Page 157 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

Arizona shifts closer. “Was that what you wanted?”

“At the time, it gave me control over the conversation.” I turn my attention toward the pasture. “After a while, being the funny one became easier than working out who I was without them.”

She slides her hand into mine and links our fingers. “You spend every day taking care of everyone around you.”

“Someone has to stop Red from declaring war before breakfast.”

Her thumb moves across my knuckles. “You deserve someone who takes care of you too.”

I start to reach for the joke that usually gets me out of conversations like this, but Arizona steps in before I find one and presses her palm to my cheek.

“You don’t have to make me laugh right now,” she says.

The simple statement unsettles me because she isn’t asking me to perform or make the pain easier for her to handle, and when she rises onto her toes and kisses me, I let her see the part of me I usually keep hidden.

I draw her against me as her fingers grip the back of my shirt. She deepens the kiss, I stop searching for a way to turn it into anything less than what it is.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Arizona

I step onto the rodeo stage as Riley finishes introducing me, and one look at the packed grandstands tells me Colter Creek has turned out in full force.

The annual rodeo has every inch of the grounds buzzing.

Trucks and horse trailers fill the fields outside the gates, campers stretch toward the tree line, and families crowd the bleachers with paper trays piled high with barbecue, funnel cakes, and popcorn.

Kids weave between vendor tents with sticky lemonade cups while barrel racers warm up beyond the arena and broncs stomp inside the chutes waiting for the evening events to begin.

Sammy Brooks marches across the dirt with a clipboard tucked beneath his arm, pointing one crew toward the stock trailers before waving another toward the holding pens.

“Those trailers need moving before the next load comes in,” he calls without breaking stride. “Kane, quit making those kids laugh and help.”

Willy salutes from the fence where he’s entertaining a cluster of children with exaggerated rodeo stories. “I can multitask.”

“I’ve seen you try.”

The kids burst into giggles while Willy hops off the fence and ambles toward the trailers, still talking over his shoulder as though he’d planned to help all along.

Sheriff Hank Miller and two deputies work their way through the crowd, greeting visitors while keeping an eye on the busy walkways. Betty Lou has a line halfway around the church pie booth, with Carrie Jo weaving between customers balancing coffee and paper plates without spilling a drop.

Tommy Jones and Terry Johnson are already arguing beside the feed store display, drawing a crowd of ranchers who seem just as interested in the debate as the products.

“The ribbon should’ve been mine,” Tommy insists.

Terry folds his arms. “Only if they’re judging by stubbornness.”

A few ranchers laugh as Mayor Hannah Richards steps onto the announcer’s platform to welcome everyone before handing the microphone back to Riley.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Riley says, his grin spreading across the arena, “welcome to another Colter Creek Rodeo!”

The grandstands answer with whistles and applause.

“And before we turn a bunch of cowboys loose on livestock with attitude problems, we’ve got somebody you’ve all been asking for.”

He sweeps an arm toward me.

“You’ve heard her at The Silver Bit. Tonight I managed to persuade her to sing under the rodeo lights. Give it up for Arizona McCay.”