Chapter 1 TOWN MEETINGS REQUIRE POPCORN #2
It just so happened that when the town forced our families into planning a joint sponsorship for an out-of-town rodeo, that’s precisely what happened: him helping—if you could call it helping.
That man?
He’s the thorn in my side, the grit in my boots, the walking definition of everything I don’t have the patience for. Planning this sponsorship with him has pushed me past polite and clean into full-blown eye-twitching territory.
So, when the mayor said tonight’s just a recap, I figured I could handle it solo.
No drama.
No interruptions.
No him.
And I may or may not have passed along the meeting details to him in the vaguest way possible. In other words, he has no idea the recap is tonight.
Oops. My bad.
And not a single part of me regrets it. Not even a little. Without him showing up, I can get through this meeting without grinding my teeth into dust. This whole sponsorship has been like herding cows—if the cows were arrogant, uncooperative, and thought they invented rodeos.
So yeah, I’ll take quiet, calm, and completely one-sided any day of the week.
“So, you knew he wasn’t coming?” Josie dusts salt off her chin with the back of her hand.
I shrug, not about to confess that I conveniently left out the meeting from our conversation this morning, which was less talk and more a power struggle. It’s always our routine.
I’m surprised we even managed to finish the sponsorship planning.
“New boots?” Josie glances down at my brand-new boots—already sporting scuffs from my quick ride with Onyx. “Fancy.” She lets the final word linger, heavy with her slow, southern twang.
I don’t like her implication.
“Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t break in new leather for men.”
“I didn’t say you did.” She doesn’t even try to play innocent.
“Good.”
“Good.” Her smile lingers.
I turn my attention back to the meeting, pretending to be invested in the lively debate sparked by the possibility of Mrs. Graves’ new security cameras.
Specifically, whether they would be protecting her property or spying on everyone else’s backyard.
The town prefers good ol’ gossip over digital evidence with time stamps.
“I like the way you did your makeup today.” I don’t need to see the sly smile tugging at the corner of my sister’s mouth to know it’s there. “Tryin’ something new?”
I bite the inside of my cheek before I answer. “It’s called mascara.”
“The cameras can be aimed directly into Mrs. Graves’ backyard without recording the neighbors. Moving on!” My sister shouts and then whispers to me, “I like it. And I see you’ve officially upgraded from lazy ponytail to pony perfection.”
Her buttery, salty fingertips weave playfully through the curls of my low ponytail. I would slap her hand away if I thought it would make her stop.
She taps the side of my head. “Who would’ve known wrapping hair around the base, and leaving those curls wild instead of smoothing them, could create a whole vibe?”
Balancing the popcorn bucket on her lap, she reaches her second hand to pull sections of the hair wrapped around my ponytail, giving it more volume.
Like it needs more volume.
But wait for it.
“Me, I would’ve thought it. I’ve told you a million times.” She fluffs my ponytail one final time, as if my natural, frizzy curls aren’t enough and then beams as if she’s the miracle worker.
How she makes everything about her is incredible.
“You’re definitely ready to hit Kiwi’s Bar after this.”
“We’ll see about that. You’re already losing the fight to keep this meeting on schedule. And we haven’t even reached the second item on the agenda.”
Josie rolls her eyes and snaps open the paper agenda in her hand with theatrical flair. Her perfectly manicured nails skim the list, tiny rhinestones winking from the tips of claws disguised as nail art.
She smiles at me before turning her head to face the front. “Has the town council or the historical committee contacted the owner of the Underwood Schoolhouse to discuss plans for the property and gauge their willingness to cooperate with preservation efforts?”
How does she even know what half of that means?
She continues to name off the current owner, who inherited the property from her parents, and how to get in touch with her.
Notes are made.
People are put in charge.
Impressive.
Why isn’t she this helpful at the Fox Lodge Dude Ranch, our family owns and operates?
“You look so pretty.” Her attention slides back to me as she shifts sideways.
She fixes her gaze on me with that weird, unmistakably Josie intensity, as if no one else in the room exists but me.
It’s creepier than a stroll through the haunted Underwood Schoolhouse.
I don’t like it.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice this new blouse under here.” She tugs lightly at the collar of my Aztec sweater, sliding it off my shoulder.
She gasps. “And it has thin straps.”
I yank the sweater back over my shoulder. “Would you not?”
“It’s so cute, though. Silky. Threadlike straps. Sexy ivory. Totally not you, and yet, totally you.”
“Is that a backhanded compliment?”
Her smile widens. “You’re all tough now but wait until you’ve had a few down the hatch.”
“A few? We aren’t going on a pub crawl at the beginning of the week.”
“Don’t be like that.” She pouts, leaning in a little closer. “You can hold your liquor.”
“Oh, I know I can. I also know I have work in the morning. You know, the never-ending to-do list of responsibility and adulting?”
“Don’t be boring.” She scrunches her face in mock disapproval.
That’s when my lips finally curl upward. “I can hold my liquor, so a few shots ain’t a problem.”
Her frown melts into a smile. “Was that so hard?”
She has no idea.
“I can out-drink you and still be standing.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Is that a challenge?”
I smirk. “Call it what you want, but you might want to pace yourselves.”
“Alright, show off. Let’s see if you can walk the walk after round one.”
“Round one?” I laugh. “You won’t even know what hit you by the time we finish round one.” I pause. “If we get out of here early.”
Refocusing on the meeting, I try to catch up and realize we’ve already reached the fourth item on the agenda. Maybe my sister’s got some town meeting magic after all.
Skimming over the first page of the outline on my clipboard, important things pop out. Transportation has been taken care of: a motorhome for my family and a second for the Wilde family.
Both RVs have enough storage to hold the signage, display racks, air-tight cooler bins for the Wilde family jerky samples, The Fox Lodge merchandise, lasso toss game, and a seat saddle for photo ops to give folks a taste of the fun waiting at The Fox Lodge.
Additionally, we decided to give away last-minute slushy samples.
Check.
Check.
Check. Check.
“So, we’re not expecting Hart tonight, right?”
The way my sister says it, I just know.
My head snaps up. And sure as shit, there he is.
Hart Wilde.
Stumbling in late, chest out, and cocky as ever, scanning the room with those cold, calculating eyes, grumpier than a bear dragged out of hibernation.
Then they lock on me.
That scowl deepens, like he’s daring me to blink. I won’t look away. Not on God’s green earth. He’ll never intimidate me. And if he ever did, I’d never let it show.
He stalks down the aisle, each boot hitting the floor like a hammer strike.
Who does he think he is? No one’s fooled by that lazy stagger or his half-assed grin. And seriously, who wants a man with arms the size of tree trunks looming over them?
He stops at the end of our row.
Shit. No.
“Excuse me.” His voice is low, too deep, rough like gravel, and definitely not charming.
People shift, stand, and make room for the too-tall, too-wide cowboy who struts like he’s all that and a bag of potato chips.
“That seat taken?” He nods at the empty one on my far side.
I inhale through my nose and try to pretend like everything’s fine.
Everything is not fine. There’s no way in hell he’s sitting next to me.
My sister cuts off my objective reply with a sweet, “I’ll scoot over.”
And before I can stop her, she’s climbing over my lap, the sweet, floral notes of her patchouli scent filling my nostrils.
And Hart plops down beside me, wearing a scowl sharp enough to cut glass.
The last time we were this close, I threw a drink in his face.