Free Cowboy Resurrection: Cowboy Cocktail, Book 2 by Mia Hopkins Page B

of July fireworks launch.
    He sat down in a camp chair next to his father and started on his supper.
    “Look at her,” Dale MacKinnon said with a grin. “Your mom is a stunner, ain’t she?”
    Dean’s parents had always been affectionate, so to hear his dad doling out sugar was nothing new. Dean took a bite and watched his mother handing out plates, surrounded by family. She looked happier than she had in months. Then he looked at his dad. The big bear of a man he’d grown up with looked thin and pale, worn down by chemotherapy and illness. But Dale’s clothes were neatly pressed and his boots and belt buckle were polished to a high sheen. In his new white hat, he carried himself with the same pride he always displayed, in sickness or in health.
    “So I heard you’re part of the show tonight,” Dale said.
    “Yeah, but nothing special. Before the fireworks launch, the rodeo association’s raffling off some prizes.”
    “What kind of prizes?”
    “Passes to Oleander Rodeo Days and a meet-and-greet with Dandelion Wine at Walker Ranch. They want me to pick the tickets.” He grinned. “I feel like I should be in an evening gown or something.”
    His dad snorted. “That’d cause a splash. Is Bo here tonight?”
    “He’ll be on stage with me.”
    “I’m surprised.” Dale took a drink from a bottle of water. “Fourth of July is hard for him. Always has been.”
    Dean nodded. “Opening ceremonies at bull-riding shows—he’s the same way. Too many pyrotechnics and stuff.” He knew his old mentor had struggled with anxiety for years. According to Dean’s father, Bo had come back from Vietnam a changed man. It was one of the reasons he’d retired from bull riding and took up stock contracting instead.
    “Dean!”
    He looked up. Tottering her way through a minefield of picnic blankets and beer coolers, Monica headed straight for him. Her long black hair was loose and wild. She wore a modest but form-fitting navy-blue dress and sky-high red heels that made fireworks go off in funny places inside him.
    Next to his mother, Dean’s brother Clark raised his beer can toward Monica. “Hot damn. God bless America.”
    “Shut up, Clark,” Dean said. He put down his plate and stumbled toward her like an idiot, but not before placing a small, well-placed kick to the underside of Clark’s forearm. Beer splashed all over Clark’s crotch.
    “Oh, you fucker!” said Clark, hopping up.
    “Watch your language!” their mother barked.
    “Sorry, Ma.” Clark corrected himself. “Oh, you gosh-darned fornicator.”
    Dean met Monica halfway and together they headed toward the event stage as she briefed him on what was going to happen. Using every excuse he could to touch her, he held her hand and put his other hand on the small of her back to steer her over the crowded field. With his thumb, he strummed the waistband of her panties through the fabric of her dress and fantasized about pulling her under the bleachers, yanking off her underwear and sinking himself balls-deep inside her.
    She stopped talking. Maybe she asked him a question. She was looking at him like she expected an answer.
    “Huh?” he asked.
    She rolled her eyes at him. “Isaid, after I give my spiel, you turn the crank, open the little door and pull out the tickets. I’ll announce the winners. After that, you and Bo sign autographs and take pictures until the fireworks start. The table is set up by the lemonade booth. Can you handle that?”
    His hand crept a little lower and he gave her ass a tiny squeeze. “I think I can handle that, Miss Kaur.”
    A half-smile formed on her lips. “Behave yourself, please.”
    “Behave myself, huh?” He squeezed her again. “Let me ask you something. Did you wear this to embarrass me?”
    She looked genuinely offended at that. “How is my outfit embarrassing?”
    “No, princess. It’s not the outfit.” They finally made it backstage past the security guard. Performers and stage crew filled the small