Page 70 of The Cowboy Who Stayed

The ring has been in my jacket pocket for two months. I bought it from a jeweler in Rapid City on a Tuesday afternoon when Vivica thought I was picking up supplies for the ranch.

It’s nothing extremely fancy—a gold band with a modest diamond—because Vivica Murphy has never been a woman who needs flash. She prefers what’s simple and tasteful.

Haven’s Chicks kick into their first song, and the bar comes alive around us.

Vivica squeezes my knee and leans into my shoulder. I press my lips to the top of her head, my hand finding the ring box through the denim of my pocket.

Soon.

“Finally,” Ricky says, taking a swig from his beer bottle. “Now I won’t have to listen to you two bicker.”

Both Joaquin and Jeb take offense and then start in on needling Ricky.

I tip my head at the crowd, catching Vivica’s eye. “You want to get a little closer so we can enjoy the show?”

I take her hand as she nods, and we use it as an excuse to get away from the guys. We squeeze our way toward the front of the crowd.

The band’s in the middle of a high-energy cover that has half the bar on their feet. Vivica sways beside me with her beer in hand and an easy, unguarded smile lighting up her face.

She’s genuinely happy. Genuinely enjoying herself.

I can’t wait to make this night even more unforgettable.

The lead singer’s a tall woman with big, curly hair. She catches my eye from the stage and we give each other the go-ahead. So subtle everybody else misses it, including Vivica.

“Before we roll into our next number,” she says into the mic, her voice carrying over the crowd, “we’ve got something a little different tonight. Rhett, Vivica, get up here!”

Vivica’s head swivels toward me so fast I’m surprised she doesn’t pull a neck muscle. “What is she talking about?”

“Guess we should go find out,” I say, my face neutral. Meanwhile my heart jackhammers against my ribs.

“Rhett, what did you do?”

“Nothing yet. Come on.”

I help her up the short steps to the stage, and the crowd shifts their attention toward us, a few people whooping and clapping as we step into the lights.

Vivica’s processing what’s happening, going from confusion to suspicion and then the early stages of realization.

But she doesn’t put it together before the lead singer’s handing me the microphone with a wink. She steps back to join her bandmates, all of whom are grinning like they know exactly what’s about to happen.

…technically, they do.

I face Vivica under the bright stage lights with the mic in one hand and her fingers in the other and the ring box pressing against my thigh through my pocket.

The bar’s gone quiet enough that I can hear Joaquin whisper something at the table that earns a sharp elbow from Jeb.

“So,” I say into the mic, adrenaline coursing through me. “About six months ago, I sat down next to the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen and she told me not to call her ma’am. That was the moment I knew I was in trouble.”

Laughter ripples through the bar, and Vivica’s free hand comes up to her mouth.

“She also told me she wasn’t looking for anything serious. That she buys her own drinks. That I was too young and oh… too damn charming for my own good.” I pause and grin at her. “She was right about that last one.”

More laughter fills the bar. Vivica’s eyes are glistening as it finally clicks together what’s happening.

“But here’s what I know now that I didn’t know then. I know that Vivica Murphy is the strongest, smartest, most stubborn woman I’ve ever met, and loving her has made me a better man than I ever thought I could be. She taught me some things are worth staying for. That the right person doesn’t make you smaller; they make you more yourself.”

The bar’s gone dead silent. I reach into my pocket.