Page 91 of Trigger Happy

He’s a bucket of contradictions, and I can’t stand loose ends, but I also can’t stop counting his breaths the same way I count every exit sign.

There’s a crackle over the PA system, then: “NEBRASKA!”

A few people in the arena clap.

The small rodeo is sheathed in bright lights at the base of the mountains, and there’s a tiny booth perched above the animal chutes where Stan has apparently ditched the goat soaps in favor of being a rodeo announcer.

Stan’s been calling out every state for the past five minutes, pausing for people to cheer for where they’re from. When he called Texas, Lawton clapped so loud the entire arena jerked their heads to him. This is the last place I want to be. I’d rather be breaking into the hatch again to triple-check we covered our traces, but Bobbi invited us here, which means this is the becoming besties part of the job.

“So, this is a rodeo?” I stare at the outdoor ring full of men in chaps, stomping over the hoofprints etched into the dirt. “Do I yee-haw now? Or do you only yee when someone else haws?”

“This is barely a rodeo,” Lawton says. “The guys over there are from Miami, they’ve played ‘Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)’ by Big and Rich eleven times, and I’ve already had three bachelorette parties ask to give me a hickey.”

An uncomfortable pang swirls through me.

“Did you let them?” I ask, leaning against a hay bale that reads: Do Not Sit. Display Only.

He slides a toothpick between his lips, side-eyeing me.

“ ’Course not. I told them I’m taken by a city girl who looks too damn good in cowgirl boots.”

“Don’t remind me about the boots,” I say, that pang ebbing as I glare down at my shoes. Bobbi stuffed me into them, a jean jacket, and a cutoff long-sleeve T-shirt that says Lucky Shot.

He nips my earlobe. “They’ll look better when they’re wrapped around your husband tonight.”

I try to ignore the heat simmering beneath my skin. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you.”

His lips brush my temple. “I can’t help that my wife’s boots make me want to sin.”

My face, my core, my entire body warms. I don’t want to feel this way, especially since he can’t even admit something’s happened. I want a man willing to rent a plane and write You’re the Best Sex I’ve Ever Had in the sky, not hide me in the shadows of his life.

“Excuse me?” A woman in a black Team Bride sash stumbles over, giggling. “We’re doing a bachelorette scavenger hunt, and I need to take a Polaroid of a couple in love kissing. Could you two?”

“Oh, we’re not—” I stop. In love? Married? A couple?

“You got it,” Lawton interjects, sliding his hand around to cup the base of my neck. “I’ll take any excuse to kiss my gorgeous wife.”

He slants his head and his mouth meets mine. It’s not rough or hurried. He’s willing to waste all the time in the world on this kiss. His thumb brushes the column of my throat, and warmth trickles down my spine. His tongue doesn’t even enter my mouth, but I’m still breathless when he pulls back, thinking of that morning with his hands all over my body.

The click of the Polaroid barely registers.

“Stop it, you two are adorable, and I’m not jealous at all!” the woman chirps, holding up the print. “I took two. One for us, and one for you. Thanks!” She hands it over before flouncing off to her group.

Lawton peers over my shoulder. “How’d we do? Let’s see it.”

I stare at the photo as the black slowly bleeds into color. She took the picture right before our lips met so the arena lights glow between the gap in our mouths, dimming the rest of the world.

I’m gripping his stubbled jaw, dragging him closer until the brim of his hat clears my head, and his lips are hooked up in a half smile. She captured the moment right before our lips meet, that breathless eternity where the anticipation is almost sweeter than the actual kiss.

I’m jealous of the woman in the photo. She seems like she comes home to a man looking at her like she’s his gravity, after doing something gloriously mundane all day. No dead bodies, no secrets, no guns under pillows, just the two of them, and maybe a cat they keep outdoors because hair.

“We look happy,” Lawton whispers over my shoulder.

I brush my thumb over the Polaroid, wishing I could step into the picture and stay there forever. “We really do.”

“HEY!” ARCH CALLS out, weaving past the corrals where a gaggle of cows press against the rails, his arm hooked around Bobbi’s waist. “There you two are. Want a beer?”

Lawton and I both slap on a smile at the same time before Lawton strolls up to him. “Yeah, I could go for a beer, but it better be butter—”