Riley

Riley had never owned a pair of boots in her life—unless you counted the suede ones she wore to brunch back in Chicago. But here she was, standing in the red dirt of a Texas rodeo arena, the scent of hay and barbecue in the air, and her new friends hollering beside her like they’d been born in spurs. It was supposed to be a fun Friday night—something to make her feel less like the city girl who didn’t belong. Then the announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, and a cowboy on a chestnut horse tipped his hat toward the crowd. His smile—slow, sure, and a little too confident—met hers across the stands. For the first time since she’d moved to Texas, Riley’s heart skipped for a reason that had nothing to do with homesickness.