Dare You to Resist the Bull Rider (Rock Valley High 4)

“I’m good, thanks. We all done here?”

“Done.” She clasped her hands together and looked at me all starry-eyed. “You look like a real rodeo queen, Charlotte. Doesn’t she, Beth?”

Beth looked up from the game on her phone just long enough to give me a quick, appraising look. “She looks good.”

I suppose for Beth that was high praise. Still, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about this makeover. Lexi could be pretty heavy-handed with the eyeliner and brow gel. But it was too late to go back now.

“I think you did amazing, Lexi.” Mom put an arm around me as Lexi beamed. “Our Charlotte is going to win. Now get up there and go bake us a pie.”

It looked like most of the other contestants were already in their places. I scooped up my bags and headed toward an empty table at the end. Geminia gave me a wink from three tables away as she pulled a frilly pink apron over her head. I smiled back and then started getting my supplies ready.

Butter. Eggs. Sugar. Check, check, and check. Plus, all the other little ingredients to make my masterpiece. The last thing I had to do was get my mixer in place. This was so much easier than sheep washing. In fact, I never wanted to see a sheep for as long as I lived, if I could help it.

I plugged my mixer into the power strip and went to test it, when a hand touched me gently on my waist. A familiar scent of cologne filled my nose as someone came up behind me and leaned close to whisper in my opposite ear.

“Good luck out there, Char Char.”

Hunter’s warm breath on the side of my neck sent an alarming cascade of electricity down my back. I looked over to see his lips curving in a reassuring smile. He’d worn an army green baseball cap and flannel shirt that brought out the green in his hazel eyes. The fabric around his generous bicep strained as he leaned his left arm on the table and his eyes did an agonizingly slow sweep over me.

I had the feeling he was assessing Lexi’s latest makeover. Thankfully, there was no disapproval in his gaze when his gaze finally made contact with mine again. He kept his expression basically neutral, although I didn’t miss the slight tension around his eyes, as if he were trying hard not to let his emotions show. Despite that, his sudden closeness and the sensation of his chest brushing against my left side made my legs feel wobbly. I clung to my mixer, hoping I wouldn’t just fall to the floor and embarrass myself—again.

“I’m not sure if you know this, but I don’t need luck,” I said, swallowing hard and then pointing a shaking finger at the stained and yellowed three by five notecard on the table beside me. “I have my mom’s famous recipe. It’s guaranteed to win.”

“Can’t wait.” He nodded approvingly and then licked his lips, drawing my eyes straight to the shapely curve of his mouth.

Shoot. Why was I always doing that? I needed to get a grip.

Hunter didn’t seem to notice my discomfort. He gave my waist a gentle squeeze before dropping his hand. “Don’t tell anyone, Char Char, but I’m rooting for you.”

I giggled nervously as he walked away, warmth blossoming in my stomach. Apparently, my nerves about this contest were getting to me. It was a good thing I was already set up and ready to rock this thing. But as I went to test my mixer, it wouldn’t start.

“What the...?”

It had definitely worke

d at home before we packed it up. I followed the cord down to the ground and found it laying uselessly next to the power strip.

“Oops, was that yours?” Sarah plopped a bag of flour heavily on the table next to me, sending a white poof into the air. Her dark eyes glittered as she gave me a sugar-sweet smile. “I would’ve asked before I unplugged it, but you were too busy colluding with the judges. I guess that’s what you have to resort to when you’re in dead last place.”

I ground my teeth and narrowed my eyes at her before reaching down to plug my mixer back in. Sarah couldn’t talk about colluding. She had been the one shamelessly flirting with Hunter just last night. It was nice to know it had gotten her absolutely nowhere. Apparently, Hunter was smarter than that. He could see through her fake eyelashes and plumping lip gloss.

And yes, I was in dead last. Ms. Gentry’s nervous-nelly son had passed out score sheets this morning. No surprise to anyone that Sarah had dominated the little sheep-washing demonstration from yesterday. Perfect points for poise and helpfulness. The only thing that gave me a little pleasure was seeing Geminia’s score coming in right after Sarah’s. But I was going to have a lot of ground to make up for if I wanted to stand a chance in this competition.

And that all started with this brown sugar pie.

“Thank you, everyone, for attending.” Ms. Gentry stood in front of the tables to address the dozen or so people who’d come to watch. She wore a floor-length black dress that was only slightly different from her previous two. I imagined her closet was full of them. One after another. A closet full of disapproving darkness that would swallow you up just for looking at it wrong. “We’ve got seven young ladies here, creating seven different recipes. I’m sure today’s winner will prove to be worthy of the Rodeo Queen title. Our prestigious judges are saddled up and ready for a feast. Ladies, you have two hours, so let the baking begin.”

Hunter sat at a rectangular table facing the contestants. Graham was on the other side, with a big, burly guy wearing a permanent scowl in-between them that Ms. Gentry introduced as Rhett. Hunter grinned at me and then rubbed his belly as the contestants began to rush to open their ingredients. I returned his smile and then redirected my attention to the recipe. No more getting distracted by boys.

First up was the crust. I could handle that. I’d mastered the art of crushing graham crackers in preschool.

This was going to be easy.

The butter, brown sugar, and graham cracker crumbs all combined together to make a gorgeous crust that came out of the oven smelling like heaven. After that, I poured the batter that I’d carefully mixed into the shell and then popped it back into the heat for another half hour. When I’d said Mom’s recipe was foolproof and quick, I hadn’t been lying. Even better, it gave me time to check on the competition.

It seemed that I’d picked one of the simpler recipes to make for the contest. A girl at the other end of the row was wrestling with a rolling pin and looked about ready to burst into tears. Geminia had flour all over her face and hair. Two other contestants hadn’t even finished making their filling. Only Sarah looked as cool as a cucumber, carefully placing hearts on top of her apple pie that she’d cut out of the pie dough, not a speck of flour or dough on her frilly black apron.

Perfect, once again.