Chapter 21 Riley

CHAPTER 21

Riley

"HOW DOES ONE become a county solo lasso champion?" Iask, trying not to stumble over the mouthful of words.

"Well," Colton says, gazing out at the horizon. "There's the calf-roping, trick roping, and freestyle events."

"Freestyle?" I snort. "Is that like fancy jump roping? Dance lassoing? Macramé?"

"That's not a thing." His eyes narrow at me as if he's trying to catch me in a lie.

"What's not a thing?"

"Macream."

I laugh and slap Colton's arm playfully, loving the way his soft flannel shirt feels against my skin. "I'm not sure what word you just said, but macramé is too a thing. Well, it was in the seventies."

Dark, glistening eyes meet mine and the edge of his mouth quirks up. "Freestyle is mostly lasso hula-hooping with some fancy flourishes added on to earn more points with the judges."

"That sounds both ridiculous and incredible. Show me?" Iask.

Colton glances around. "Now?" He reaches up and tousles the long wavy strands atop his head.

"Why not?"

"It's dinnertime?"

I dismiss the suggestion with a wave of my hand. "Dinner can wait. This I have to see."

Colton gives a short nod, like he's resigned to be a show pony. He reaches around me to pick up his Stetson where it rests on the sawhorse. His arm brushes against my side, leaving a trail of warmth behind. He fixes his piercing eyes on me as he settles it on his head. My heart skips and for a moment, neither of us move.

His lips part. He leans forward, closing the distance between us. My breath catches in my chest. Colton's face hovers in front of me, so close I can just make out a small scar above his lip.

Then Colton blinks and the moment's gone. He grabs the dark brown rope that was coiled around a sawhorse and steps back.

Disappointment quickly replaces anticipation. I take a fortifying breath and brush my hair back from my face. What is my problem? With that Prairie Princess comment, Colton's made it clear I'm not his type. Plus, he was the one who established that we're just friends.

And yet…

Colton strides away confidently and then turns to face me. Maybe the light is playing tricks on me, but it looks like his cheeks are flushed. "Here goes," he says, planting his feet shoulder width apart.

He starts out slowly, as if he's getting a feel for the weight of the loop and the rope, but then he picks up speed. The loop gets bigger as it twists and turns around in front of him like it's dancing. He lifts his twirling arm and rotates his wrist so that the loop is horizontal over his head. It gets larger and larger and then he lowers it so that it forms a wide circle around his waist. After a few rotations, he raises it over his head again and flicks his wrist so that the rope sails out in front of him and lands squarely on the sawhorse next to me.

I applaud. "Well done, cowboy."

Colton's eyes glisten and he takes a formal bow. "You wanna try?"

"Me?" I ask, pointing to myself and glancing around as if he could possibly be referring to someone else.

"Yeah. You missed the lasso lesson earlier, but I could give you a quick how-to." He holds out the coiled rope, like he expects me to take it. So I do.

"This is called a maguey rope, " he says. "It's made from agave fibers and is good for trick roping. It's easier to learn to lasso with nylon or polyester ropes, but they don't look as authentic as natural fibers, so we mostly have hemp or maguey ropes on the trail. Most people don't realize that pioneers would have probably used a rawhide lariat for roping, but they're heavy and can have weak spots."

Before, when he lectured me, it was obnoxious. But now it feels less like a lesson and more like he's sharing a bit of himself.

Standing in front of me, Colton wraps my left hand around the coil and puts the looped end in my right hand. The lasso is smooth and sturdy. His hands are worn and gentle.

He peers down at me and I feel my face warm when his gaze flickers over my mouth. He clears his throat and steps back. "Now, with your right hand, just practice spinning the loop. Make sure you hold on to the loop and the lead rope at the same time."

I rotate my wrist and the rope spins in lazy circles besideme.

"Good, now let's make the loop a bit bigger." He helps adjust the rope and I practice swinging it again.

Colton nods his approval with a swift dip of his chin. The brim of his Stetson casts a shadow over his face, which gives his jaw a more pronounced and swoon-worthy line. "Next, let's try a toss. You want to release the loop but keep hold of the lead rope."

"Like this?" I spin the loop three times and then release it. Instead of sailing through the air like Colton's toss, it plops down on the ground beside me.

Colton shakes his head. "Not exactly." He picks up the rope and rewinds it. "Hold this part, but release this part," he says, pointing.

My second attempt is as much a dud as the first.

"It just takes a little practice." He shoves his hands in his front pockets and gives an encouraging smile. "You'll get it."

My third, fourth, and fifth attempts are no better.

"I don't think I'll be roping steers anytime soon," I say, my shoulders sinking with defeat.

"Maybe not, but we'll have you roping sawhorses before you know it. Here," he says, closing the distance between us. "We'll do it together so you can get a feel for it."

Colton's left hand is rough and warm. The calluses on his palm drag over my skin, leaving a delicious trail as he wraps his hand around mine.

"Don't worry about the coil right now." His breath rushes over my cheek.

What coil?

His right hand brushes mine. "You want to hold the loop like this."

What loop?

Colton gently eases my fingers into the correct position and then cradles my hand with a soft squeeze.

The back of my knees tingle at his touch. Breathe, I remind myself, which I regret a moment later when my nostrils are assailed with his familiar leather-and-Ivory-soap scent. If I was an android, I would have short-circuited by now, but instead, I do the human equivalent: my nerve endings send out tiny, invisible sparks.

It's not that I intentionally lean back into him for some much-needed support (thanks, weak knees), but somehow we end up nestled together, his big spoon to my smaller one. His soft breath tickles the hair on the nape of my neck as he says, "Swing the loop like this and then let it fly while turning your palm." He guides me through the motions. "Now this time, loosen your grip on the coil and let the loop go when I get to three."

My mouth is parched but I manage to force out a weak, "Okay."

"One," he counts, rotating our hands to make the rope swing. "Two." He leans forward, the warmth of his chest radiating through the layers of clothing that separate us. My blood pounds through my veins. Colton twists our hands. "Three." The lasso flies horizontally through the air and lands with a solid thump on the sawhorse.

Success sends a surge of excitement through me. "We did it!" I exclaim, twisting around to find Colton's face mere millimeters from mine.

His nod of agreement brings his face even closer. The brim of his hat brushes the top of my head. Our eyes meet beneath its shadow and then his darkened gaze dips to my lips. His hands find my waist.

Kiss me already, my brain screams. My eyes flutter shut.

His breath is soft as a feather on my cheek. "Riley," he whispers. "Can I—"

The thunderous beat of hooves drown out the rest of Colton's question. Startled, I look over to see a uniformed rider bearing down on us atop a galloping horse, a thick cloud of dust billowing behind them.