Chapter 24 You Wear the Hat.
You Wear the Hat...
Sawyer
“What do you think?” Allie asks. “You grab the cider, and I’ll snag us a table?”
My eyes bounce around the crowd. There’s a live band playing on the small outdoor stage and couples dancing on the dance floor, while others gather around a few small tables. Kettle corn pops at one booth and the scent of fried food cooking at the food stands makes my mouth water.
I nod. “Sounds good.”
It’s been a week since dancing with Wes, a week since telling him not to stop making dirty promises, and a week since he bailed Allie and me out of jail.
Is it still considered bailing us out when Sheriff Andersen didn’t make him pay a dime?
Since Wes took care of the horses when I was sick, he’s been coming over in the evenings to get some more quality time with Luci. Though I hate to admit it, the black gelding has taken to Wes much more quickly than to me, so he’s been helping more and more with training him this past week.
Having an extra set of hands in the training arena with me has been a welcome change, and watching Wes ride is a sight to see.
It's not only watching the flex and release of his sinuous muscles but the way he comes alive around the horses—his voice soft and low like the wind whispering through the fields or the soft crackle of a fire.
Kids squeal from the corn maze to my left, and a light breeze tickles my neck, making me sigh in contentment. Cottonwood Creek Fall Fest has always been my happy place. You can’t beat a small-town festival.
The weather is finally turning. It happened later than usual this year, and I’m glad the temperature has finally dipped below 60.
I make my way over to the bar that's selling the world’s best hard cider. Or at least the best I’ve ever had. It’s tart and sweet like Allie loves with a decent kick for me.
Once I pay, I grab the two plastic cups of hard cider and pivot toward the stage, only to immediately crash into a familiar broad chest. A sharp breath catches in my throat as firm hands reach out to steady me, but the flimsy cups of cider spill between us.
“Motherfucker,” I hiss out as the cider seeps through my shirt. The warmth of his touch is a direct contrast to the chill of cider hitting my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.
He sighs and shakes his head at me. “You’d better watch that mouth, Red. There are children at this thing.”
"I would, but I don't have a mirror. Guess you’ll have to watch it for me," I quip.
His dark eyes narrow before they drag over me in a slow perusal from head to toe, sending a tingle of awareness through me as warmth floods my core. A crooked smile tugs his lips up at the corner. “Careful, Sawyer. I know exactly what to do with that smart mouth of yours.”
My heart pounds as my teeth saw at my bottom lip. Wes reignites a fire in me I hadn’t realized had burned down to embers. With a few filthy words, the coals stir, and my body is aglow with a need so acute it borders on painful.
He chuckles like he knows exactly what his words do to me and grabs a handful of napkins from the stand, offering them to me. “Well, that shut you up.”
He hasn’t mentioned a thing about me being arrested all week, and I’m thrown a bit off balance by the fact he hasn’t used that moment against me yet. It makes me wonder when that other shoe is going to drop because surely, he’s not going to act like it never happened.
I inhale a shaky breath, recovering from the teasing words that have made me a little weak in the knees. I attempt to soak up the spilled cider from my flannel shirt and jeans. “You’re always surprising me. Your mouth is filthier than mine.”
His eyes twinkle as he smiles. “I aim to please,” he says, tossing me a wink and ordering two more ciders.
He snatches the two nearly empty drinks from my hands, replacing them with the full ones he just ordered.
Then, he casually pours the remaining cider from one cup into the other before bringing it to his lips.
I watch, mesmerized, as his Adam’s apple bobs with every swallow.
“Thanks,” I mutter, wondering if my wit will make a reappearance or if I’m doomed to remain dumb in his presence.
“I’m supposed to meet Tripp over by the pony rides. Wanna join me?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder.
“Are you offering me a ride, cowboy?” I raise my brows suggestively.
His laughter makes a smile spread across my face. “Tripp asked me to help with the free pony rides for the kids this year.” He scratches at the scruff of his short beard. “How about it, Red?”
I swallow down some cider before answering. “Allie’s waiting for me by the stage. I’ll save you and Tripp a spot for whenever your shift is done.”
He nods. “I look forward to it.” And with a tip of his Stetson, he stalks off toward the pony rides and I watch his denim-clad ass as he goes.
The stage lights shine brightly as the temperature dips. Allie and I sing and dance as country music blares from the speakers. The local Brooks & Dunn cover band isn’t half bad and moving and grooving is helping me stay warm.
We abandoned our table over an hour ago for the dance floor right in front of the stage. I keep looking over my shoulder, hoping to find Wes on his way over here. I have no idea how long his shift at the pony rides was, but I’m dying to feel his body pressed close to mine again.
Maybe it’s a bad idea to get too close to Wes.
I don’t know that my efforts to make him want to stay have had any effect.
He’s still bound to leave once the eight weeks are up, but that doesn’t change that my months of abstinence have my body aching in desperation for touch.
And it doesn’t make me want him any less.
I feel the weight of Wes’ stare before I spot him at the edge of the dance floor, watching me. There are dozens of people out here on this dance floor, but he doesn’t spare a single glance for anyone else.
I love when he looks at me like this. Like I’m the only one he sees in a whole crowd of people. His dark gaze eats me up, and I idly wonder when that look in his eyes changed from wanting to kill me to wanting to devour me.
I put my hands above my head and dance, beckoning him over with a wink and a tip of my head.
He makes his way toward me and offers me the cup of cider in his hand.
After all the dancing, I could use a second drink.
I pound it in two deep swallows, and he just shakes his head at me, lips tipping into an amused smile.
“I wasn’t finished drinking that,” he half-shouts in my ear to be heard over the music, and the hot breath that ghosts over my skin makes me shiver.
“I thought you bought it for me.”
He just shrugs and wraps his hand around my waist, settling it at my hip as he sways with me to “Ain’t Nothing ‘Bout You” by Brooks & Dunn. “I’ll buy another one in a bit. I love this song.”
I hum as my arms wind around his neck. “It’s a good one.”
We dance and Wes sings out of tune in my ear, his hands searing through my flannel, imprinting themselves on my skin like a brand.
I don’t want the moment to end, don’t want the band to stop playing.
I just want to live in his arms for a while longer.
It’s a ridiculous desire. One that shows just how touch starved I am.
Wes’ hands don’t leave me when the song ends.
They stay planted on my hips, and all I can think about is how I want him to touch me rougher.
Harder. I want to feel his fingertips dig into my flesh.
I want the scrape of his beard on my sensitive skin.
I want to feel every inch of him pressed against every piece of me.
Wes pulls me away from the crowd after a few more dances, nodding to a few people as we walk past them.
“Where are we going?” I ask once we’re far enough from the speakers to be heard.
“I need another drink.” He keeps hold of my hand, fingers threading through mine like he’s not thinking twice about it, even with an entire town’s prying eyes on us. He orders himself another cider and me, a water, since I’ve met my two-drink limit and drops my hand to grab his wallet and pay.
With our drinks in hand, he glances down at me, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. The gold flecks in his hazel eyes catch the light, smoldering with a heat that's almost tangible. The intensity of his gaze sends a slow, simmering warmth through me.
I take a long sip of my water, hoping to cool the sudden dryness in my throat and follow him through the line of food stands, my pulse thrumming in time with the music around us.
“Even Fall Fest hasn’t changed,” he mumbles into his plastic cup.
“Do you hate that it’s all the same?” I ask, curious.
He looks up at the night sky decorated by tiny pinpricks of light. “No, I don’t hate it. In a way, it's comforting that so little has changed. But being back here feels a little strange. Like I’m a completely different person than I was last time I was here.”
We’re meandering back toward the stage slowly. I’m not sure I want to go back into the crowd yet, so I grab his hand and pull him to a stop near the corn maze entrance.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You just did,” he says, the dimple in his left cheek popping.
I roll my eyes. “You’re not as clever as you think you are.”
“Go ahead and ask. The worst I’ll do is not answer.”
“You haven’t brought up how you had to bail me out of jail.”
He cocks his head to the side, pausing for a beat before saying, “That’s not a question.”
I groan in exasperation. “Why haven’t you brought it up?”
“Was I supposed to?” His brow knots in confusion.
“I figured you’d rub it in my face or tell me how dumb it was or grumble about it more.”
He barks out a laugh. “Honestly, Red? I couldn't care less what you do to some asshole that hurt your friend. Chase deserved it, and you didn’t really destroy his property. You just inconvenienced him a bit. Was it reckless? A bit wild? Yeah. But I think that’s what I like about you.”
“Huh. I didn’t see that coming.” I’d pegged Wes as a guy who would look down on the wild child that still lived inside me. But here he is, telling me he likes it.
Wes finishes his drink and tosses the cup into the trash can. “You’d better buckle up, buttercup. I’m full of surprises.”
Lord have mercy.
“We’re friends or something, aren’t we?” I ask, tucking a stray hair behind my ear.
He studies me. “Or something.”
The way he’s looking at me is nearly obscene, and I can’t help myself when I snag the Stetson off the top of his head and plop it down on my own. “As a friend, or something, I feel obligated to tell you that your singing is absolutely horrendous.”
I’m taunting him with his hat on my head, seeing just how far he’s willing to let this go between us.
We both know the rule. You wear the hat. You ride the cowboy. Well, I’m wearing his hat, and I’m dying to see exactly what Wes Dawson is going to do about it, desperate to find out what other surprises he has up his sleeve tonight.
Fire sparks in his eyes, and he gives me a dark smirk, eyeing the Stetson on my head. “You’d better run, Red, ‘cause once I catch you, I might not let you go.”