Emerson’s racing time put her in the middle of the pack, exactly where she wanted to be. While it was tempting to go for the top slot, winning wasn’t worth calling attention to herself.

“You did good, girl.” She rubbed a hand down Clover’s neck, giving her a gentle pat. Clover was no Ringo, but little by little, she was learning to race. Ringo, Emerson’s horse from childhood, was a natural at racing during his prime. Unfortunately, he was getting too old now, so she’d gotten Clover and was working to get her up to speed. Her phone buzzed. She fished it out of her pocket. When she realized it was her mama, she hit the side button to silence the ringing and stuffed it back in her jeans. “Not gonna talk to her right now,” she muttered, rubbing swift, smooth strokes down Clover’s neck. Her mama had been sending scathing texts for the past hour, demanding to know why Emerson ditched the barbecue and where she was. Emerson hadn’t responded to a one, which is why her mama kept calling. She scowled. The woman would just have to get over it, realize that Emerson wasn’t at her beck and call.

What a crazy evening it had been. First, Finley blackmailed her into kissing him, then that moron tossed his food all over her as she was darting to the restroom before the race—all because he wanted to play hero and catch a stupid football. She smiled thinking of the tongue lashing she’d given him, followed by the punch in the stomach. Well, she felt a little guilty about that, but he deserved it. Had she not borrowed a shirt from one of the other contenders who’d brought an extra one, she would’ve been forced to compete with the stained one.

She couldn’t seem to stop thinking about the guy—tall, fit, blonde hair, defined features, clear blue eyes filled with laughter, cocky grin. Sparks had zinged through her when their eyes connected. She shook her head remorsefully. Why couldn’t she feel that way about Finley?

“You did good tonight, Miss Stein.”

Her eyes widened as she turned to Gary the ranch hand she’d hired to bring Clover to the arena. “Thanks, but here it’s Starr,” she said in a low tone. It would be disastrous if her true identity got out.

He smiled in understanding, his fingers forming a gun as he clicked his tongue. “Gotcha.” He motioned. “Would you like for me to remove the saddle?”

“I don’t mind doing this part.” The ritual was part of the bonding process.

“Alrighty. Just let me know when you’re ready for me to take the horse and trailer back to the ranch.” He jutted his thumb. “In the meantime, I’m gonna grab a drink from the concession stand. Want anything?”

“No, thanks.”

He turned to leave.

“Hey, Gary?”

He looked back over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I know we’ve been through this already, but no one is to know I was here. I’ll pay you handsomely for your silence.”

He nodded. “I understand. Thank you, Miss Ste—Starr,” he corrected with a sheepish grin.

Emerson stroked Clover a few more times. “All right, girl. Let’s get this saddle off you.”

“I can help with that.”

Her eyes rounded, a thousand firecrackers going off inside her. It was him—the moron! Same mischievous twinkle in his eyes, same confident grin. Same overwhelming chemistry.

“16.654.” He shrugged, thumbs going into his pockets. “It seems you can race as well as you can punch.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you know about racing?”

He chuckled. “Probably more than you think.”

He stepped up to Clover. “Let me help you with that saddle.”

“The breast collar comes off first,” she instructed, realizing as she spoke that he was working on it.

A reproving smile tugged at his lips. “I know my way around horses.” Once the saddle was undone, he lifted it and the pad off Clover, rather than dragging it off as newbies were inclined to do.

“Where would you like this?” he asked.

She reached to take it from him. “I don’t need any help.”

He held onto it, amusement aglow in his eyes. “Sure you do. Where do you want it?”

“Let go!” She pulled. He pulled harder, jerking her forward. She stumbled, catching herself as she glared at him. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

This guy was tromping on her last nerve. She blew out a breath. “Fine. You wanna help? Put it in the trailer.”

After he placed the saddle in the stand, he came down the ramp. “Let me put your horse in.”

Her jaw tightened. “That won’t be necessary.” What was this? Penance for earlier? She eyed him, trying not to dwell on how his smooth, sinewy muscles rippled underneath his snug t-shirt. Her knuckles were still sore from hitting his rock-hard abs. There was fit and then there was athlete fit like this guy. To get that kind of definition, he must live in a gym. No, he didn’t seem like the bodybuilder type, more like a die-hard cowboy. She glanced at his long, faded jean-clad legs and leather boots. Or maybe a Marlboro Man/surfer dude combination. His mop of thick, sun-streaked hair certainly reminded her of a surfer. “I don’t need your help.”

He didn’t back down an inch. “Well, you’re getting it.”

“Look, if you’re trying to make up for earlier, it’s not necessary.”

“I’m not.”

She jerked. “What?”

“I spilled food on you. You slugged me in the gut. We’re even.”

A startled laugh chugged out of her throat. “Oh, no. We’re not even … not by a long shot. You owe me big time, mister.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really,” she spat. But she wasn’t as mad as she was earlier. In fact, she was rather enjoying the verbal sparring match.

An unencumbered smile broke over his face, spreading unexpected warmth through her. This must be how deer felt when stunned by bright light—knowing they should run but being transfixed by the brilliance. “All right. I owe you,” he said. “That’s why I’m putting your horse in the trailer. And why I’m buying you dinner.”

Her first thought was that she’d fallen right into that one. Her next thought was that dinner with him would be the most excitement she’d had in a month. Things had been so blah with Finley that she was starting to wonder if maybe she was hoping for something that didn’t exist. But, oh, boy, she knew now that it existed. This guy was every school-girl’s crush rolled into a 6’ 2” package of testosterone, charisma and a smile so dazzling he could’ve been the poster child for a Colgate commercial. It occurred to her that she was getting swept up in some guy who’s name she didn’t even know. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Dinner, huh?” She pursed her lips. “Let’s say I agree, where would we go?”

He gave her a crafty look. “This is a test, isn’t it?”

She couldn’t stop a smile from curving her lips. “Maybe.” His eyes reminded her of a summer sky, clear and pristine.

“You can tell a lot about a girl from the type of food she eats.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t believe that.”

“It’s true,” he said with a straight face.

“Okay, lay it on me. I’m listening. What kind of girl am I?”

He made a point of looking her up and down, the intensity of his eyes sending her pulse thrumming. “I’ve gotta get this right,” he mused. He held up a finger. “I’ve got it. You want a funnel cake.”

Laughter rumbled in her throat. “What?”

“A funnel cake sprinkled with extra powdered sugar, piled high with strawberries and whipped cream.” He grinned. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“A funnel cake at a rodeo.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s not cliché.” Now that she thought about it, the faint scent of fried pastries hung in the air, which is probably what made him think of funnel cakes.

He stepped closer causing her heart to do a couple of flips as his voice went lower. “You know you’d like it.”

The commotion, the dust at their feet, the blur of the announcer, the roar of the crowd … it all faded away until she was only aware of him, his chiseled features, the slight dimple in his right cheek when he smiled. What she’d really like was to kiss him. Her eyes widened at the renegade thought. Then again, what would it hurt? She was here at a rodeo, under an assumed name. What harm would it do to take things to the next level? She lifted her face to his. “A funnel cake’s not all I want.” Ribbons of desire swirled through her stomach as she looked at his lips.

He blinked, then laughed. “Wow, you don’t waste any time, do you? Don’t you at least want to know my name before …” he cleared his throat “… well, before …”

The comment scorched over her like the Texas sun in August. What in the heck was she doing? She drew back, mortified with herself. Horrified that she was coming across as a floozy, which she wasn’t. In fact, she’d never been this forward with a guy before. What had gotten into her? “This isn’t a good idea.”

He touched her arm, the heat of his fingertips seeping through the fabric of her shirt. “It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you. I just want to get to know you first.”

Now she really felt like a louse.

He smiled. “You know you want that funnel cake.”

His banter eased the tension. “What if I want a hamburger or nachos instead? Somewhere other than on my shirt,” she added dryly.

Amusement lit his eyes. “You’re not gonna let me forget the food thing, are you?”

She brought her lips together in a taut line. “Nope.”

“Fair enough.” He put on an exaggerated Texan drawl. “Okay, little lady, we’ll get you whatever food your little heart desires. Heck, I’ll even win a prize for you at one of the booths. Say yes,” he urged.

She got the feeling that time was standing still, waiting for her answer. “All right.”

He rewarded her with a big grin, causing her heart to do a little dance. “What’s your name, cowboy?”

“Riker.”

A good strong name. It suited him. “Riker what?”

Gary came up, slurping on his drink. He froze in his tracks, his jaw dropping. “Hey, you’re Riker Dylan.” He thrust out his hand.

Riker looked a little embarrassed as he clasped Gary’s hand. Gary pumped it up and down. “I’m a big Titans fan,” he blurted.

Emerson searched her brain. Riker Dylan … Titans.

She looked at Riker. “Is he talking about the Titans football team?”

“Yep.” A contrite smile slid over his lips like she’d found him out.

She still didn’t get it. “So, you play for the Titans?”

Gary looked at her like she’d just sprouted wings. “You don’t know who he is?”

“No.” She drew herself up to her full height, not liking being made to feel stupid.

“Riker’s the new quarterback for the Titans. Just signed a four-year, multi-million-dollar contract with them,” Gary explained.

It all came together in one swoop, raising a bubble of laughter in her chest. Of course. His conquer-the-world attitude … sculpted physique. She repeated what Gary had just said. “You’re a quarterback.”

“Yep.” His expression grew wary.

She shook her head. “Well, that explains the football fiasco earlier.” She cut her eyes at him. “Why you just had to catch that ball … at my expense.”

He winced. “I feel lousy enough about it already. Don’t rub it in.”

Her phone buzzed. Probably her mama again.

Riker looked at her pocket. “Are you gonna answer that?”

She sighed, pulling it out of her pocket. Just as she thought—Mama. She pressed the side button. “Nope. It can go to voicemail.” It was a lot to take in. Riker was a local celebrity, probably hounded by the press. If pictures or video of the two of them got out, it wouldn’t take long for the proverbial crap to hit the fan. Her mama would have a coronary, especially with Graham’s senate bid. It was one thing to blow off a little steam with some unknown guy, but quite another to start a relationship with a high-profile person. That would be downright stupid. The smart thing to do would be to walk away right now.

“How do you think the Titan’s will stack up this coming season?” Gary asked. “Is it hard to come together as a team? I’m sure it’s hard for you, personally, to live up to the Kincaid Dynasty.”

“We train hard and do the best we can. But at the end of the day, I guess we’ll just have to see how it goes.” Riker’s smile was friendly, but she could see the tension around his eyes. He didn’t like being put on the spot about football. Interesting that she could sense this when she knew so little about him. He turned to face her. “How about that funnel cake?”

Her mind started in on her … It’s not too late to turn away and go back to your life. Sure, you fight and squabble with Mama, but deep down, you always believed that you’d eventually cave. She got the feeling that after one night with Riker Dylan she’d never be the same again. Heck, who was she kidding? Her course had already been altered—had been from the moment he tossed the nacho cheese and coke all over her. She put on a serious expression. “I’ll go with you under one condition.”

The lines around his mouth deepened. “What’s that?”

“That we get strawberries and whipped cream.”

He relaxed, grinning from ear to ear. “I think we can manage that.”

“Oh, and just so you know, I’m gonna hold you to winning me the most ginormous prize here. So, you’d better sharpen your skills.”

“You’ve got it.” He motioned with his head. “Let’s get your horse put into the trailer so we can go.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Gary said quickly. He looked at Riker. “Nice to meet you. Good luck on the upcoming season.”

“Thanks. Nice meeting you too,” Riker said.

Emerson could tell from Riker’s puzzled look that he was trying to decide how Gary fit into the equation—what his association was with her.

“Gary’s a family friend,” she explained. “I get him to come with me to rodeos to help with the horse.”

“Oh, makes sense.” He wiggled his eyebrows, challenge sparkling in his eyes. “So, Starr Andrews. You ready for the time of your life?”

She laughed, a feeling of exuberance overtaking her. Even the night air around them sizzled with excitement. “Bring it on!”