Micah mutters, “Jesus Christ.”
“Exactly,” I say, my tone sharp.“I had that bastard in my grip the night they ambushed the truck, but I didn’t know it was him.He slipped away.So now?—”
“Now you want extra security here, especially when we’re out on runs,” Micah finishes, voice all business now.
The joking edge is gone, replaced by the soldier in him.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding.“Exactly that.”
Benji leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes steady on mine.
“Then that’s what we’ll do.”
And right then, I know—beyond any doubt—that I picked the right partners for this place.This ranch.
We’re not just friends.
We’re brothers.
And anyone who comes for what’s ours—our land, our business, or the woman I can’t stop thinking about—is gonna regret ever stepping foot in Barren County.
That’s a promise I guarantee.
Chapter 20-Bit
If you’d told me a month ago I’d be spending my Saturday afternoon at something called theCow Country Rodeo, I probably would’ve laughed and asked if it came with subtitles.
But here I am—boots, braid, and a little sundress under Sawyer’s old flannel—standing at the Barren County Fairgrounds surrounded by cowboys, cattle, and more denim than I’ve ever seen in one place.
And I’m grinning like a fool.
It’s one of those perfect October days—warm sun, crisp breeze, the smell of hay and fried dough mixing in the air.
People are everywhere.Families, ranch hands, tourists, and real-deal rodeo riders showing off their best hats and biggest smiles.
“Crowd’s bigger than I remember,” Sawyer says beside me, tipping his hat against the sun.
“Is that code forlet’s leave before someone ropes me into competing?””I tease, nudging him with my elbow.
He gives me that lazy, sideways grin that should be illegal.
“I don’t compete, Lil Bit.I raise champion bulls, I don’t ride them, remember?”
“Uh-huh,” I drawl.“You just keep tellin’ yourself that, cowboy.But I saw the way your eyes lit up when that bronc rider hit the gate.I feel like maybe there’s a fighter inside you wants to show off his stuff.”
He chuckles low.“That was admiration, not temptation.And the only showing off I want to do is when we’re home alone.”
“Keep saying things like that and we’ll have to leave, cowboy.”
“I’m good with that,” he drawls, gaze smoldering as he watches me.
“Not yet, hotshot,” I say sweetly.“You promised me we’d check out the food trucks.But I should warn you, I’m only here for the chocolate.”
Which, to be fair, might not be a total lie.
He barks out a laugh but really—oh my sweet baby Jesus—it’s true.
Devil’s Food Bakeryhas a truck here!
