part of that sentence?

“Man things?” He chose to focus on that.

“So he says.” She grinned impishly. “Probably chest beating’s involved. Maybe boy-part measurements.” She laughed, when his mouth dropped open at the ‘boy part.’

“I’m not a boy.”

She laughed. “It’s a survivalist program, teaching skills and setting up physical and mental challenges—individual and team building.

They started hosting their first groups last spring.

” She waved at a couple of the rodeo queens who were still in their regalia, flirting with a few cowboys near the north end of the stables nearer to the chute.

“Rohan talked about it. A couple of his partners pitched it. Thought to take me through some paces while I was here.”

“You should take them up on it.” She hip-checked him. “Flex a little and show them how Texas does it.”

He was pleased she knew he’d kick ass at any challenge they’d throw at him.

“Might do that.” He hadn’t planned on it, but flexing for Riley’s benefit appealed to his inner cave man.

“But they might have to reframe the whole shebang since they’re getting a lot of bookings from women—friends, leadership teams, and groups who want to get their inner warrior on. In two weeks Laird and a couple of the boys are leading a book club through a hiking and climbing adventure.”

“Like glamping?” How did he even know that word?

Riley laughed. He was fascinating by the quicksilver expressions chasing across her face. Her energy felt like something he could touch, bathe in, and he wanted to keep the conversation going.

“So sexist. Just like Rohan. That was his first fear—that they’d have these women wanting mimosas after every hike or rock-climbing expedition.

” Riley’s flashed grin did something to his chest. “Made me want to round up some barrel racers who train with me and my mom to show those boys what a cowgirl can do.”

“Why don’t you?” Watching her compete, leading her through some challenges, sounded hot as hell.

“Didn’t have to. Their first group were some friends from high school who’d started their own yoga and Pilates studio over in Bozeman so you can imagine what someone like Rohan and Cross and their finance guy, Calhoun, thought.

” She rolled her eyes. “Of course the women kicked ass and broke the course record. And they celebrated with green smoothies. I think my brother needed the mimosa.” She laughed.

“You should definitely try it,” she dared. “All of the guys have different specialties and work part-time as they all have other jobs, but they are always adding on and adapting the offerings.”

“If I ran through whatever course they designed, would you be there to cheer me on?”

“Maybe you’ll be cheering me on ’cuz I’d beat you,” she said.

“Or we could team up and compete. Maybe it could be a couple’s challenge.” Had he just said that word? He’d never imagined being part of a couple, but damn it sounded good. “Rohan, Cross and Laird and their wives and then us.”

She stared at him, mouth dropping open.