Flirting with the Cowboy (Wild Vista Ranch #6)

Chapter 1

Walker

Four Weeks Ago

I scan the festival crowd, one arm holding the mic, the other fist-pumping the air as I sing the first verse to my latest hit.

Sweat pours down my body, the Texas heat getting to me even though it’s springtime.

The kick drum reverberates through the stage floor and up into my boots.

Just as my bass player strums the chorus, Nash Rivers joins me on stage to surprise our fans.

He’s one of the biggest stars in country music, and I owe him a lot.

A wall of sound crashes toward me, lots of screaming, whistling, and the thunder of thousands of hands that my IEMs (in-ear-monitors) can barely hold back.

When Nash shoots me his signature grin, more whoops and catcalls fill the air from the country music fans who came to see us.

He runs Boots by the Lake, this multi-day festival here in Indigo Hills.

I’m headlining tonight, and he’s closing out the festival at dusk tomorrow.

People are happy, arms up, dancing. But as I scan the first rows, a woman in a black tank and jean shorts catches my eye. Her jet-black hair pulled back by a black bandana, and thick black eyeliner rims her eyes, sharp at the corners.

What strikes me most is how out of place she looks. Not her appearance—it’s her body language, her expression, as if standing in the front row of this country music festival is the last place on earth she wants to be. Everyone around her smells like sweat and cheap beer and a good time.

A woman with her grabs the front row rebel’s arm to dance, so she gives a half-hearted attempt.

Well, that’s an exaggeration. It’s really a quarter-hearted attempt.

Her hips shift maybe two inches in either direction, as if her body is negotiating a settlement with the music.

The two must be related because they have similar faces and builds. Twins, maybe?

As they sway along with the crowd, their arms in the air, those smoky eyes catch mine. I send the woman a wink then force myself to the other side of the stage, even though I don’t want to leave her.

I play to the crowd, as expected. Toward the last bridge, a frilly bra is flung onto the stage, pinging off my thigh.

It lands on the wooden planks near the mic stand.

I wiggle my eyebrows because that’s what the crowd expects, but I’m not really feeling it.

I’ve already been in talks with my team about how to subtly shift my persona away from the playboy image that landed on me during my first tour.

The plan is to start small, so I leave this part of the stage and head back to the other side, leaving the lingerie on the stage.

I gave in to the temptations of the road. I’ll admit that. It can be lonely without friends and family from back home. But the last few months, I’ve given up partying and sleeping around. No alcohol on show days, and no women in my bed.

That’s why I’m surprised at how I’m scanning the crowd in search of Dark & Prickly again.

My mom got me hooked on Grey’s, and if any person fits that description here, it’s the gorgeous woman in the front row.

I find her black bandana, head down and looking at her phone while barely moving her shoulders.

It’s like the beat is forcing the woman’s body to give in even though she’s not interested.

Her blonde companion notices me looking their way and elbows the woman I’m entranced with.

She pockets her phone and looks right into my eyes.

I can’t tear mine away, their icy green mesmerizing.

Something snags at the back of my throat, unexpected enough that I nearly drop the next line.

She quirks a brow and sends me a ‘you’re not as hot as you think you are’ look.

I chuckle mid-lyric. Good for her. She’s gorgeous and comfortable with not giving a shit about her actions just to fit in somewhere she doesn’t want to be.

I head to center stage and sing the final line with Nash, slinging my arm around him and thanking the crowd for a great show. I force myself not to look over to where the front-row rebel is because I made a deal with myself.

No hooking up after concerts.

Something settles low in my chest, heavier than the usual post-show adrenaline crash, and I can’t shake it as the stage lights cut out behind me.

Maybe that’s not what I was interested in.

Four Weeks Later

I drive my pickup along the Texas highway, not a sound around me but the crosswind through the open windows. There is nothing like an open road to soothe the spirit.

I think back to the last 24 months of my life, and it’s no wonder I need a break. My first country single exploded overnight thanks to a fan who caught it on my socials after seeing me play at a dive bar two weeks beforehand. Since then, it’s been nonstop touring and recording.

Nash Rivers took me under his wing after I met him at an awards show, and his advice has helped me focus on my future.

When he opened his own label, Sun Ridge Records, I didn’t hesitate to sign with him.

It’s because of him that I’ve produced so many hits, and it’s also because of him that I’m taking this much-needed break.

Don’t get me wrong. The man is a big believer in riding the tide and building a name for yourself when the timing is right. Because if you’re good at what you do and give people what they want, they’ll at least remember your name down the road.

I should have taken a break three months ago, but he and I released “Broke Swagger,” a single that went straight to number one on both the country and pop charts, so we did a few gigs to support both our upcoming albums. It was a small tour by industry standards, but the venues were top-notch and packed.

I’ve made a lot of money quickly and just been holding on to it.

I try not to spend a whole lot because you never know what tomorrow’s going to bring.

I don’t even have a home, though technically, I own a one-room apartment in a Tulsa high-rise.

I keep it to have a place to hang my hat and see my family when I can.

I wouldn’t be who I am without my mom and stepdad.

But I rarely spend time there. Living out of hotels has become my norm.

That’s why I’m headed to Wild Vista Ranch over in Rosewood County. My mom’s friend, Lucinda Davis, offered me a ranch hand gig for a few weeks, just so I could get out of the public eye and have some peace. I’ll be cleaning stalls, fixing fences, and feeding the animals. Whatever they need.

I know I’m easily recognized, wearing my signature wavy hair in a mullet with highlights.

My brown hair is naturally curly, which the stylists soften with product and a flat iron for public appearances.

Yesterday, I had it cut into a shag. With the blond tips cut out and the curls natural, I’m hoping the change is enough to hide me in plain sight.

Normally, I wear contacts, so I took those out, put on my glasses, bought some ink cover-up for my forearms, and hit the road.

I’ve even started growing out a short beard, though it’s just scruff at this point.

I’ll be using my given name, Cam, short for Cameron.

It’s what my family calls me, so I won’t mess that up.

I’m just not giving my last name. No big deal. Cameron Walker has a nice ring to it.

I flick on the radio and hear Sammie Clarke singing her hit from last summer and immediately shut it off.

She and I had a fling at the beginning of my career that lasted all of two weeks.

We’re still good friends and have even recorded together, but because of that, the press continues to link us together despite the numerous times both of us have denied it.

The whole reason I’m driving to Wild Vista is to get away from exactly that kind of noise.

Lucinda Davis, one of the ranch owners, is pretty confident I’ll be under the radar with the seasonal staff she hires for the spring.

Working as a ranch hand, I’ll get to do odd jobs and stay away from people if that’s what I want to do.

The only caveat is that I won’t get my own cabin, which would be a dead giveaway since seasonal employees share a bunkhouse.

But it shouldn’t be that much different from a tour bus, except from my early days on the road. I laugh at that.

Theoretically, these are still my early days of my career.

At 26, I hope to have the longevity that my mentor has had.

He continues to produce hits while living a quiet life in his hometown of Indigo Hills, raising a family.

When I’m finished here, I’m headed straight to his ranch in Indigo Hills to stay in the guest house.

He gave me an open invitation, and I plan to cash in on it.

Finally, I see the turnoff for Wild Vista Ranch. As I turn my old pickup onto the gravel road, I follow the signs to the check-in building where Lucinda said to meet her.

I’m ready for the break and ready to breathe.