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Riley studies me from behind lowered lashes. “Oh really?”

“Really.”

CHAPTER 21

Riley

“HOW DOES ONE become a county solo lasso champion?” I ask, 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?” I ask.

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.