Page 51 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

Stepping back, I gestured to the fence, trying to rein in the grin tugging at my lips. “Come here. If I sit you up there, you can see the entire property—all of mine and Kline’s.”

She shook her head, drawing her mouth into a tight line as her teeth caught her bottom lip. “No. I’m fine right here.”

My eyebrows furrowed, then released. “Are you⁠—”

She took a step back, cutting me off with a sharp shake of her head.

“Anywho,” she said quickly, the shift so obvious it made me want to press her even more. “Who takes care of the animals when you’re gone on the weekends?”

My mouth twitched like it wanted to betray me, but I ignored it and leaned against the fence. “I’ve got a ranch hand who helps out,” I said, watching her closely.

She was trying hard to change the subject, but the flush on her cheeks told me I’d already gotten under her skin.

“And what do you, like, do all day long? When you’re not at events?” she asked, tilting her head as we walked, her eyes lingering on mine longer than necessary.

“Are you calling me lazy, Cowgirl?” My tone was mock offended as I widened my eyes in exaggerated shock.

Her mouth twitched before she giggled, a sound so sweet, soft, and full of life it made me pause for half a second.

“No,” she said with a playful lilt. “Well . . .” She bit her lip as if considering.

“Careful now.”

She grinned.

“I work the ranch, train with the bulls, check on the animals. There’s always something that needs fixing or tending to.”

Her gaze flicked to the pastures, then back to me. “So, cowboy stuff.”

I chuckled. “Pretty much. It’s not all eight-second rides and belt buckles, you know. A lot of it is hauling feed and fixing fences.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So glamorous.”

“Very,” I deadpanned, though the grin tugging at my mouth probably ruined the effect. “You should try it sometime. Might suit you.”

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth quirked up. “I think I’ll stick to watching.”

“Though I don’t see myself as a cowboy. I’m a bull rider, through and through. Maybe one day, when I retire, I’ll be a cowboy and actually tend to the ranch full-time.”

I gestured for her to keep walking, and we made our way along the fence, the bulls grazing lazily on the other side. Her sneakers kicked up dirt as we trudged through the grass.

“You’re kind of old to be a bull rider. I looked up your stats.”

I bumped her hip lightly with mine, making her laugh as she stumbled slightly.

She tucked her hands deeper into her jacket pockets, her nose turning pink from the wind. But her shoulders were loose, her posture relaxed, so I kept walking with her, matching her easy pace.

“I’m serious,” she said, laughing again. “I was doing research and listening to podcasts on the way down. A lot of bull riders don’t make it past their thirties. Most of them retire much younger and move on to something else.”

I grinned at her curiosity, but there was a pang of truth in her words. “Yeah, well, I guess I’ve always been a little stubborn. Still feels like I’ve got a few good years left.”

“Stubborn?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “I never would’ve guessed.”

The sarcasm in her voice was hard to miss, and I laughed as we kept walking.

“My dad is my coach. He works with Dalton and me.”

“Is Dalton your brother?”