Chapter 11 Rodeo Nights & Reckless Choices
Chapter eleven
Rodeo Nights & Reckless Choices
Cash
The rodeo grounds smell like fried dough, manure, and competition, all tangled up in a haze of dust and nostalgia. The air buzzes with the whinny of horses, the clang of gates, and the distant thump of country music pumping from the loudspeakers.
Kids squeal with laughter, announcers bark into the mic, and boots crunch over gravel and hay. It’s the kind of chaos I usually thrive in. But not tonight. Not with Avery here. Not when every inch of space feels too damn small.
She’s ahead of me in line for funnel cake, laughing at something Harper said, and all I can focus on is how close she’s standing to the guy at the booth. Too close. My fists clench around the Styrofoam cup of Dr Pepper I’m holding, condensation slick beneath my fingers.
We all came together, Emmy, Harper, and a couple of the ranch hands I brought along to make it a "group thing." Safety in numbers or whatever. But somehow, I keep ending up next to Avery, like fate thinks it’s funny to shove us into every confined space available.
“Y’all look like a divorced couple trying to split visitation at a county fair,” Harper quips as we all squeeze into the bleachers.
Avery doesn’t even glance at me. Just mutters something about popcorn and takes a seat two spaces down. Emmy plops between us, her little legs swinging over the edge, cotton candy in hand. I should be relieved. But I’m not.
Emmy looks up at me, her cheeks smeared with sugar and excitement. “Cash, did you see the pony with the sparkly saddle?”
I smile despite myself. “I missed it. Was it pink and glittery?”
She nods so hard her curls bounce. “Yes! And it had a braid just like mine!”
Avery glances over, surprised, as Emmy leans against my side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I offer her the rest of my Dr Pepper. She takes a sip, scrunches her nose, and giggles. “Tastes like bubbles and syrup.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I tease, reaching over to ruffle her hair.
She beams, and something in my chest gives way.
Damn kid’s got me wrapped tighter than a lassoed calf.
It hits me in a way I’m not ready for, the ease with which she trusts me, the way her smile makes the rest of the world fade.
I never saw myself as the settling-down type, but one look at Emmy, and suddenly, that kind of life doesn’t seem so far-fetched.
Forced proximity is supposed to be tolerable. Bearable. But being this close to her after everything? It’s like trying to hold your breath through a wildfire.
I lean forward, elbows on knees, pretending to focus on the bronc rider in the ring. The crowd roars as the gate flies open, the horse bucking and twisting like it’s got something to prove. I get it. I feel like that horse. Contained fury and nowhere to put it.
Avery’s laugh cuts through the cheers. Not at me. Not for me. But it still hits like a sucker punch.
“You okay?” Mace nudges me with his elbow.
“Peachy,” I lie, sipping my drink.
He follows my gaze and snorts. “You could at least try to hide it. Half the county can see what’s going on between you two.”
“There’s nothing going on,” I say, too quickly.
Mace raises an eyebrow. “Sure there isn’t.”
Before I can answer, Avery stands. “Emmy, you want to go see the ponies?”
Emmy nods, face sticky with sugar and sunshine, and grabs her mom’s hand. I watch them walk off, that ache settling deep in my chest again. Like something I never had but still managed to lose.
Harper slides into the spot beside me, munching on kettle corn. “You’re brooding. It’s not a good look. Very tragic cowboy.”
“I’m not brooding.”
“You’re staring at her like she just ran over your dog.”
I glare. “What do you want, Harper?”
She shrugs. “Just checking in. You going to do something about it or keep playing the strong, silent type until she leaves again?”
That hits a nerve.
“She said she doesn’t need me,” I say.
Harper chuckles. “And you believed her? Cash, she screamed it loud enough to echo off the barn. That’s not someone who’s done. That’s someone who’s scared.”
I don’t answer. I don’t have one. Because she might be scared, but so am I. And what we’ve got between us? It’s not simple. It never was.
The sun dips lower, casting long shadows over the arena. Somewhere behind us, fireworks are getting ready. Somewhere ahead, a future I can’t quite picture is waiting, clouded with regret and maybe, just maybe, a sliver of hope.
And as the next bull rider climbs into the chute, adrenaline buzzing through the stands, I know one thing for sure:
This night isn’t over. And neither is she.
Avery returns about fifteen minutes later, Emmy still skipping alongside her, sticky fingers now gripping a plush stuffed horse. They settle back into the bleachers just as the next round of barrel racing begins, and for a moment, everything almost feels normal.
Until Melissa shows up.
She’s wearing skin-tight jeans and a top that leaves little to the imagination. Her lipstick’s fresh, her smile calculated, and she makes a beeline straight for me like she hasn’t already caused enough trouble.
“Cash,” she purrs, placing a manicured hand on my shoulder. “Didn’t think I’d see you out tonight. Still chasing wild mares?”
Avery freezes mid-laugh, her head snapping toward us like she just heard a gunshot. Harper arches a brow and mutters something under her breath that I’m pretty sure rhymes with “witch.”
I shift under Melissa’s touch, uncomfortable as hell. “Melissa. It’s a public rodeo. Not exactly hard to find people.”
She leans in, her voice dropping an octave. “You should stop by later. I’ve still got your sweatshirt.”
I grit my teeth and step back, just enough to break her grip. “Pretty sure you can donate it.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Avery standing up. Not stomping off, not making a scene. Just slowly rising with Emmy’s hand clutched in hers, her shoulders squared and face unreadable.
But I know that look.
That’s the look of someone who just got confirmation of every worst assumption she’s made about you.
Damn it.
Melissa finally gets the hint and backs off with a flirty wave. My jaw tightens, pulse still racing, not from her, but from the way Avery looked at me just now.
Like I was exactly the man she expected me to be, the wrong one. And that guts me more than I want to admit. I’m not that guy anymore. Hell, I’m not sure I ever was. But convincing her of that? Might be the hardest damn thing I’ve ever tried to do. “Your loss, cowboy.”
Harper, now officially on a mission, nudges me hard enough to spill half my drink. “Smooth. Real smooth.”
“I didn’t ask for that.”
“No,” she says. “But you didn’t stop it fast enough either.”
I want to chase after Avery. To explain. But how do you explain something that didn’t happen, yet still hurts just as much?
I turn back toward the arena, heart pounding and throat dry.
Because even though I didn’t touch Melissa, Avery saw enough to think I wanted to. And that? That stings worse than any bull ride ever could.
I don’t see Avery for the rest of the night.
Not at the snack stands. Not by the stables. Not even during the final fireworks when everyone else gathers close and tips their hats to the booming sky.
She’s gone. Vanished like smoke.
I check my phone. Nothing. Not a message. Not a missed call. Even Harper shrugs when I ask if she’s seen her.
"Left early," she mutters. "Said she had a headache."
Bullshit. Avery Blake doesn’t run from headaches. She runs when she’s hurt.
I drive back to the ranch alone, the truck cab too damn quiet. The headlights cut through the gravel driveway like a spotlight on regret. Emmy’s tricycle sits half-tipped on the porch. Lights are off inside the house.
Still no sign of her.
I head for the bunkhouse, but I don’t sleep. I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant creak of the windmill and the occasional soft whinny of the horses.
Next morning, she’s in the barn, brushing down Dusty like the world hasn’t shifted. Her back is straight, jaw tight, and when she glances at me, the look is pure frost.
“Morning,” I say.
She doesn’t answer.
I lean against the stall door, arms crossed. "Look, about last night—"
"You don't owe me anything," she cuts in, voice flat.
"I wasn’t with her."
"Didn’t say you were."
I step forward, closing the space. "But you thought it."
She finally looks at me. Really looks. For a second, I let myself hope, that maybe she sees more than just the guy who let her down. Maybe she sees the man who wishes like hell he could take it all back and start fresh.
The one who wants more than anything to be someone she can count on.. Her eyes are tired, wary. "I thought a lot of things. Doesn’t mean they matter."
But they do. I see it in the way her hands tremble, how her voice strains to stay level. It matters more than she wants to admit.
I want to reach for her. Tell her the only sweatshirt I care about is the one she wore last weekend that still smells like strawberries and sunshine. But I don’t. Because I don’t know if she’d believe me.
So instead, I step back.
"If you ever want to talk… you know where to find me."
She nods, barely.
And just like that, another wall goes up between us. Built from silence, misunderstanding, and everything we’re too scared to say.
Later that night, back at the rodeo for night two of the finals, the crowd starts shifting toward the concession area where a local band tunes up under a string of lights.
Emmy is with Harper, dancing around in her boots like she owns the dirt beneath her feet. Avery hangs to the side, arms crossed, watching her daughter with a soft look that stirs something deep in me.
I make my way over, just as one of the ranchers from a neighboring spread sidles up beside her. Chad Lawson. Loud, arrogant, and dumb enough to think charm is a wink and a beer.
"Didn’t expect to see a city girl stickin’ it out this long," he drawls, gaze not-so-subtly sweeping down her body. "Thought you’d have run back to high-rises and takeout by now."
Avery stiffens, lips parting like she’s about to deliver one of her patented comebacks, but I beat her to it.
"Watch your mouth, Chad."
He turns, clearly surprised I’m standing there. "Just making conversation. Didn’t know she came with a bodyguard."
I take a step closer. "She came with my respect. Which is more than I can say for you."
The music kicks up behind us, but I don’t flinch. Neither does Chad. We just stand there, tension thick enough to rope.
Avery clears her throat. "It’s fine, Cash."
"No, it’s not," I say, eyes still locked on Lawson. "You don’t talk to her like that. Not now. Not ever."
He scoffs, raises his hands in mock surrender. "Damn. Didn’t mean to ruffle feathers. You two have fun playing house."
He strolls off without another word, and I finally look at Avery. Her eyes are wide. Surprised. Maybe a little impressed.
"Thanks," she says, voice soft.
I nod. "He was out of line."
We’re both silent for a moment, the lights from the bandstand flickering across her features, giving her this golden glow that makes it impossible to look away.
She takes a step forward. "You didn’t have to do that."
"Yeah, I did."
A breeze picks up, carrying the faint scent of fried food and hay. Music spills into the air, a slow, sultry country ballad that doesn’t quite match the thundering of my heart.
She tips her chin up. "Come with me."
I follow her behind the horse barn, away from the lights and crowd of the rodeo, into the shadowed corridor between storage stalls and tack rooms. It’s quiet here. The only sound is the distant twang of a steel guitar and the soft rasp of her breath.
She turns to face me, eyes locked on mine. Her breath catches, just for a second, and I feel mine do the same. Every nerve in my body goes tight, like I'm waiting for a gate to fly open.
I don’t move. I don’t speak. I just hold her gaze, hoping like hell she sees the truth in mine.
"I’m done fighting you, done pretending I don’t feel everything I do. I hate that you got under my skin. I hate that you are so fucking gorgeous I can’t stop watching you. I hate that I care. But I do. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t.
I reach out, brushing a piece of wind-tossed hair from her cheek. "Then stop pretending."
She doesn’t hesitate. She grabs the front of my shirt, pulls me in, and kisses me like she means it.
It’s not soft. It’s not careful. It’s months of tension snapping in an instant. Her hands fist in my collar, my arms wrap around her waist, and the world tilts on its axis.
My back hits the door of the storage room and she presses against me, lips fierce and searching. I taste her frustration, her confusion, her desire, and I give all of it back.
When we finally break apart, both of us breathless and a little stunned, she stares at me like she’s just crossed some kind of line.
"I shouldn’t have done that," she whispers.
"Want me to pretend it didn’t happen?" I say with a smirk.
She hesitates. Then shakes her head slowly. "No. I want to do it again."
And this time, when she kisses me, it’s slower. Deeper. Like maybe we’re both starting to believe in something neither of us wanted to admit. Fireworks from the Rodeo are going off overhead like a sign.
Maybe, just maybe, we’re done fighting this thing between us. She turns and looks at me and says, "so, what are you going to do with me now?"