The line moves at a steady rate. Striker Western Gear is pushing people through, intent on getting that entry form filled out so they can send us promotional emails and announce future opportunities to meet the cowboys they sponsor. I catch sight of the cowboys manning it—local champions and NFR qualifiers, just like the sign promised. And one of them...
One of them makes me forget that I shouldn’t want the taste of an eight second heartbreak, especially the cowboy kind that comes laced with tabasco sauce.
He's standing to our left, rodeo royalty holding court in a small crowd gathered around him, and my stomach drops straight to my boots.
"Whoa," Jessica breathes, following my gaze. "That's the bull rider, Wyatt Halloway."
Tall for a bull rider—probably six feet—lean muscle filling out his button-down shirt and Wrangler jeans like every girl’s dream. Beneath the brim of his hat, wavy brown hair catches the afternoon sun. And even from this distance, those storm-colored eyes stand out—eyes that have probably been breaking hearts since he was old enough to ride a horse.
"You know him?" I ask quickly, before I get distracted and break my rodeo rule. Of course I’ve heard the name before, but somehow, I missed that face and those shoulders…
"Know of him. He's ranked third in the world standings, headed to Vegas for the NFR if he stays healthy." Jessica sighs wistfully. "And he's gorgeous—obviously."
"Is the date with him?" I crane my neck to look around the people in front of us.
"Nah. It's with Jake Morrison."
Bareback rider.
"Look at Wyatt's fan club." She nods just enough to send my attention that way.
The tent is packed with people—older men discussing the good ol' days, younger ones asking about training techniques, and women—lots of women. All of them hoping for a moment of Wyatt’s attention, a smile, maybe a photo.
Someone saunters past us folks in line and right up to Wyatt. Stunning in that deliberate way, with platinum blonde hair in perfect beach waves, clear olive skin, and enough turquoise on her fingers to fund a small ranch. She touches his arm as she tilts her head.
"We should catch up after the rodeo," she's saying, loud enough for everyone within the vicinity to hear.
She's also marking her territory as obviously as a mare pinning her ears in a pasture.
We're closer to the front of the line now and from where I'm standing, I can see Wyatt's profile. His smile is cocky, but it somehow works for him.
Ugh. I roll my eyes. What am I doing in this line?
"If it works out," he says, his voice carrying that smooth cowboy drawl that probably melts hearts from here to Texas.
I huff. He’s polite. Courteous, even. And completely noncommittal.
Her full lips part in a smile. "Cool. I’ll look for you.” She adjusts her bag on her shoulder. “Maybe we could do dinner again sometime. I'm here all week."
"Maybe," Wyatt says, his tone warm but carefully neutral. "Course, this week's pretty packed with competition and sponsor obligations. You know how it is."
I should look away. This is none of my business. But I can't stop staring at the choreography of it all—the way he pulls her in, gives her just enough attention to be polite without promises, borderline arrogant yet charming, and somehow distant enough to leave her wanting more.
It's a performance. A good one I'll give him that, but still a performance.
And for some reason, that irritates me more than his obvious appeal—and I work in politics.
He's playing a role—the available bachelor, the charming cowboy, the perfect sponsorship contestant. Every gesture is designed to maintain his public image without committing to something—or someone. It's smart business. Keep the fans happy, the sponsors satisfied,the money flowing.
"He's really working it, isn't he?" Jessica murmurs beside me.
"It's all an act," I say, surprised by my annoyed tone. I absently take another bite of my apple.
"Maybe. Or maybe he's just good at his job." She gives me a sideways look.
I chew the apple and glance at the cowboy, but I don’t taste anything. All I can feel is the heat buzzing through my body.
I'm reacting to him, and I can't explain why.