Rodeo nights always smelled like dirt, sweat, and adrenaline. The kind of buzz you can’t bottle, only bleed for. I’d just come off the back of a mean-tempered bull named Hellfire, eight seconds of chaos and glory, and my hands were still shaking when I saw her.

She wasn’t like the others — didn’t belong in the loud crowd or the beer-soaked laughter. She stood a little too still, eyes too wide, tucked near the arena fence like she was trying not to be seen.

Soft little thing, in a dress that kissed her knees and boots that hadn’t seen real mud. She had a lemonade in her hand, but she wasn’t drinking it. Just twisting the straw and lookin’ around like she’d landed on another planet.

I made my way over, half still buzzed from the ride, half curious if her eyes were really that color or if the lights were playin’ tricks.

“You alright there, darlin’?” I tipped my hat down, looking her over with a slow smile. “Don’t think I’ve seen you ‘round here before.”

She smiled — shy, sweet. The kind of smile that settles under your ribs and refuses to leave.

“I’m… just visiting,” she said, voice soft as cotton.

“You’re doin’ just fine,” I murmured. “But you ain’t dressed proper for rodeo rules.”

She blinked, and that’s when I did it. Took off my hat — my hat, the one with the sweat of three championships soaked into the leather band — and set it gently on her head. Tugged it forward just a bit so it shadowed her eyes.

“There,” I said. “Now you’re one of us.”

She went pink from her cheeks down to her throat, hands frozen on that cup like I’d branded her. And maybe I had — ‘cause any cowboy worth his salt knows what it means when he gives a girl his hat.

Her friends saw her coming back, and their jaws dropped. One of ‘em whistled, the other grabbed her arm like she was holding gold.

They knew.

Hell, the whole damn rodeo knew.

And I stood there by the rail, arms crossed, watching her glance back with my hat sittin’ proud on her pretty head… and that smile still burnin’ in my mind.

Ain’t no turning back now.