Her smile couldn’t physically get any bigger.
“Except for one thing,” he amended.
She danced in the seat. “What one thing?”
“Girl, you could wear the hell out of some boots. You earned ’em in that arena. You don’t realize it yet, but you’re cowgirl AF. That’s the biggest compliment I can give you.”
She wiggled her hips again in a little happy dance and said, “Thank you.” Then she buckled her seatbelt and chattered to him about all the things she felt when she was changing into her cow…into Hagan’s Lace.
All the way to town, he kept his hand resting on her thigh, and for her, it made her feel so comfortable. It made her feel safe and secure and confident. He really wasn’t running from her animal. Now? He’d seen her at her worst, but was looking at her like that wasn’t the worst at all. Like maybe that side of her was good.
He pulled his truck into a parking lot for Hoodie’s Saddle Shop, parked across several parking spaces in the back with the camper, and told her, “Wait there. I’ll get your door.”
Her stomach leapt around as she watched him jog around the front of the truck. He pulled her door open and held his hand out for her.
Raven slid her palm against his. So warm. So strong. She clutched her purse with her other hand and slipped out of the cab of his truck. She gave a shy smile to the ground when he intertwined their fingers, held her hand firmly, and led her into the store.
Hoodie’s didn’t just sell saddles as the name implied. It sold lots of things.
Wide-eyed, Raven looked around the shop, from the glass case of belt-buckles, to the racks of clothes, to the shelves of bolo ties and cowboy hats, to the rows and rows of cowboy boots in the back.
“I don’t think this place is my style,” she whispered.
“Trust me,” Dead said, bumping her shoulder. “I won’t make you compromise your style.”
“Okay. Where do we go first?”
“We’re workin’ from the bottom, girl. Boots first.” Dead pulled her hand and lead her toward the stacked shelves of boots. The smell of leather was heavy in the air, and Raven brushed her fingers across the row of boots they walked down.
“What size?” he asked.
“I’m a seven.”
Dead twisted and gave her a wink. “Nah, you’re a straight ten, but a size seven shoe.”
That boy would make her blush her whole life. She was calling it. “You’re smooth.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t always so suave.” Dead sat her down on a bench and grabbed a few pairs of dark leather boots. “I had braces when I was in high school. And I had a little extra cushion for the pushin’. And I was awkward with every girl because I’d been raised in my older years by my dad, who was also not so smooth with women.”
“You were chunky?” she asked him.
“Oh, yeah, I ate like a cow when I was a kid.”
“Meee tooooo,” she sang out. “Maybe that’s a cow shifter thing then. I wonder if Two Shots and Quickdraw went through the same when they were kids. My friend Annabelle never gained an ounce, but she’s a werewolf. They have ridiculous metabolisms.”
She pulled on the first boot and stood, looked in the full-length mirror on the wall. “Hmmm. I like it, but let me try on the plain black one.”
A saleswoman was organizing a rack of boots. She turned to them and said, “You like the black ones? Do you have a preference in what it’s made of?”
“Oh, no. I don’t really know anything about these kinds of boots.”
“Why?” Dead asked. “Whatcha got?”
The sales lady, Linda, her nametag read, got a conspiratorial grin. “I have a pair of Lucchese boots saved for the last couple of weeks, but I won’t be able to come up with the money for them. They happen to be size sevens like you’re looking at.”
Dead lifted his chin and cocked an eyebrow. “What are they made out of?”
Linda’s grin grew bigger. “Python.”
“Oooooh,” Dead drawled. “Yeah, she needs to see those bad boys.”
“But I feel bad,” Raven said. “If I like them, I’ll be taking the boots you wanted.”
The woman waved her off. “I have nineteen pairs of boots. I won’t starve for them.”
She was gone and back in a jiffy with a box. Linda and Dead stood there with an air of anticipation as Raven pulled back the thin tissue paper printed with the boot logo.
Whoa. She pulled one out of the box in awe.
They were tall but fitted at the ankle, jet black like her cow, and had a good heel.
She looked at Dead.
“They feel important to me, too,” he murmured. “Put them on.”
In a rush, she pulled off her motorcycle boot and pulled on the other. It fit like a glove. But when she took the second out of the wrapping, she caught a glimpse of the price tag.
“Dead, these are way too expensive!”
He looked at the price tag but didn’t seem surprised in the slightest. “Every good woman deserves a good pair of boots.”
“But—but—”
“Try the other on and let me see you catwalk them.”
“Okay,” she uttered on a breath. She pulled the other one on and stood. They were comfortable and hugged her ankles and calves just right.
The look on Dead’s face drew her up short. The smile had slipped from his lips, and his eyes were full of intensity as he dragged his gaze up and down her body, to the boots and back up to her eyes. “Go look in the mirror,” he said low.
She made her way to the full-length and gasped. She turned to the
