I never got the chance to watch him bull riding back when he was younger—I wasn’t allowed anywhere but school, church, and home, with rodeos being far off the table.
But, God, it really suits him.
He’s almost head to toe in black, dressed like he means business, ready to take fear by the reins. A black shirt barely contains his broad shoulders, his thick vest tight against his chest and covered in a rainbow of sponsor logos, while his tasselled leather chaps only highlight how well his Wranglers hug his muscular thighs. Most of his golden hair is hidden by his cowboy hat, but a few strands flick out beneath, framing those chestnut eyes. And to make matters worse, he’s sporting a small moustache now that only emphasises his full lips, and the fact that he’s far from the boy I used to know.
Sawyer Nash is one hundred per centman.
Heat erupts in my cheeks at how easily he still reduces me back to the shy girl I used to be a decade ago, sneaking quick glances at the broadness of his shoulders or the sharp angle of his jaw across the library table. Especially when he’s still flashing about that same cocky grin he always did in high school—the one I fought hard to ignore the responding butterflies in my stomach for. Even nine years later, that same smirk has roused them too quickly for my liking.
‘Cool name, buddy,’ Sawyer responds to Noah, no hints of emotion flickering across his face besides his smile at my son’s name.
I don’t know why I’m surprised Sawyer’s unbothered, though—it’s been nine years, he probably doesn’t remember the names we made up. I wonder if he remembers much about us at all, given how wild and exciting his life is now. So much more than study sessions in a stuffy library.
Yet, he called meBlue.
Almost a decade later and my heart still tugged at the nickname. At the way it rolled off his tongue so naturally—like it was just another day in senior year, not years later where we’re complete strangers. Where he’s a champion bull rider who probably dates whatever beautiful women he wants, and I’m … I’m a twenty-seven year old mom who just upped her whole life back to her hometown with the hopes that it might help with her son’s shyness and struggles making friends.
We couldn’t be more opposite.
I almost don’t want the conversation to end so I grab at the first thing that comes into my mind, ‘Congratulations on the PBR world championship title, by the way. I always knew you—’
A high-pitched whistle cuts me off, and I check over my shoulder to see a group of bull riders surrounded by plenty of beautiful women, all in tiny outfits that I could never pull off with my curves, waving at Sawyer. Fluttering lashes and lip-gloss smiles await him, and it’s like we’re in high school again—all the girls melting as soon as he walks in the room, vying for his attention. I can’t help but glance down at my old blouse and worn jeans in comparison.
Regardless, Sawyer’s clearly still walking around with that spotlight on him—not just the high school quarterback anymore, but a bull-riding millionaire that no doubt hastwice as many women after him as he did before. So at odds to the quiet, stable life I’m trying to build for my family.
Seeing that group makes me realise that we’re keeping him. That Noah, and subsequently I, have planted ourselves directly in Sawyer’s path, and he’s probably just being polite, waiting for us to get out the way.
‘I—we should leave you to it.’ I squeeze Noah’s little hand, letting his presence anchor me. ‘I’m sure you’ve got important prep to do before you ride.’
Sawyer glances over to the group, brow furrowing. ‘Right.’
Well, I guess conversation between us is a bit more stilted than it used to be. That’s what nine years of no contact does, I suppose. ‘It was nice to see you, Sawyer. Good luck out there.’
‘Good luck, sir,’ Noah shouts up at him, beaming, before Sawyer can even respond to me.
Sawyer chuckles, a light rumble that whispers across my skin—too similar to the hushed laughs we used to have in the library. ‘Thanks, buddy. Enjoy the show.’
He’s barely finished his sentence before I’m dragging Noah away and back through the crowds. Those butterflies aren’t just fluttering in my stomach again, they’re swarming it. I fight the silly desire the check over my shoulder, to see if Sawyer’s watching. Because I’m not here for him—coming back to Willow Ridge never had anything to do with him, other than him being the only reason I still have a few good memories here.
We’re at this rodeo—in Willow Ridge—for Noah, and that’s all that matters.That’swhat’s important right now. Creating a life that makes my beautiful boy happy.
Of course, as soon as we come to a stop near the bar where I left my mom after he ran off, Noah asks, ‘Can we go say hi to Sawyer again after the show?’
It sometimes seems like a small joke the universe is playing on me—that cowboys and rodeos are what my son loves best, when I ran away from that.
‘It’ll be your bedtime by then, baby.’ I thread my fingers through his hair as I scour the crowd, trying to spot my mom’s white-blonde hair and the bright-red denim shirt she was wearing. Most people are filtering out towards the stands now, hands loaded with an assortment of drinks.
Even if I never got to come to rodeos growing up, there’s something about being here that grounds me. All of it—the ballads of heartbreak played on fiddles and guitars that ring from the speakers, the scuff of boots, the chatter filled with country drawls, and the coming together of a town that’s known each other for far too long—it’s an oddly soothing level of familiar. Because it was neverthisthat I wanted to run from, it was the pain that no one could see behind it all.
‘Grandma!’ Noah shouts, finding her first. He’s suddenly full of more life than I’ve seen in ages and runs into her arms. She gives him a cuddle, then takes his hand. ‘Guess who we just saw?’
‘Oh, I don’t know—’
‘Sawyer Nash!’
Anyone would think Sawyer’s a prince or something with the way Noah’s reacting—although he’s had a dropped jaw every time we’ve passed anyone wearing a cowboy hat since we moved to Willow Ridge. My mom flashes her eyes atme in shock at Noah’s excitement, and all I can do is shrug and grin, just grateful to see my boy so unreserved for once. A wave of relief coming over me that maybe our quiet life with just the two of us, and him not seeing his father much, hasn’t taken awayallhis confidence.
‘C’mon.’ Noah pulls at her hand before my mom can reply, encouraging us to head towards the stands. His little legs can’t carry him fast enough. ‘We don’t wanna miss anything.’