Page 17 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

“Perfect,” I muttered, stuffing it back into my pocket.

With a polite smile plastered on my face, I weaved my way through the area, stepping around boots, gear bags, and groups of people deep in conversation. No one paid me any attention, and no one offered to help as I moved toward what I hoped was the way back.

My heart rate picked up, that familiar prickle of anxiety crawling under my skin. I forced myself to take a deep breath. One step at a time, Fable. Just one step at a time.

I pushed open the fabric curtain and stepped into a maze of hallways. I’d spent months going backstage for this event, learning the layout, but somehow, this part looked completely unfamiliar. There weren’t bulls in holding areas when I was here last time. We spent most of the time on the other side of the event space and upstairs by the doors. These were endless corridors that all looked the same.

“Fuck,” I muttered, pulling out my phone again. I held it up, hoping that by some miracle, a signal might magically appear. Nothing.

BAM.

“Shit,” I grumbled, stumbling backward, rubbing my shoulder. Twice in one day?

I looked up at the person I’d crashed into, blinking in surprise. He wasn’t particularly tall—definitely under six feet—but he was built solid, with broad shoulders and a thick, impressive mustache. His hair was plastered to his forehead, damp from sweat, but his expression was easy, amused even, as he stepped back and gave me a crooked smile.

“Baby, I need some pillows to sleep on tonight.” He had a deep voice, and his tone was low and suggestive.

I froze, blinking at him. “What the fuck?”

His grin widened, and he pointed to my shirt. I glanced down, and heat rushed to my face. Cowboy Pillows. I’d completely forgotten I was wearing it, my jacket tied around my waist leaving the bold letters on full display. Suddenly, all those stares in the fabric-curtained backstage area made sense.

“Fuck me,” I grumbled, yanking my jacket up from around my waist and hastily putting it on.

His mustache twitched slightly as he crossed his arms and chuckled.

“No,” I snapped, cutting him off before he could say anything else. “I’m lost, and no.”

“Alright, alright,” he said, raising his hands in surrender, though his grin stayed firmly in place. “Where you headed, Cowgirl? Tryin’ to find yourself a bull rider tonight?”

“No,” I shot back. “Can’t you tell? I’m cosplaying as a cowgirl, not a real one. What the hell would I need a cowboy for?”

His smirk deepened, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Good thing I’m not a cowboy, then. I just like to ride something that bucks, baby.”

“Same thing.”

He chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “Not really, but I’ll let you have that one.”

“Ugh, you’re no help,” I muttered, glancing around for any sign of where I needed to go. “I’ll find my way back.”

“Suit yourself,” he called after me. “If you get lost again, I’ll be here. Ridin’ bulls and savin’ cosplaying cowgirls.”

I didn’t look back, but his laugh followed me as I stomped off, hoping I was headed the right way.

5

Beau

“Yo, Beau, did you see a chick wearing a shirt that says cowboy pillows, sparkly boots?” Dalton ran out of the area we were staged in.

The event was over, so most of the guys had already changed and were heading to their hotels. It was a one-day event, and we had a few days before we had to turn around and head to Idaho next week.

“Yeah, she headed that way.” I pointed behind me, and Dalton cursed under his breath.

“Fuck. There’s a hot Snow White–looking girl back there that threatened to chop my balls off if I didn’t bring her back to the group.”

“Oh shit. She’s not a buckle bunny? I thought she got lost.”

Dalton scrunched his eyebrows. “Did she look like one? Come on, she looked like she was going on a trip to Nashville. At least the buckle bunnies have some fucking respect with their clothes.”