Page 64 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

I barely had time to process before my gaze lifted—and found his.

He stood at the head of the table, one hand resting on the back of a chair, the other holding a folded napkin he hadn’t bothered to set down. His deep, brown eyes locked onto mine, the teasing glint in them darkening. He dragged his gaze over me, unhurried and knowing, before flicking his eyes back to meet mine.

Heat coiled in my stomach.

I should’ve looked away. I didn’t.

He was all raw masculinity—broad chest straining against his shirt, worn jeans hugging thick thighs. It was the way he carried himself that got me—that cocky smirk, the slow drag of his tongue over his lip, the way his strong hands gripped the chair. My thighs clenched on instinct.

I swallowed hard and finally forced myself to look away before I gave too much away. But hell, with a man like that in front of me, looking was unavoidable.

Wanting? Even worse.

“Done talking about me, Cowgirl?” He teased as Harleigh and I pulled out the two chairs across from him and Dalton. Gatlin was at the end of the table, and Roger was on the opposite side, farthest from me.

“Harleigh was just showing me her room. I haven’t been here before.”

The corner of his mustache twitched, and my stomach dipped. I dropped my gaze to my plate, suddenly finding it way too interesting.

“What’s for dinner, Roger?” I blurted, desperate to shift the conversation.

He nodded toward the platters on the table. “Smoked some pork this afternoon. Harleigh helped set everything up.”

Harleigh stood, grabbing the serving dishes as the guys made room on the table. She set down a tray of pulled pork, followed by a bowl of mashed potatoes and a dish of roasted vegetables.

“Y’all dig in,” she said, settling back into her seat.

I reached for the mashed potatoes, Beau in my peripheral vision. He was sitting across from me, rolling his shoulders back, taking his sweet time fixing his plate. His jaw ticked as he listened to Roger and Dalton go back and forth about the genetics of a bull Dalton had ridden last weekend.

“Damn thing spun me so hard I swear I saw my past life before I hit the dirt.”

Roger laughed, cutting into his food. “That’s ’cause you leaned too soon. You always do that.”

“He does that ’cause he gets cocky,” Beau said, tearing off a piece of bread. “Thinks he’s got it in the first three seconds and forgets there’s five more to go.”

Dalton shot him a glare, but it was all in good fun. “Yeah? I don’t remember you making the full ride either, big shot.”

Beau just smirked, taking a slow bite, chewing like he had all the time in the world. “Yeah, but I didn’t land on my ass.”

Laughter rippled around the table, but I barely heard it.

I was paying attention to him.

The way his hand wrapped around his fork, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, the way he never looked in my direction while he talked.

That’s when I felt it.

Something nudging against my foot.

I glanced down, expecting to see a dog or maybe even a cat wandering under the table, but there was nothing.

I felt it again.

Beau’s boot.

My breath hitched, my eyes snapping up to his, but he wasn’t looking at me.

Didn’t say anything.