Two
A SMART MAN DON'T CHASE WHAT AIN'T RUNNING TOWARD HIM.
KINSLEY
"I don't like men who play games," I say.
"Good thing you're not playing them, then." Jessica's grin turns wicked. "I want to see if he's as pretty up close."
"Jessica—"
But she's already pulling me forward. I allow her to because I don’t want to stare at a cowboy while he flirts with a woman who's everything I'm not. The largest group in the line finally moves on and we advance ten more feet.
As we get closer, I catch more of his conversation with the sponsors and fans surrounding him. He's intelligent—that's clear from the way he discusses training techniques. He knows his business, respects the traditions, understands the politics of professional rodeo. But there's somethingelse there too, something that flickers across his expression when he thinks no one's looking.
Something that looks like exhaustion.
Despite every instinct I have that tells me to walk away, despite knowing exactly what kind of man he appears to be, I find myself wanting to know what put that shadow behind his eyes.
Which is exactly the kind of thinking that gets smart women into stupid situations.
"Kinsley Rose," I mutter under my breath, "you are in serious trouble."
We end up close enough to the cowboys for the details to sharpen. Based on the easy way they're ribbing each other, they're good friends, maybe even traveling buddies.
"I still can't believe I agreed to this," the bareback rider, Jake, is saying, gesturing toward the contest booth. “After your experience in Denver, I swore I wouldn’t."
"It wasn’t the worst thing in the world," Wyatt says, shooting a glance toward the blonde who's finally moved on to charming a sponsor. "I just didn’t need what she was offering."
Wyatt glances in our direction, and for a split second, our eyes meet. The impact hits me like a green horse's first buck—unexpected, breathtaking, dangerous. He looks away first, but not before I catch his interest.
"A smart man don't chase what ain't running toward him," his voice is lower now.
"Fair enough." Jake snorts, apparently hearing the conversation-closed signal as clearly as I do. "But for what it's worth, that brunette's been watching you like she's sizing up a horse she might want to ride."
I duck my head and glance around. No, no, no. I'm the only brunette near the tent and now I want to crawl under it and not come out until the arena lights turn on.
"Jake," Wyatt's voice carries a warning.
"What? I'm just saying, it might be time for a brunette in your life, instead of—." He shrugs without finishing the statement.
I turn my head like I'm checking on Jessica's progress on her entry form and roll my eyes as I wrap my apple in the wax paper it came with and put it in my purse.
"She's not entering the contest. Must not be into roughies," Wyatt points out.
"She doesn’t need a contest to get a cowboy's attention."
Now I'm starting to like Jake.
Wyatt's looking at me again. I can feel his gaze on me in a way that makes me want to flip my hair over my shoulder and give him a saucy smile—and I’m not even sure I have a saucy smile in my repertoire. I should ignore him, should think about literally anything else, but my traitorous eyes find his anyway and he holds me hostage. I'm torn between running for the hills and doing something completely reckless—like walking over there and finding out if he's as much trouble as he looks like.
Which would beinsane.
I don't do impulsive—ever. And I definitely don't do impulsive with cowboys who look like they could wreck my entire life plan with one crooked grin.
But heaven help me, I want to.
"Okay, time for my photo with the cowboy." Jessica hooks my arm again before I can stop her. "I want a picture to show our children one day," she pumps her eyebrows.