Page 158 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

The applause swells as I settle my guitar against my hip.

“I was going to make a speech,” I tell the crowd, “but Riley already covered the important part.”

He gives a proud wave to the crowd, and I laugh as I strike the opening chord.

The audience settles with me.

I’ve played festivals, bars, and roadside stages where people barely noticed the music, but this crowd listens. Boots tap beneath the bleachers, couples drift closer to the stage, and children dance in front of the arena fence while I lose myself in the song.

Before I can finish the second one, I spot Sadie racing across the open space with Charlie close behind, her pink cowboy boots throwing dirt with every step.

“There she is!” she yells, pointing at me as though nobody else has noticed.

Emmett catches her before she reaches the stage, lifting her onto his hip with an easy laugh.

“You keep charging the stage like that,” he says, “and Riley’s gonna put you on the payroll.”

“I’m helping.”

“You’re helping me get gray hair.”

Sadie giggles, wraps her arms around his neck, then twists around to wave both hands at me. I wave back without missing the next lyric, and she beams before Emmett sets her down again.

She grabs Charlie’s hand, and the two of them spin through the grass while Dakota watches with Olivia asleep against her shoulder.

Clint stands beside her talking with Marshall, Reid appears carrying enough lemonade for half their group, and Cody shakes his head at whatever Duke has just said before both of them crack up laughing.

Jesse jogs after his twins before they disappear beneath the arena fence, while Wyatt checks one of the pickup horses waiting behind the chutes.

The whole town seems stitched together in one place, and somehow I’ve found myself woven into it.

Applause rolls across the grounds as I move into the next song, and my gaze slips toward the arena.

Red stands beside Silas near the bucking chutes with one arm resting on the top rail. He says something to Silas, then looks my way, and every other face around him fades into the background.

My fingers almost miss the next chord, but years of playing through busted speakers and rowdy bars carry me through before anyone notices.

Anyone except Willy.

He catches me looking, flashes that crooked grin, and bumps Red with his shoulder. Red doesn’t even glance at him.

Heat creeps into my cheeks, so I force myself to look elsewhere and find Emmett leaning against the fence with a ridiculous mountain of nachos balanced in one hand.

He catches my eye, lifts a chip in salute, and takes a bite with the satisfied look of a man who’s made the best decision of the evening.

A laugh escapes me in the middle of the chorus.

The crowd laughs with me, thinking it’s all part of the performance, and I let the music carry us through to the final song.

When the last chord fades, the grandstands erupt into applause. Sadie jumps up and down, clapping so hard I swear she’s determined to outdo everyone else.

Riley steps back onto the stage with his microphone raised. “One more time for Arizona McCay!”

The cheers follow me as I sling my guitar over my shoulder and step down into the crowd. I barely make it off the stage before Riley intercepts me with a bottle of water and his clipboard tucked beneath one arm.

“You’ve got twenty minutes,” he says, checking the schedule. “Bronc riding starts after your next set.”

“I’ll be back.”