25. Wild Loving Nesting Part One #2
Austin's arm tightens around me, and I realize he's nervous too. This matters to him in ways that go beyond prizes or recognition. This is about claiming his place in a tradition that tried to exclude him, about honoring his sisters with joy instead of just grief.
"First place goes to Austin Bishop and Miss Willa James!"
The roar of the crowd hits like a physical wave, and for a moment I can't process what I'm hearing. We won? We actually won with our chaotic, barely-coordinated explosion of enthusiasm?
"But wait, there's more!" The DJ has to shout over the noise. "This year's prize has been funded by one of our city's highest donors in partnership with the late William James?—"
My grandfather's name hits like cold water, and I stiffen in Austin's arms. He mentioned funding? When? How?
"—for a grand total of twenty-five thousand dollars!"
The number doesn't even register because I'm still stuck on my grandfather's name echoing through the barn. The crowd's gone silent with shock before erupting into even louder chaos. Someone whistles—the sharp, piercing kind that cuts through everything else.
"Twenty-five grand? That's four times last year!"
"William James? But he passed months ago?—"
"That's his granddaughter! She came back!"
"Never thought I'd see a James at the rodeo again?—"
The comments layer over each other, a symphony of surprise and speculation that makes my head spin. My grandfather funded this? Set aside money for a competition at a rodeo he probably never expected me to attend?
"The winners also get to designate a charity for ten percent of the rodeo's total proceeds," the DJ adds, barely audible over the excited chatter. "So let's get our champions up here!"
Austin starts guiding me through the crowd before I can fully process what's happening.
His hand finds mine, fingers interlacing with a firmness that says he won't let me get lost in the sea of bodies.
People part for us, some reaching out to pat our shoulders or offer congratulations.
Their faces blur together—some familiar from town, others strangers drawn by the spectacle.
"Your granddad was a good man," someone says as we pass.
"Glad to see a James back where they belong," from another.
"Y'all danced like your souls were on fire," from a woman with tears in her eyes.
Each comment adds another layer to my emotional overload.
My grandfather, who I thought had forgotten about me during all those years of silence, had put money aside for this.
Had he hoped I'd come back? Expected it?
Or was this just coincidence, his way of supporting the town that had been his home for so long?
The walk to the stage feels endless and instant simultaneously. I'm hyperaware of every sensation—the sticky floor beneath my boots, the way my dress clings with sweat, Austin's steady presence beside me like an anchor in the storm of attention. The stage looms ahead, and that's when I spot him.
The Mayor stands with the other organizers, his face a mask of political pleasantness that doesn't reach his eyes.
He's shorter than I expected, softer around the middle, with the kind of aggressive handsomeness that probably worked better thirty years ago.
His suit is too formal for a rodeo, crisp and dark against the sea of denim and flannel, marking him as someone who thinks he's above all this even while presiding over it.
"Steady," Austin murmurs, and I realize my steps had faltered.
We climb the three steps to the stage, and immediately the Mayor moves forward, hand extended toward me with a smile that's all teeth and no warmth. But Austin's faster, smoother, pulling me into a hug that looks natural but effectively blocks the Mayor's approach.
"We did it," Austin says loud enough for everyone to hear, spinning me slightly so my back is to the Mayor. I catch on immediately, wrapping my arms around his neck and holding on like he's just proposed rather than won a dance competition.
When Austin finally releases me, he keeps his arm firmly around my waist, positioning himself between me and the Mayor with a casualness that would be impressive if I couldn't feel the tension thrumming through him.
"Mayor Henrickson," Austin says, extending his free hand for a shake that leaves me still tucked against his side. "Hell of a festival this year."
The Mayor's jaw tightens as he accepts the handshake, his eyes trying to find mine over Austin's shoulder. "Mr. Bishop. Congratulations on your... energetic performance."
The pause before 'energetic' carries weight, like he wanted to say something else entirely. Inappropriate, maybe. Or chaotic. Untraditional.
"We aim to please," Austin replies, his smile sharp enough to cut glass. "Course, would've been easier to get here if the construction crews weren't blocking every route from the ranch. Heinous planning, scheduling road work during the biggest tourist weekend of the year."
He draws out 'heinous' just enough to make it clear he knows the Mayor personally approved the construction schedule. The wink he adds is pure insolence, the kind of subtle disrespect that can't quite be called out in public.
"Infrastructure improvements benefit everyone," the Mayor says stiffly.
"Eventually," Austin agrees. "When they're finished. What's the timeline on that again? Spring? Summer? Next decade?"
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Austin's playing a dangerous game, but he's doing it with such good-old-boy charm that the Mayor can't call him on it without looking petty. Other organizers are shifting uncomfortably, clearly sensing the tension but unsure how to defuse it.
"We should get the photo," one of them suggests desperately. "For the paper!"
What follows is the most awkward photo session in rodeo history.
The Mayor tries twice more to position himself next to me, and both times Austin smoothly intervenes—once by suggesting I hold the oversized check, once by insisting we needed Luna's other fathers in the photo, which meant calling River over from wherever he'd been watching.
The final photo probably shows Austin and River flanking me protectively while the Mayor hovers at the edge looking like he's sucking on a lemon.
"Thank you all for such a lively evening," Austin says once the photographer's finished. "We're honored to be part of such a long-standing tradition. Even if some folks tried to make it harder for certain people to participate."
The Mayor's face flushes red, but Austin's already turning away, guiding me off the stage with a hand on my lower back.
We make it exactly three steps before Austin leans in close.
"He's about to blow a gasket," he murmurs, and I can hear the satisfaction in his voice.
"The vein on his forehead is literally throbbing," I whisper back, sneaking a glance over my shoulder. Sure enough, the Mayor's standing frozen on stage, hands clenched at his sides, that political smile cracking at the edges. "Think he'll actually explode?"
"One can hope," Austin says cheerfully, waving at someone in the crowd like he doesn't have a care in the world. "Twenty-five grand richer and we made him look like an ass in front of the whole town. I'd call that a successful evening."
The crowd swallows us back up, a buffer between us and whatever the Mayor might want to say if he could get away with it.
But I can feel his stare burning into my back, the weight of his displeasure following us through the barn and out into the cooler night air.
Austin doesn't let go of me until we're well clear of the building, and even then he keeps close, protective in a way that makes my chest warm.
"He's really pissed," I observe, glancing back at the barn where the Mayor's silhouette is visible through the doorway, still standing rigid on the stage.
"Good," Austin says simply. "Maybe next time he'll think twice before weaponizing traditions against people who don't kiss his ass."
The moment we're out of sight of the barn, Austin lets out a whoop that echoes across the parking lot and scoops me up, spinning me around like I weigh nothing.
My boots leave the ground entirely, the skirt of my ruined dress flaring out as fairground lights blur into streamers of color. His joy is infectious, pure and uncomplicated in a way that makes me laugh despite the adrenaline still coursing through my veins from our encounter with the Mayor.
"Best. Rodeo. Ever," he declares, each word punctuated by another spin that has me clutching his shoulders for dear life.
My hat goes flying, landing somewhere in the gravel, but neither of us moves to retrieve it.
"Twenty-five thousand dollars and we made Henrickson look like the jackass he is.
Plus—" He sets me down but keeps his hands on my waist, eyes bright with mischief.
"—you held on to that mechanical bull for eight and a half seconds.
That's longer than most cowboys manage."
"You were timing me?" I'm breathless from the spinning, from his closeness, from the way his fingers press into the silk at my waist like he's memorizing the shape of me.
"'Course I was timing you. Had ten bucks on you lasting at least five seconds. River thought you'd bail at three." His grin turns wicked. "Made forty bucks off Cole who was convinced you'd refuse to try it at all."
The mechanical bull ride feels like hours ago, though it was only—what, an hour before the dancing started?
The whole night blurs together in a haze of sensory overload.
The screaming crowd as the bull bucked and spun.
The way my thighs had clenched tight, dress riding up scandalously as I fought to stay mounted.
Austin's voice cutting through the noise, yelling encouragement while River and Cole watched with expressions I couldn't quite read in the spinning lights.