God, I love this man.
By the time the last bull rider finishes his run and the announcer thanks everyone for coming out to the Cow Country Rodeo, the fairgrounds are glowing with string lights and the faint hum of country music.
Sawyer’s hand never leaves mine as we weave through the thinning crowd toward the Oktoberfest tent set up at the far end of the lot.
We find Alex, Micah, and Benji already there—cowboy hats tipped back, boots up, laughing over a couple of long-neck beers.
The scent of grilled bratwurst and fried onions fills the air, mixing with the earthy smell of hay and the sharp bite of fall.
“Hey, boss man!”Micah calls, raising his bottle in salute.“You finally made it.”
“Thought you two ran off to elope,” Benji adds with a grin.
Sawyer just shakes his head, pulling out a chair for me before taking the one beside mine.
“We were exploring the local attractions,” he says, smirking at me.
“Uh-huh.Sure you were,” Alex teases.
“Want something, Lil Bit?”Sawyer asks, his tone softer now, eyes lingering on me like I’m the only person in the tent.
“Sure,” I say, scanning the menu board hanging above the bar.“Do they have that German grapefruit beer?The one I liked?”
He nods.“Schöfferhofer.”
I giggle immediately.“Yeah, I ain’t even trying to say that.”
He chuckles, bending down to press a quick, sweet kiss to my lips.
“Be right back.”
“Get us another round while you’re at it, boss,” Micah calls, smirking.
“Yeah,” Benji adds, leaning back in his chair.“Technically, you sign the checks.Might as well buy the beer.”
Sawyer rolls his eyes but waves them off, good-natured.
“Yeah, yeah.Keep talkin’.”
I watch him disappear into the crowd, feeling that little warm tug in my chest I always get when he’s near—but it doesn’t fade even when he’s gone.
It’s like he left a part of himself behind just by smiling at me.
We chat easily while he’s gone—Alex talking about the rodeo stock, Micah joking about entering the chili cook-off next weekend, Benji explaining the logistics of the next bull shipment.
It feels normal.Easy.
Until the low, familiar rumble of engines breaks through the hum of conversation.
My stomach drops.
I try to tell myself it’s nothing—this is a rodeo, after all, and bikes are as common here as trucks—but the sound grows louder.Closer.
I freeze halfway through my sentence.The others notice.
Alex’s eyes flick toward the open tent flap.Benji’s hand tightens around his beer bottle.
Outside, the motorcycles idle for a moment before cutting off, one by one, the kind of synchronized stop that doesn’t belong to casual riders.
