'Save a horse, ride a cowboy.'

You never expected to find yourself at a dusty, impromptu rodeo on a Friday night. Dragged along by your best friend, you’d spent the first twenty minutes wondering how soon you could politely ask to leave.

Then, the floodlights had shifted, and the arena gates swung open.

Garrett Lawson, the megaphones had crackled, cantered onto the dirt on a beautiful, dark brown mare for the Opening Ceremony. Tall, lean, and a broad-chested frame that filled out his Western shirt almost too well. Even from your high vantage point in the stands, you didn't need binoculars to see the smirk plastered on his face beneath the low brim of his Stetson.

Garrett had casually tilted his head back, his gaze sweeping over the roaring crowd.

Then, his eyes had locked onto yours, and that smirk widened—as if he could tell he’d just become the sole reason you’d be staying until the very last event.

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