Page 78 of Risking it for the Cowboy

She leaned into the sensation, releasing his shirt and scoring his scalp, knocking his Stetson off completely. His growl, like a starved man finally nourished, rumbled in his throat as his fingers clenched her hair tighter. She sank into his expert kiss as his palms spanned her back, sliding beneath her overalls onto the rise of her rear, holding her flush.

He fisted the edge of her shirt as he murmured against her lips, “When do I get to be inside this body again?”

She laughed against his mouth. “Is that all guys ever think about?”

“Yes.” He chuckled, nipping at her. “Hardwired to.”

Her smile softened when the wistfulness set in. She’d seen the evidence of that all over the internet, and the reminder was sobering.

“Hey,” he breathed, tipping his eyes to see hers, as the sound of vehicles climbing the gravel road rumbled in the distance. “Not every guy lets it rule them, though. Not every guy knows how to love, Flower Girl.”

“And you do?” she whispered, picking at his shirt still sweaty from the day.

“I wanna try.” Voice so hoarse. “I don’t want the past to define us. I want roots. I want a, a reason for ’em.”

He wanted a family he could fight for, because he’d never had a family that had fought for him. And for some reason, he saw a chance in her—

“There’s a whole bunch a guys here!” Daisy crowed as the back door slammed open.

The vehicles were rumbling to a stop by the house.

He grinned but didn’t let her jump apart this time.

“Band practice,” he said, waggling his brow and planting a rough smacker to her lips. “C’mon. Show us what Miss Lone Star’s got.”

Thad’s hand slipped free and laced with hers instead, tugging her forward at the boisterous sound of truck doors and laughter and tramping inside, hauling her behind him as he led her up the path past the firepit.

“Hey, Jack! Out back!” Thad shouted.

Nerves skittered through her! What if she sucked?

His bassist pushed through the door. “Yo, T.R.!” he bellowed, tossing a pack of meat onto the picnic table.

“What’ll it be this time? Smokin’ or grillin’?” Thaddeus said as they climbed the stairs, butterflies swirling at the vortex of energy suddenly engulfing them, as the sound of more kids thudding within the belly of the house, as another guy—his drummer Bo?—pushed out the back door, too.

“Grillin’ man. Fire it up. Here’s those dogs your little girl asked for.” He tossed down hot dogs too.

His little girl?

Thad pulled her up next to him and slung his arm around her, like he wanted to show her off. “Flower Girl, officially meet Jack Daniels—real name—and Bonifacio Hernández,” he said with flourish. “Or Bo, as we call him.” The drummer smiled, nodding hello, drumsticks protruding from his rear jeans pocket as he set a case of PBR on the table next to the meat.

Jack noticed her now too.

Dark eyes widening, a grin split his lips. “Looks like you already got somethin’ smokin’ here anyhow, T.R.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay—”

“Such as those banjo strings.” Jack’s eyes flashed to Thad’s. “’Bout time T.R. got to you. This mean we can enter the awards?”

They all turned to look at her, all hopes hinged on her.

“I was thinkin’ she could do the Friday gig with us to get her feet wet before the Saturday awards.”

“Are they, uh, televised?” Charlie asked when Daisy pushed out the back door, face full of excitement.

“What d’you say? Play with us?” Thad said as Jack pointed to Charlie’s banjo case.

Daisy’s eyes widened. “You play music, Momma?”