Page 13 of July’s Cowboy Dallas

“We're done here,” he said.

I made it all the way to the truck before my cheeks heated and the sting of embarrassment hit.

Dallas had seen that. Seen Holt try to box me in. Seen Roy dismiss me like I was just some hysterical girl trying to make trouble. Seen the machinery of my family up close, all the pressure and expectation and silent demands.

I yanked the truck door open harder than necessary.

“You didn't have to say anything in there,” I said.

Dallas stopped next to his truck, his hand on the door handle. “I know.”

That irritated me more. Because he wasn't apologizing for backing me, but he also wasn't making it about himself.

“This is exactly why I didn't want you involved,” I said. “Hollisters pull people into their mess and make them choose sides.”

“I already picked where I'm standing.”

I looked at him.

He looked back, calm and certain, like that was the simplest thing in the world.

Something low in my stomach pulled tight.

“Don't say things like that,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Because—” I stopped. Because I didn't have an answer that wouldn't give too much away. Because Dallas was supposed to be safe. The one person who didn't expect anything from me except honesty. And that was exactly why he was dangerous.

Dallas waited. When I didn't finish, he nodded once and climbed into his truck.

I watched him drive away, dust rising behind his tires, and told myself the tightness in my chest was just anger at my uncle.

It wasn't. I knew it wasn't. But I had a lot of practice overlooking things I didn’t want to tackle yet, and Dallas Miller was going on that list until further notice.

The rodeo grounds felt different when I got back. The Fourth of July event was two days out, and the setup was in full swing. Banners stretched across the main arena. Sponsor booths lined the walkways. Volunteers hauled sound equipment and hay bales.

The rodeo grounds were full of people trying to make the weekend look effortless, but Addison Blake was the only one actually pulling it off. She stood near the rodeo queen's trailer, her crown glinting in the sun, her sash perfectly positioned, with a smile bright enough to make people forget she'd been on her feet for hours. She was surrounded by junior contestants, all wide eyes and nerves, and she was talking to them like they were the only people in the world. I knew Addison well enough to see the strain underneath.

When she looked up and caught sight of me, the smile turned real. She excused herself from the girls and headed my way, her heels somehow not sinking in the dirt.

“Before you say you’re fine, your face is doing that thing,” Addison said with another smile.

I sighed. “What thing?”

“The thing where you look calm, but only because you’re mentally deciding which Hollister to bite first.”

“I don’t bite.”

“Sadie.” She cocked her head and bit back a grin.

“Fine. I rarely bite.”

Addison nodded. “Let me guess… Hollisters?”

“Hollisters.”

“So not one person to bite. Several.”