Off-Limits Cowboy Bodyguard Bonus Scene

“Only the best,” I say.

“But,” she says catching my gaze, “You can’t be picky in a town like Hollister. You need a hat. Period.”

“I’ll get one… eventually.”

“More sun damage just waiting to happen.”

“Sun damage? Since when are you worried about my skin?” I ask, grimacing.

“No offense, but relatively speaking, you’re already an old guy. Time to stop hard living and start preserving—”

“What I’ve got left?” I volunteer.

“Something like that,” she teases.

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“Quit being stubborn, Boone. Turn around, and go back to the feed store,” Laney says like it’s a done deal.

She knows it is. I can’t say no to her. Not really.

“’Sides,” she adds. “I need to get more treats for Suzy.”

“Alright, Ms. Stubborn,” I tease.

After parking, I round the truck and help her down. Then I hold the feed store door as she passes, hearing the familiar jangling bell.

The smell of roasted oats, straw, and leather hits my nostrils. And then my eyebrows dart into my hairline.

“What is this?” I gasp.

Everyone’s there. That’s what I notice first. Quinn, Grandpa Whitefeather, Josie, Maverick and Mia, Beckett, Amos, Wade… all the guys from the team. Even Sheriff Christian and his wife, Cricket. Behind them stand towering Travis, the big blond wildland hotshot and mechanic, with his arm wrapped protectively around Faith.

Next, I notice we’re standing in a veritable sea of cowboy hat boxes. If there’s an empty spot, there’s a hat box. Every style, every brand, every material you can imagine.

“It isn’t even rodeo season,” I exclaim.

Everyone laughs, relaxing a little.

“Nope,” Travis says, rounding the counter to shake my hand. “It’s an intervention. For a cowboy who’s lost his hat.”

“More like gave it away,” Maverick mutters.

Heat climbs my neck.

Beckett teases, “Oh, you mean the anomaly?”

I shake my head.

For God’s sake.

“The theft,” Quinn corrects with a giggle, staring down at her laptop. She brought her damn laptop.

“Don’t tell me you have a spreadsheet for this,” I grunt, eyeing my older sister.

“Three, actually,” she replies with a wide grin. “I know how picky you are, but I’m also tired of seeing your glowing face.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, Laney, said I’m aging too fast, Have to preserve what’s left of me.”

“Not much,” Wade chimes in, coming over to shake my hand. I pull him into a hug instead.

“You would know,” I say.

Josie side-hugs me. “Daddy, I’m so excited! Which ones do you want?”

Ones? That’s a good question. My eyes scan the place settling on plenty of possibilities.

Faith smiles kindly, stepping forward. “Now Boone, don’t pout. Every respectable cowboy needs at least two good hats.”

“I have two.”

“Had,” she says, eyeing Delaney. “Where’s the other one?” She arches a brow.

“In the compost pile,” Laney teases. It’s so old and so dirty it started sprouting seedlings.

“Now, that’s not true,” I scold.

But Josie’s belly laughing over the whole thing.

Faith starts bringing over boxes. She narrates as she shows me, “Stetsons. Resistols. Felt. Straw. Black. Silverbelly. Chocolate. What suits your fancy?”

“I have a spreadsheet for that… two actually,” Quinn chimes in typing frantically on her laptop.

“Of course, you do,” I mutter.

Laney and Josie laugh, hugging each other now.

“Well,” Quinn explains, like this is the most natural thing in the world, “I have one for your previous cowboy hats, known preferences, and professional needs. And I have one to record your impressions as you try them on.”

“Guess we better dive in,” I say cocking my head to one side. “But one. Only one.”

“No,” everyone says simultaneously, like some kind of cowboy hat flash mob.

Faith lifts the first hat from its box, a silverbelly felt Stetson with a traditional cattleman’s crease.

“Classic,” she says, setting it on my head before I can protest.

I adjust the brim automatically. “Too dressy.”

Quinn types: Rejected. Too dressy.

I glare at her.

She doesn’t even look up.

Faith swaps it for a chocolate Resistol. “This one’s got a little more attitude.”

I settle it lower. “Feels good.”

Travis nods once. “Looks like you.”

Delaney circles me slowly. “No.”

I blink. “No?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Too sheriff.”

Christian, leaning against a pallet of horse feed, laughs. “She’s got a point.”

Back into the box it goes.

Next comes a black felt. I don’t even make it all the way into it before shaking my head. “Funeral.”

Faith grins. “That’s exactly what Travis said.”

Then comes straw. Natural-colored. Lightweight. Vent holes woven into the crown.

I settle it onto my head. Instantly better. I roll my shoulders. “Now that’s comfortable.”

“Summer hat,” Travis says.

“Working hat,” I correct.

I glance toward Delaney.

She smiles. “I like that one.”

Quinn types furiously: Approved by Delaney.

“And now,” Faith announces dramatically. “The one.”

She opens another box. Silverbelly again. But different. Less formal. Slightly taller crown. Brim curled just enough. The kind of hat that somehow looks worn before it’s ever been worn.

I set it on. Adjust the band. Stand there.

Nobody says anything.

Travis finally nods. “There he is.”

Even I have to admit… It feels right.

“How many?” Faith asks.

“One.”

Everyone groans.

Josie stomps her boot. “Daaaad.”

Delaney folds her arms. “You need a summer hat.”

Quinn raises one finger. “And a dress hat.”

Maverick raises another. “And a spare.”

Amos deadpans from the corner. “Given recent theft statistics…”

The whole store erupts.

I point at Delaney. “It wasn’t theft.”

She tips the brim of the hat she’s wearing. “Finders keepers.”

I sigh. “Fine.”

I pick up the straw one. “One for working.” Then the silverbelly. “One for weddings, funerals, and my future wife dragging me somewhere civilized.”

Silence.

Delaney’s cheeks bloom pink.

Grandpa clears his throat. “Boy.”

I look over.

He smiles. “Proud of you.”

When I go to pay, Travis holds up both hands. “Already handled.”

“By who?” I ask, surveying the room. Already fit to be tied. There’s no reason for a gift this extravagant.

“From one Marine to another,” Grandpa Whitefeather says with a nod.

“But you can’t—”

“Already have, son.”

One syllable. Never ceases to amaze me how good it feels.

I shake my head, swiping quickly at my eyes. “Thank you everyone,” I say. “This is more than I deserve.”

“No, it’s not,” Christian says stepping forward.

“Thank you,” I say.

Then, he adds, “You sure about that chocolate Resistol?”

I nod once.

“Good,” he says a wink. “Thinking about picking one up for myself.”

“You couldn’t pull it off,” I deadpan.

Christian raises an eyebrow. “Neither could you until five minutes ago.”

Everyone starts laughing.

“Faith, you remember that other thing?” Travis asks.

Before I can sigh, let out a protest, the sunshiny feed store owner holds two more boxes in her arms. Much smaller boxes.

Josie’s eyes round.

Faith sets them in front of her, saying, “Grandpa Whitefeather thought you could use a little something, too.”

Inside the first box is a small pink hat—way too pink—that makes Josie gasp. And in the other is a black felt hat with turquoise conchos.

“Daddy, these are beautiful!”

“Yes, they are, Pipsqueak. Whichever one you want, I’m paying.”

I reach for my wallet.

Grandpa Whitefeather puts his hand on it. “Not this time.” Then to Faith, “I believe we’ll take both.”

Josie squeals, cheeks red as two apples. Her eyes fill with tears, and she gives him an exuberant hug.

“Be careful,” Quinn scolds.

Grandpa Whitefeather just laughs. “Been through worse. Recently foiled a kidnapping,” he brags, puffing out his chest.

Everyone laughs, bodyguards coming over to pat him on the back. Christian and Travis both shake his hand.

Our small-town hero.

Afterward, new hat poised atop my head, Laney and I walk out arm in arm. Grandpa, Josie, and Quinn are off to get ice cream sundaes at The Silver Fork.

“You like it?” I grunt, tipping the brim of the silverbelly.

“It looks mighty fine on you,” Laney says with a big grin.

“Good. Figure whatever hat I get, you have to like since you’ll more than likely end up wearing it.”

“Boone Callahan,” she scolds, swatting my arm.

“What?” I say with a chuckle, helping her up into the truck.

By the time we reach Whitefeather Ranch, the hat feels broke in. Settled. Like I’ve worn it my whole life.

Laney side-eyes me. “Don’t you look like the Cheshire Cat.”

It’s true. I can’t wipe the grin off my face. “Figure a fancy hat like this calls for a celebration.”

I park the truck and round it, helping her down.

“A celebration?” she asks, arching her brow. Our fingers tangle. I’ve got a hat box poised under the other arm.

“Yup, how about we go for a ride?”

“Hmm… I like that idea,” she says.

But when we reach the path to veer off toward the stables, she tugs me toward the house instead.

“Put up my hat first?” I ask, nodding down at the box under my arm. “Good idea.”

“That, too,” she says in that dark, silky voice of hers.

“I thought we were going riding,” I say.

“We are.”

She hooks a finger through one of my belt loops, tugging me closer.

“But only one of us needs to stay saddled.”

Heat curls low, her words instantly setting me on fire.

“That so?” I chuckle, dark and dangerous.

Laney reaches up, straightening the brim of my new silverbelly. “You leave that hat on.”

I lean closer until I can taste her breath, feel its heat against my lips. “Only if you wear mine, Laney girl.”

She smiles. “I told you.” She taps the brim. “I’m never taking it off.”

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