The rest of the guys around him chuckled. A few tried to hide their amusement, but the majority didn’t. I hated being laughed at. I hated being seen as a joke. I hated feeling the way I did then. I turned to rush for the exit, when a body plowed past me.

“Shut the hell up, Garth.” Jesse squared himself a foot in front of Garth and very intentionally looked down at him.

“And what makes you think I’d listen to anything you say?” Garth replied, his voice and expression lazy and unimpressed.

Jesse’s fists clenched and unclenched. “Because I know, and you know, I’d have no problem shutting you up if you don’t want to do this the easy way.”

Those words, or that warning, hung in the air for a moment. The rest of the guys around Garth stepped back a few feet. Maybe to give those two space to duke it out if it came to that, or maybe just because they feared the quivering mass of muscle that was Jesse Walker. Whatever the reason, those guys were ten times smarter than Garth Black. He just stood there, staring back at Jesse and taking swigs of his beer.

“Go ahead,” Garth said after a solid minute of their silent stare down. “She’s all yours tonight. I’ll take my turn later.” Glancing my way with a look of disgust, he shook his head. “It’s not exactly like she’s shiny and new.”

“What did you just say?” Jesse fumed, stepping into Garth. They would have been nose to nose if they were the same height. “What did you say, you little piece of shit?”

It was the first time I’d heard Jesse curse with real emotion. Other than that time in the kitchen, which seemed like the kiddie pool in comparison to what was going down, I hadn’t seen Jesse’s lid about to fly off.

I had turned him into a seething, cursing, crazed man. I’d been the one to make him lose his cool. Sure, what Garth had said and did really set him off, but my being there, being the target of Garth’s words and being who I was, had set the fire to the flame raging in front of me.

I wasn’t sure if I’d ever had a less proud moment.

I’d screwed up enough. I’d done what Rowen Sterling did best and made a shit-storm of everything. Enough for one night. Before the guys said another word, I spun around and rushed the hell away. Maybe once I was gone, they could forgive, forget, shake hands, and share a couple of beers. That’s what guys did, right?

Once I was outside the fairgrounds, in the dark and quiet, I felt comfortable. Like I could breathe again. As much as I’d tried to fight it, the dark and quiet was home to me. The only place I felt accepted.

The air was a bit cooler than when I’d arrived, but by the time I’d speed walked a few hundred feet down the road, my body was so warm I rolled up the sleeves of my hoodie. I made a note to remember a flashlight the next time I planned on walking at night. Out in the sticks, there weren’t such things as street lights. If not for the clear sky and almost full moon, I would have been lost in no time.

The crickets were really chirping, and for the first time since arriving at Willow Springs, I found the sound soothing. I’d kept my windows shut for the past week because those little buggers made a lot of noise, and for a city girl used to being serenaded by car horns and sirens, trying to fall asleep to a cricket chorus was like trying to fall asleep with a fog horn going off a few inches from my ear.

But I’d grown to like the crickets. In one week’s time, I’d been converted.

The country was slowly making its way inside me. First the people out there who, other than Garth Black, had to have some of the biggest hearts on the planet, and the crickets. I had a feeling I was on a slippery slope.

I was maybe a mile down the road and a million miles down my thought-path when I heard a car approaching. Well, a truck approaching.

The driver dimmed the headlights as they approached. The truck wasn’t familiar to me, so I knew I should probably duck into the field and run, but if the person inside that truck wanted to catch me, they were close enough running wouldn’t matter. Plus, I could qualify as the world’s slowest runner. The clodhopper boots didn’t help.

The driver’s window whirred down, and a sweet smile greeted me. “If Jesse knew you were out here walking all by yourself, he would bust something,” Josie said, slowing the truck to keep pace with me.

“He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t need to know,” I replied. “So no need to worry about Jesse busting anything.” My eyes drifted automatically to the bed of her truck, and my stomach twisted. “And didn’t you leave a while ago?”

“I did. Until I realized I’d left my purse behind.”

You left your boyfriend behind, too I almost added.

“Hop on in,” she said with a tilt of her head. “I’ll give you a ride. Willow Springs is on my way.”

I thought about that for all of a second. I still had a few miles left to go, I was exhausted physically and emotionally, and I knew the rodeo was close to finishing. Jesse and the Walkers would drive down the road soon, and they would pull over the instant they saw me. I didn’t want to be pressed up against Jesse in a car any more than I did earlier.

“Are you sure?” I asked, already crossing toward the truck.

“Sure as sure can be,” she replied.

Josie’s truck was nice. It was shiny red, and even though it didn’t seem to have a lift on it, I had to jump to get into the passenger seat.

“Thanks,” I said as I snapped my buckle into place. “I wasn’t really thinking when I walked to the rodeo tonight. I guess it slipped my mind I’d have to make a return trip, too.” I glanced down at my boots. I might have ticked off some miles in my day, but ten miles in the span of an evening was a bit ambitious. I already felt a couple blisters on my heels.

“Lord knows I’ve done plenty of things I didn’t really think about either,” she replied as she hit the gas. The truck was one of those loud ones, too. “Things way worse than not wearing the right shoes to walk in.” It was dark inside the cab, but Josie’s face visibly shadowed.

Miss Peaches and Cream had secrets, too. She’d made mistakes she regretted. I knew everyone did in theory, but sometimes that theory didn’t seem to apply to people like Josie.

“Yeah. Me, too.” There was a whole encyclopedia-sized record of the screw ups and mistakes I’d made in a mere eighteen years of living.

Another few seconds of silence ticked off before Josie’s face cleared. That smile that seemed as permanently embedded on her face as Jesse’s was on his reformed. As much as I wanted to dislike her, I couldn’t. “Do you have a boyfriend?” she asked.

I huffed. “Hell, no.”

“Why not?”

Might as well be honest with the girl. “I’ve been with so many pieces of shit, I’ve lost count. That’s why.”

Josie peered over at me. “Sometimes a girl needs to be with a piece of shit—”

“Or fifty,” I muttered.

“—so she recognizes when one who isn’t comes along.” She lifted her shoulders. “The more experience you have with P.O.S., the better equipped you are to identify one who isn’t.”

I nodded as I wondered what those words would look like tattooed across my forehead. It could change a lot of girls’ lives.

“So what did you think of the rodeo?” Josie moved from one topic to the next so quickly I was about to get whiplash.

It sucked ass.

“It was . . . interesting,” I settled on. Interesting was a versatile word and my go-to when I didn’t want to admit the truth.

“Yeah, I’d imagine it’s pretty barbaric seeming if you weren’t raised on rodeo,” she said.

There were definitely barbaric low points, but they had nothing to do with the actual rodeo.

I shrugged my reply.

“Are you going to the big summer dance and barbecue next week?”

“Since this is the first I’m hearing of it, I don’t think so.” After that night, I would make staying away from the cowboy masses a top priority.