Sorrel
An awkward beat of silence passes between us when we're now standing in front of a large bus. It’s one of those big fancy ones that bands travel in and probably has a bunch of bunkbeds they all sleep in.
There’s no way in hell I’m going in there alone with him.
If this guy thinks I’m going to crawl into his fucking bunk with him, he’s about to find out just how wrong he is.
I start to open my mouth and tell him exactly that, when he walks around to a small ladder on the side of the bus and pulls it down.
Gesturing up the ladder, he asks, “You comin’?”
A heat of embarrassment spreads across my chest, glad I didn’t say anything. Putting my beer on my warm chest, I tuck my hair behind my ear. “I guess so,” I say.
He takes my beer from my hand while I climb up first. I scoot over to the edge of the roof and sit, dangling my legs over the roof of the bus.
I’m not scared of heights, but it sure is a long way down.
He takes his place next to me, handing me back my beer.
We sit there side by side, sipping our drinks and staring at the stars.
The sky is beautiful tonight, speckled with stars that look so big from up here, you can almost touch them.
Every once in a while, I see a satellite flying through space, making its way across the world.
As I watch another one float by, the nervousness I’ve been feeling around him all night finally begins to dissipate.
Denton eventually breaks the silence, and I appreciate him giving me time to process what just went down with Huck.
I brace myself for the questions, thinking he’s going to ask me what I ask myself—how could you be dumb enough to get involved with someone like Huck Kenzington.
But that’s not what comes out of his mouth.
He takes his cowboy hat off, sitting it down next to him. “So, I saw your run today, and you were amazing. That chestnut gelding you rode looked so damn powerful. The way he dug in around those barrels was smooth as hell.”
He watched my run? That’s right, he had made a comment to Huck about his ride too, so he must have watched the entire performance today.
That must mean he already knew who I was then, before we even met tonight.
And the fact that he noticed me on a plain chestnut gelding stands out to me.
There’re tons of gorgeous barrel racers with flashy horses that are way more memorable.
I mean, I did probably win the average, but that won’t be announced until after the last run tomorrow.
“Thank you,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “I’m honestly surprised you watched the barrel racing. Most cowboys act like we’re a bunch of princesses—”
“Always complaining about the ground?” he cuts in with a grin.
I laugh. “Exactly.”
“Nah, I enjoy watching it.” He puts his beer bottle between his legs and leans back on his hands. “My sister used to do 4-H, ran a few jackpots when we were kids. Nothing like what you pulled off, though. You make it look easy.”
That catches me off guard, but in a good way. There’s something different about him. Genuine. He isn’t trying to impress me, and for once, I’m not just being sized up in tight jeans.
“Well, you were amazing tonight too. You’ve got an incredible voice, not that you don’t already know that.”
Denton gives me a toothy smile. “Ah, thanks. Truth is, I was a little nervous. This was one of my biggest shows so far.”
I tilt my head, surprised. “Really? Because you looked like a total pro up there. If you’re nervous now, I can’t imagine what you’ll be like when you’re playing stadiums.”
He chuckles, glancing down for a second before meeting my eyes again. “Yeah…that’s the plan.”
So… he’s humble, handsome, and talented? Seriously, what the hell is he doing talking to me? But he is. And he isn’t rushing it or putting on a show. He’s just easy to talk to and a totally normal person like the rest of us. Maybe the fame just hasn’t gone to his head yet.
Even in rodeo, it happens. People make it to the NFR, brand deals, you name it and then they think they’re some big shot too good for everyone else. Fame has a way of changing people.
We talk for over an hour. I never move from my spot, but he climbs down once to get me a jacket when he notices I’m shivering.
It’s a Wrangler denim jacket. He lays it so gently over my shoulders.
I can't help but bring my nose to my shoulder.
It smells so good with notes of cedarwood and musk.
Having his scent all over me stirs feelings inside of me that make me want to crawl out of my skin—in a good way.
Talking with him is like talking to an old friend.
He tells me he’s from Tennessee. No shock there.
That’s the capital of country music. I figure he probably started out somewhere near Nashville, maybe playing in smoky bars and county fairs before being discovered.
I tell him I’m from Montana and grew up on a ranch called the Saxxon Ranch, but I don’t go too deep into it.
Just enough to keep the conversation flowing without giving too much away.
We talk about rodeo, music, horses, travel, and everything in between.
The conversation flows, and there’s definitely a connection—whether it’s just friendship or more, I’m not sure.
But it doesn’t matter because I’m not looking for more and I have enough friends.
I have to admit though, Charli was right.
Getting back on the horse feels good—it’s as if I never stopped riding, muscle memory takes over.
Just talking to a man, no pressure, no expectations.
It’s not a date; it isn’t anything too intimate.
Hell, it isn’t even reality. It’s just a moment.
A soft, unexpected pause in the middle of a life that rarely slows down.
There’s that feeling though between us, the kind you feel in your chest but try to ignore in your head.
This time I will ignore it because let’s be real, our worlds don’t exactly fit.
I spend a lot of time on the road for rodeo, and when I’m not chasing barrels, I’m at the ranch.
Between managing the guests and helping out with ranch work, there’s not much time in between for anything else.
My family is everything to me, and it takes a special kind of person to understand my lifestyle, just as I’m sure the same would be for him.
He’s on a tour bus half the year, playing in different cities every weekend, chasing a dream that doesn’t leave much room for staying in one place.
Whatever this little spark is, I have to face what it really is—a nice conversation on a beautiful night—between two people who are attracted to each other but know it will never be anything more than this. But damn…it was nice while it lasted.
My gaze lowers to his mouth as he speaks to me. He has a beautiful mouth. Lips that sure as hell looked kissable. I’m sure he is good at it too. I push that thought out of my head—time to get out of here before I do something I’ll regret.
I sit up straight. “Thank you for the drink, Denton. It was nice getting to know you a little. I had a good time tonight.” I stand up, make my way toward the ladder, and climb down before he can try to convince me to stay.
“Wait, Sorrel—“
There it is. Fuck. I gotta get out of here.
He chases after me, shimmying down the ladder himself. His boot catches on the metal bar and he nearly slips. We both gasp and then he starts laughing.
“I’m fine. Just hold on a minute please before I kill myself on this damned thing.”
“Okay, I’ll wait,” I say. I’m forced to stay put, standing there patiently so he can safely make it down. I’d feel terrible if he got hurt chasing after me.
He lets out a breath of air once he’s down on solid ground. I shrug off his jacket and hold it out to him. He takes it from me and rakes his hand through his hair.
“Can I walk you back to where you’re staying?” he asks.
“Oh, uh…sure. My rig’s parked on the west side of the lot.”
We walk in silence, the night air cool against my cheeks.
It’s quiet now except for the crunch of gravel beneath our boots.
I keep my head on a swivel, silently praying we won’t run into any more trouble.
When we reach my trailer, a few soft whinnies greet us from the pens nearby. I smile at our greeting.
Pointing to my rig, I say, “This is it. Thanks for walking me back.”
“Of course, it’s my pleasure,” he says, tipping his cowboy hat so proper I let out a quiet chuff.
He hesitates for a moment, then scratches the back of his neck. “So, uh…do you think we could maybe exchange numbers? Just in case I ever have more urgent questions about barrel racing or…something?”
He’s joking—kind of. I pinch my lips together. But reality is already creeping back in. I have an itch in the back of my mind I can’t scratch. Something’s off… That’s when the memory hits me like a freight train.
“How do you and Huck know each other?” I blurt out, brows knitting together.
The look on his face tells me that there’s something he’s hiding.
He pinches the bridge of his nose and looks down at his boots.
“We rodeoed together in college—he’s always been an asshole.
I never liked the guy.” He pauses, but I sense there’s more coming.
“I have to be honest with you, Sorrel. I was back behind the chutes during the bareback riding with a couple of buddies I haven’t seen in a while.
I overheard him talking about you. He knew you were here and was talking about finding you after your run. ”
“So, you already knew my name? It wasn’t my raw talent and sorta good looks that caught your eye?
” I tease, knowing I had already figured that out earlier.
And I obviously knew Huck would have known I was here.
He always watches the barrel racing so I’m not surprised he planned on trying to find me.
He laughs and shakes his head. “Well, yes and no—truthfully, when you came out of the alleyway and I heard the announcer say your name, I recognized it. I saw your picture on the big screen and how beautiful you were—I mean are. I can’t lie, a thought crossed my mind—I need to meet that girl—and well, here we are. ”
“Well, I guess it’s your lucky night, Denton Reed. You can thank Charli too. If it wasn’t for her, I’d be home by now.”
“Really? Shoot, then I better start counting my lucky stars. Maybe I’m lucky enough to get that phone number from you then?” He smiles big, a small dimple forming on his left cheek.
It’s so cute, I bite the inside of my cheek and look away.
But the fact that he and Huck know each other makes me question everything.
They obviously have some sort of history.
Maybe this is some kind of competition over girls that’s been an ongoing thing.
I want to give him the benefit of the doubt, but I’m not sure I can.
The hesitation I’m feeling lingers like a dark cloud over my head.
I have to go with what my gut is telling me.
“Honestly, I had a great time with you tonight. But we live two wildly different lives, and I’m just not in the right place right now to explore anything with anyone—uh, not that I’m—uh, assuming you want to…
I know you were just asking for my phone number but my answer is no.
” I meet his eyes, hoping he can see I mean it kindly.
He clutches his chest and keels over. “Ouch, you barrel racers are ruthless.”
I laugh nervously and shrug. “I’m sorry.”
Barrel racers are kinda ruthless. We don’t let much come between us and our goals. I know a lot of girls who won’t even date, they're so focused on making it to the NFR.
The corners of his eyes crinkle, and he looks a little sad, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t charm his way around it. I wonder if he’s ever faced rejection. It doesn’t seem like it.
“Of course,” he says with a small nod. “I get it completely. Have a good night, Sorrel.”
And just like that, he turns on the heel of his boot and walks off into the dark. I stand there for a second, blinking, a little shocked he didn’t try harder. But then again…why would he?
A guy like Denton Reed can probably get any girl’s number without even asking. Even if he does seem like a nice guy, I’m sure he gets around like the rest of them.
Sighing, I go into my trailer and start getting ready for bed. Charli has my pajamas laid out for me. She picked a brown two-piece set with pink hearts on the shorts and a top that reads heartbreaker.
Yeah, right, I think.
I climb up into my bed that’s at the nose of the trailer and lift Dash in with me.
I put a new mattress in recently and it’s still breaking in—a little stiff.
Dash curls up under his blanket next to me already fast asleep.
But sleep doesn’t come easy for me. I toss and turn, restless and annoyed with myself.
Replaying the night repeatedly in my mind.
Why can’t I stop thinking about him? It’s not like I care.
I didn’t even want to have that drink with him.
Finally, exhaustion wins, and I drift off into a light, uneasy sleep. Saying no to giving Denton my phone number replays in my head all night. It’s like an old DVD player that restarts the movie every time it’s finished. Fall asleep—wake up—and there it is playing again, blaring loud.
At 6:00 a.m. sharp, I’m jolted awake by the sound of a snort and a pair of wide, curious eyes staring at me.
A silly side of me thought maybe I would wake to a knock on my trailer door and maybe that person would be a handsome cowboy with a warm baritone.
Even better with a coffee in his hand, but that never happens.
I need to quit fantasizing about this guy.
I think all those romance novels I read over the summer are getting to me.
“Let’s head home, Dashywoo,” I say as we get out of bed, ready for the trek back to the ranch.
If you don’t have ten different nicknames for your dog do you really even love them?