Page 118 of Risking it for the Cowboy

He flashed that electric grin and cupped the mic to his mouth. “Who here follows McClintock Official? You mighta’ seen some campfire pics.”

Some cheers rose up. Curious chatter.

“You brought your flower girl too?” a guy shouted.

No one was booing? Her racing pulse didn’t ease, but her hope burgeoned again. She shook out her limbs like an athlete about to step up to the starting line. Felt sweat trickle between her shoulder blades. She’d once plied an audience when she’d been young and confident! Why was it so hard to do again?

“That’s right, y’all! We got someone pickin’ tonight that you’ve been askin’ for, so we delivered!”

The cheers rushed on her ears.

Anticipation brimmed in the air. He sure was talking her up, but this renewed love affair with music was fragile. Broken dreams glued back together still bore cracks, and she bit her lip, feeling his gaze homing in on it. He nodded, just for her.

“The thing is, I wrote those words, Flower Girl stole my heart and I don’t know why, but I think I know why now. I needed a reason to settle down and start believin’ I deserved something better. Needed a reason to put down some roots. Think I found it. And she’s givin’ us a go at the Homegrown Awards tomorrow night in Austin. It’s a big ask, but it might just be our big break. So, I promised her that y’all would give her a warm Disclaimers welcome, and I know y’all will deliver, am I right?”

Her heart warmed. Because that was a warning veiled in teasing tones eliciting cheers. That he would go to bat for her over them.

“Let’s give it up for our new banjoist and my official lady, Charlie Bradford!” He swept his arm toward her as he perused her body up and down and chewed his cheek.

She pasted on a pageant smile that was also going to let her finally chase that dream again and strode out onto the stage in her heeled boots, the lights blinding and yet, like riding a bike, it felt familiar.

The rhythmic clapping turned to thunderous applause as she waved and flashed the smile that had won Miss Lone Star. Whistling and cheering ensued. A few uncertain glances from adoring female fans who’d clearly hoped Charlie would be a guy.

“Charlize Bradford?” someone hollered up, recognizing her. “Miss Lone Star?”

“Professor Bradford?” another shouted in surprise.

She froze. Swallowed hard. Did the university want press of her on stage in a backwater bar?

“Hell yeah, Miss Lone Star!” Thad encouraged.

Oh God, except … people were cheering. Guys were whistling. It was hard to distinguish the mishmash of sounds. She took a step back, but he snagged her hand and laced his fingers into hers—

“And yeah, associate professor of paleobotany. Fossilized plants, y’all! She’s this…” His face softened on hers as his hand squeezed, as the crowd hushed a degree. “Brilliant woman,” he finished gently into the mic.

He severed eye contact as aws rippled through them. The crowd’s cheering turned into a roar of hope and support as someone shouted, “McClintock’s in love!”

He swallowed. Turned to face her. “That he is,” he murmured, as cheers and whistles ensued, then threw his arms primed on farm work and torque wrenches wide and flashed his panty-melting smile at her as if to say, I told you so.

She shook her head and laughed. Then turned to wave at everyone.

Bo snapped his sticks together. Thad whipped his guitar back to front as she and Jack jumped in with him. Thad’s voice carried through the speakers as the crowd jumped. She leaned into the mic to harmonize, their instruments syncing.

She gazed out at the void, eyes roving over the washed-out bodies crammed into the venue, as if she could really see them, her years of training kicking right back in, feeling Thad’s proud grin on her profile as he watched her in her periphery, matching her picking with his strums, gauging her vocals with his own.

“Hot damn, y’all! We scored this time!” he shouted as she led into the banjo solo, quick pull-offs, and the sound was so loud, the cheering a roar.

He whooped and Bo pounded the refrain. He snatched his guitar up to finish the song.

God, how he plied those strings like he did the reins on his galloping horse.

She grinned as he flashed his pearly whites at her, letting herself forget, embrace this, and … move on.

The song came to a boisterous close.

“Y’all might’ve heard this next song, ‘Flower Girl,’ on the radio!” he called, keeping the momentum moving.

He glanced at her again. The band’s constant bass and drum morphed into a gentle rhythm as Bo transitioned to keyboard and Thad began to play a soft, twangy melody.