Page 29 of Wild Love, Cowboy (The Portree Cowboys #1)

I've been watching this exchange with my family with a mixture of anxiety and amazement. Mia is holding her own, matching each Taylor family member's energy with remarkable ease. But I know it's only a matter of time before someone says something truly embarrassing.

Dad proves me right almost instantly. As we move toward the backyard where tables are set up, he slings an arm around Mia's shoulders.

“So, Mia, you're staying at Grant's place, huh?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Those walls are pretty thin. I hope my son's not keeping you up all night with his snoring—or other activities.”

“Dad!” I exclaim, mortified.

To my amazement, Mia doesn't miss a beat. “Actually, the guest suite is quite soundproof. Though I do hear the occasional moose call. Is that Grant or the local wildlife?”

Dad's laugh is so loud it practically rattles the windows. “Moose call! That's what we've been calling it since he was thirteen!”

“I'm disowning all of you,” I mutter, but I can't help smiling when I see Mia's eyes dancing with amusement.

“Don't mind him,” Mama tells Mia, guiding her toward the food tables. “Eric thinks embarrassing our children is a competitive sport.”

“And I'm the reigning champion!” Dad calls after us.

As we move through the crowd of guests, I keep expecting Mia to retreat into herself, to become overwhelmed by the sheer Taylor-ness of it all.

But she surprises me again, engaging with every relative who approaches, remembering names, asking thoughtful questions, and answering some questions about her own swimming career and medals.

“Your family is exactly what I expected,” she murmurs when we finally get a moment alone by the drink table.

“Horrifying?” I suggest, handing her a glass of sweet tea.

She shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Wonderful. Loud and inappropriate and completely themselves.” Her eyes meet mine. “They're so much a part of you, Grant. I can see pieces of each of them in who you are.”

Something warm unfurls in my chest at her words. The fact that she sees me—not just the surface, but the parts shaped by family and history—matters more than I want to admit.

“Even the inappropriate part?” I ask, trying to lighten the suddenly heavy moment.

Her smile turns teasing. “Especially that part.”

Our eyes lock, and for a second, the noise of the party fades away. There's just Mia, standing close enough that I can smell the subtle scent of her shampoo, her lips curved in a smile that makes me want to kiss her right here in front of my entire extended family.

The moment between us shatters when Mason appears, clapping me on the shoulder.

“There you are,” he says, glancing between us with knowing eyes. “Your dad's looking for you. Something about showin’ off for the guests.”

I groan, immediately understanding. “Please tell me he's not serious.”

“Dead serious. Got Diablo saddled up and everything.”

Mia raises an eyebrow. “Diablo?”

“His bull,” Mason explains before I can. “Though today it's just a bronco. Your boyfriend here is apparently the evening's main event.”

“He's not my—” Mia starts, just as I say, “I'm not her—”

Mason holds up his hands, grinning. “U-huh. Whatever you say. But that bronc's waitin’, and you know how your old man gets.”

I sigh, turning to Mia, hesitation tugging at the edge of this moment. I don’t want to step away from her just yet. “I don't have to do this…”

Her eyes spark—there’s challenge in them, but something else, too.

Pride. Interest. Heat. “Are you kidding? I’ve been hearing about the legendary Grant Taylor rodeo skills for days.

Now I get to see them firsthand?” She takes a sip of her tea, the corner of her mouth curling. “I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

I swear my heart skips a beat.

“Fine,” I concede, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach at her interest. “But stay where I can see you. Some of these extended cousins get handsy after a few beers.”

“I can handle myself, cowboy.” she reminds me, but the small smile playing on her lips tells me she doesn't mind my protectiveness.

Yeah, I don’t doubt it. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop watching her like she’s mine.

***

Fifteen minutes later, I'm behind the makeshift chute Dad set up near the edge of the pasture, adjusting my weight as the bronco snorts and shifts beneath me. It's not Diablo—thank God—but a spirited gelding named Firecracker who lives up to his name.

The dust hangs thick in the warm air, stirred up by boots and hooves and the buzz of a crowd looking for spectacle.

I rest a hand on Firecracker’s flank, and he shudders under my touch. He’s wired tight, ready to launch like a damn rocket. Same as me.

“You sure about this?” Mason asks, tossing me my gloves and “Your shoulder's still a mess.”

I nod, slipping them on, scanning the gathered crowd until I spot Mia.

She’s standing beside Lily, arms crossed, one foot cocked to the side.

That same expression she wore in my kitchen yesterday morning when I was half-naked and she was half-flustered.

She's intrigued. And maybe a little worried.

Good. I want her to see it all—the grit, the guts, the wildness that raised me.

“It's just a little show ride.” I mutter.

Mason follows my gaze and smirks. “Ah. Impressing the city girl. Gotcha.”

“Shut the hell up and open the gate,” I mutter, but I can't deny he's right. There's something primal about wanting Mia to see this side of me—the side that's in my blood, that connects me to this land and my heritage.

He goes to open the gate, but not before muttering, “Try not to die, Romeo.”

My heart hammers against my ribs, a wild rhythm of anticipation. The bronc shifts under me, muscles rolling like thunder beneath skin. He’s tight with tension, energy coiled and trembling, like he’s been waiting for this as long as I have.

Everything narrows.

The gate slams open, and Firecracker explodes into the pen.

Suddenly we’re flying. He bucks hard, head down, back legs shooting into the sky.

I move with him, not against him—one with the rhythm, every muscle tuned to his next twitch.

My hand grips the rigging like it’s the last thing tethering me to earth.

The world narrows to this dance of man versus beast, my body moving instinctively with the bronco's wild bucks and spins.

My shoulder screams in protest, but I ignore it, determined to make this the ride of my life.

Adrenaline overtakes pain. Precision crushes hesitation.

This is what I was built for.

Dust whips past my face. The wind howls in my ears. Somewhere in the distance, someone screams my name.

Eight seconds blaze past in a blur of sweat and muscle, fury and grace. When Dad calls time, I dismount with a flourish, landing on my feet as my cousins move in to control Firecracker. Everyone erupts in cheers, but I only care about one person's reaction.

I find Mia's eyes in the crowd. She's not cheering like the others, but the look on her face—a mixture of amazement and something darker, more primal—sends heat rushing through me. Her lips are parted, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide with something raw and unfiltered. Awe. Worry. Desire.

Yeah, I felt that ride. But what I feel now—her looking at me like that?

That’s the real rush.

“Show-off,” Mason mutters as I climb over the fence, but he's grinning.

“Did what I had to do,” I reply, dusting off my jeans.

I make my way through the congratulatory slaps on the back, heading straight for Mia. She watches me approach, that indecipherable expression still on her face.

“So,” I say when I reach her, suddenly feeling like an awkward teenager. “What did you think?”

“I think,” she says slowly, stepping closer until I can feel the heat of her body, “that was the most reckless, dangerous, impressive thing I've ever seen.”

“But did you like it?” I press, needing to know for reasons I don't want to examine too closely.

Her eyes meet mine, dark and intense. “Yes,” she admits, the word almost a whisper. “God help me, I did.”

The air between us feels electric, charged with something neither of us is ready to name. I want to kiss her, right here in front of my entire family, but before I can move, Mama's voice rings out, asking for helping hands to carry food to the table.

The moment breaks, and Mia steps back, a flush coloring her cheeks. “We should join the others,” she says, nodding toward the gathering guests.

I nod and follow her, hyper-aware of the space between us that suddenly feels both too large and not large enough.

Dad puts the mashed potato down and sits at the head of the table, pointing at the open seat across from him. “Come take a seat Mia.”

We add the bowls of smoked brisket and potato salad to the banquet feast and I pull out Mia’s chair as she slides into the space next to me across from my dad. “So, tell me Eric, has Grant always been that good at bull riding?”

Dad leans closer like he’s about to share a dark family secret and my stomach turns.

“I’d like to say he has, but you should’ve seen him as a teenager.

Skinny as a fence post. Voice cracked so bad we called him ‘Squeaky’ for two years.

One time, he tried to impress a girl by riding bareback.

Ended up face-down in a cactus patch with his jeans around his ankles. ”

“I was twelve, ” I snap, horrified.

Dad shrugs. “Old enough to know that’s not where you put a cactus, son.”

The table erupts in laughter and I can’t help chuckling along at the memory.

As the evening progresses, I watch Mia interact with my family, marveling at how she handles my mom's affectionate fussing and my dad's inappropriate jokes with equal grace.

She fits here in a way I never expected, holding her own in debates with Connor about business ethics and laughing at Christian's travel disasters.

***

Mia