Chapter 1: Introduction
The late afternoon sun hung low over the rodeo grounds, casting long shadows across the dusty arena and turning the air thick with the scent of hay, leather, and sweat. The crowd’s cheers had faded into a low hum, the day’s competitions winding down as the last of the riders packed up their gear. Hannah Wilson wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, pushing a loose strand of blonde hair from her face as she adjusted the strap of her saddle bag. She’d just finished her run, a clean ride that had left her horse, Storm, high-strung and anxious—just as any other Friday night.
She had left her lead and bag of treats back at her trailer , and now she was headed back to the pen where Storm was still stamping her hooves, her dark coat glistening with sweat. But when Hannah rounded the corner, she saw one of the workers—a tall, broad shouldered man close in age in a pair of black jeans and a rugged canvas jacket over a plaid shirt—gently rubbing Storm’s muzzle. She seemed to be calming under his touch, her ears twitching forward as he murmured something low and steady. Hannah slowed her steps, watching the way his hands moved with quiet confidence, the way Storm leaned into him like she’d known him for years.
Hannah stopped just short and crossed her arms. “You’re the first person she has ever let get close enough. I have to give her treats for her to do whatever you just did.” The man turned, revealing a shockingly young but ruggedly handsome face. “Aww, she’s just all worked up. All that running makes that big ole heart race.” He said, his voice gravely and low. Hannah smiled faintly and walked forward, extending her hand. “Hannah. I’ve seen you around, but we never had the opportunity to meet.” She said, her voice softening slightly.
The man took her hand, his grip firm but not overbearing. “Scott. Yeah, you caught my eye a couple times too. Guess we were just too busy otherwise.” He responded, offering a light smile of his own.
His brown eyes held a warmth that made Hannah feel strangely at ease. She stepped forward some more and leaned against the metal fence, reaching out to stroke Storm’s muzzle. “I only see you with the bulls. How’d you learn to sweet talk a horse like that?” She asked, tilting her head slightly. Scott let out a low chuckle and turned completely to rest his back against the fence, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “My dad taught me that the horse is only as good as the rider. If you can’t respect the power your horse has, you don’t deserve to ride it.”
Hannah turned to look at him. “Won’t hear me arguing with that. It’s easy to forget just how much power they have,” she said, her fingertips brushing over the mare’s velvety nose. “I can’t imagine doing what I do without her. She’s the best partner I’ve ever had.”
Scott chuckled once more, this time it had more weight than he probably intended. “I used to do shows myself. Did pretty well until my last one two years ago. Caesar. Biggest son-of-a-bitch I’ve ever been on bucked me off and trampled me good. Almost broke my back and ended my career.” He said, trailing off for a moment. Hannah watched him carefully. “That must’ve been hard, trying to walk away like that.” She said softly.
Scott looked down at his boot, watching it scuffle against the dirt. “Yesh. My ex-girlfriend was wanting me to stop beforehand, think about settling down. Didn’t work out though,” he admitted with a light shrug. “At least I had my horse to keep me company. Boadicea. She was with me up until last year. Broke her leg so bad I had to put her down.”
Hannah ’s expression softened, and she reached out, resting her hand on his forearm without thinking. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “Losing a partner—man or horse—it stays with you.”
Scott looked down at her hand, then back up at her face. “Yeah. But I’m still here. That’s what matters.” He straightened up a little, clearing his throat. “So what do you do when you’re not barrel racing?”
Hannah smiled faintly, pulling her hand back and brushing it over Storm’s neck. “Daddy’s still got the ranch, even though he’s not around to work it. I help out everyday except Fridays. Just a couple horses and not much else, but it’s real peaceful. Quiet.” She explained, her voice softening. “Sometimes I think it’s the only place I can really breathe.”
Scott nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before he pushed off the fence and turned toward the open gate of the pen. “I know what you mean. The rodeo’s loud, but the ranch? That’s where the real quiet lives.”
Hannah followed his gaze, watching as the last of the evening light spilled over the arena, painting everything in gold. “You ever miss it?” she asked, her fingers still tracing the curve of Storm’s neck. “The riding, the crowds, all of that?”
Scott exhaled through his nose, a rough sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Every damn day. But I think I’m starting to like the quiet myself. Can’t do a lot on a rainy day, but I like doing the backstage stuff now. I guess it’ll have to do ,” he said, his voice lighter now, more at ease. Hannah glanced over at the direction of the crowd, watching them spill out of the stands, some going straight to the parking lot and others going to the outside bar, the music faint from where they were. “What does a cowboy like you do after a long day?” She asked rather suddenly, turning her head back to him.
Scott followed her gaze, chuckling lowly. “I usually stop at the bar for a few drinks then head home. Thinking about going?” He asked. Hannah looked over at him, her blue eyes catching the fading light. “I was thinking about it. I’m not much of a drinker, but I could use a cold beer and some company,” she admitted, her lips curving into a small smile. “I just have to put miss cranky pants back in the trailer first.”
Scott chuckled and pushed off the fence, stepping away to give her space. “Shall I wait here or meet you?” He asked, his voice low and steady, the kind of tone that made her feel like she could lean into it. Hannah glanced at him as she secured Storm’s lead, her fingers working automatically. “I’ll be quick.” She said with a small smile, her eyes flicking up to meet his.
Scott nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “I’ll meet you halfway then.”
Hannah led Storm back to her trailer, her boots kicking up small clouds of dust with each step. The mare followed willingly, her earlier agitation replaced by a calm that Hannah hadn’t seen in hours. She unclipped the lead and gave Storm a final pat on the neck before closing the trailer door. True to his word, Scott was waiting halfway between the arena and the bar, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his boots kicking at the dirt. The late afternoon had melted into early evening, the air taking on a cooler edge that made Hannah fold her arms across her chest. She fell into step beside him easily, the rhythm of their walking in sync without either of them trying.
The outside bar was already alive with chatter and the clink of glasses, the music from the jukebox a low country tune that suited the hour. Hannah found two open seats at the counter. It wasn’t as noisy as expected, with most people too tired from the day’s events to be overly loud. Scott leaned against the counter beside her, his eyes finding hers. “What do you usually drink?” He asked, watching her carefully.
She let out a soft laugh. “Water mostly. But I guess I’ll take a beer right now,” she dug into her jeans pocket and pulled out a few bills. “I owe you for calming Storm down.” Hannah insisted. Scott sighed, but didn’t stop her. “If you insist. I usually get whiskey.”
Hannah smiled and tilted her head, the single braid falling over her shoulder. “I do insist,” she said, sliding the money across the counter toward the bartender. “I’m not having you pay for my drink when you already did me a favor.” Scott chuckled , catching the bartender’s attention with a raised hand. “One beer and a whiskey, neat.”
Hannah shook her head but didn’t argue further, tucking the bills back into her pocket. The bartender slid the drinks across the counter, and Scott took the whiskey first, his fingers wrapping around the glass with practiced ease. He took a slow sip, the amber liquid catching the dim light of the bar before he set it down. Hannah wrapped her fingers around the cold beer bottle, the condensation already beading on the glass. She took a small sip, the bitterness of the hops sharp against her tongue. The music shifted to a more familiar song, Hard to Love by Lee Brice, and Hannah felt a warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with the beer. “You dance?” She asked, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed by the question.
Scott took another sip of his whiskey, his gaze flicking toward the small wooden dance floor where a few couples swayed slowly to the music. “No, not really. I’m not a big dancer.” He admitted. Hannah stood up slowly from her bar stool, taking a longer sip of her beer before setting it down with a quiet *thud*. “Good thing I like dancing.” She said, reaching out and taking his hand gently. Scott hesitated for only a moment, then let her pull him toward the dance floor. He wasn’t wrong about the dancing part—but he wasn’t bad at it either. His hand found the small of her back as if it belonged there, his other hand warm around hers. They moved together slowly, not quite touching but close enough that Hannah could feel the heat radiating off him. The music wrapped around them, the lyrics about love being hard but worth it, and she found herself leaning in just a little closer.
“You’re not so bad at this,” she murmured, her voice barely above the music.
Scott chuckled, his breath warm against her temple. “I said I wasn’t a big dancer. Didn’t say I couldn’t.”
Hannah smiled, her fingers tightening slightly around his. “So you did. I’m still impressed.” She said, her voice soft but teasing. The song shifted to something slower, a tune that felt like it could stretch out the whole night. Scott’s hand slid a little lower on her back, his thumb brushing against the curve of her waist. Hannah didn’t pull away. Instead, she let herself lean into the rhythm, into the quiet strength of his hold. The bar was warm, the air thick with the scent of whiskey and leather, the kind of place where time seemed to slow down just enough to let you breathe.
Scott exhaled, his breath warm against her ear. “You’re making it easy.” He murmured, his voice rough but not unkind.
Hannah tilted her head back just enough to meet his gaze. “I don’t know about that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think we’re both just good at pretending we’re not nervous.” The corner of Scott’s mouth twitched upward, his brown eyes catching the dim light of the bar. “Maybe,” he admitted, his hand shifting slightly against her back. “But I’m not pretending now.”
The song changed again, and Hannah led Scott back to the bar. “So, when the day is over and everyone gets to go home, where do you go?” She asked after taking a long sip of her beer, the condensation still beaded on the glass. Scott exhaled, his gaze drifting over to the parking lot. “I live a few miles towards the county line. It’s about an hour-and-a half drive.” He explained.
Hannah let out a low whistle, a concerned expression forming on her face. “That’s a long drive. Especially when it’s dark out. You got a place to crash tonight?”
Scott glanced at her, the question hanging between them like a challenge. He took a slow sip of his whiskey, the ice clinking softly against the glass. “I could make it,” he said, his voice low, measured. “But I’d rather not.”
Hannah’s fingers tightened around her beer bottle, the cool glass grounding her. She studied him for a long moment—the way his jaw tightened just slightly, the way his eyes flicked down to her lips before meeting her gaze again. “You’re welcome to stay at my place,” she said, her voice steady despite the sudden rush of heat in her chest. “It’s not far from here. Just twenty minutes.”
Scott shook his head. “I can’t impose like that,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction. Hannah took a slow sip of her beer, watching him over the rim of the bottle. The way his fingers tightened around his glass, the way his gaze lingered on her lips—she knew he wanted to say yes. She set the bottle down with a quiet *clink* and leaned forward just enough to close the space between them. “You wouldn’t be imposing,” she said, her voice low, deliberate. “I’m offering.”
Scott exhaled through his nose, a rough sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “You sure about that?” he asked, his eyes searching hers. Hannah held his gaze, unflinching. “Yeah. What kind of person would I be to allow someone to make a drive like that after working all day?” She asked, raising an eyebrow while she pushed her beer bottle an inch away from her, a clear invitation to leave. Scott exhaled again, the sound carrying the weight of a man who hadn’t expected such an offer. “Alright. I can see when I can’t win.” He