Page 6 of You Fall First

What pretty lady? Is the hot cowboy talking about me?

“I’m not Dutton!” The boy stomps one foot, his small boot kicking up dust. “I’m Woody!”

“Right. Woody. Sorry, partner. I forgot.”

“You’re my favorite deputy!” the boy crows.

“Ah.” A smile tugs at my lips. “So you two like Toy Story, huh?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the man says. “Well, he sure does.” He straightens and removes his hat, and I finally get a glimpse of his face.

My heart stutters to a halt.

I’m transported back to last summer, in my pre-Oliver era, when I was at a surprise party with a gorgeous specimen of a man who sported the same chocolate brown eyes, the same dark beard, the same unruly hair.

Noah Stadler.

He’s Dex’s friend. We were with a group in the back room of a restaurant for hours. Plenty of time to connect. I found out that he’s a physical therapist. That he works at Havenwood, a local memory care facility. No ring on his finger, so I tried flirting with him, but he barely gave me the time of day. Or night, for that matter.

At the time, I wasn’t even shocked. Being ignored was par for the course in my love life, and also the last straw. In fact, Noah Stadler is the reason I finally caved to pressure and made a profile on Swipe Rite.

Enter my Oliver era. Then my post-Oliver era.

“Hey, there.” Noah smiles at me now, and my stomach swirls like I’m on a pommel horse. “Little Michaels, right?” he asks.

Oh, man.

Where’s that stupid time machine when I need it?

Chapter Two

Noah

Chasing a four-year-old cowboy around a petting zoo was not on my mid-thirties Bingo card. I guess it could’ve been in today’s horoscope, if I read that kind of stuff. But I don’t play Bingo or believe in astrology. So yeah. Here we are.

And here’s a thing I didn’t know about Dexter’s sister until my nephew crashed into her:

Little Michaels is pretty.

Like really pretty.

She also handled getting bulldozed by Dutton like a champ, and when she smiled at him afterward, I clocked a couple dimples. Strong and sweet?

Nice combo.

“I didn’t know you had a son,” she blurts, and her cheeks pink up. The dimples are gone, and I want them back.

“I don’t.” I hitch my shoulders. “This particular human tornado is my nephew. Dutton.”

“I’m Woody!” he howls. “Stop forgetting!”

Shoving my hat back on my head, I squat down to talk to him at eye level. “Sorry, partner. These boots are so tight, I think they’re cutting off blood flow to my brain. Maybe …”

Dutton’s eyes go wide. “Maybe what?”

“There’s a snake in my boot,” I drawl. Then I glance up at Dexter’s little sister. “Sorry. That’s my best attempt at a Toy Story imitation, and for the record, I’m aware it’s not great.”

Dutton busts into giggles anyway.