Cowboy Heartthrob Preview

Synopsis

He jumped off the stage to save me and the whole world wants to know if Nashville’s hottest rising star just found his forever girl. One viral rescue made me his mystery woman. Now I can’t stop imagining what else those arms of his could do. Country music’s bad boy, Knox Rylan, is looking for me … and I’m not sure I want to stay hidden.

Knox Rylan:

They call me Nashville’s next big thing … chart climber, heartbreaker, the man who lives for the stage. But under the lights, I’m done faking it.

I’ve been chasing the spotlight for years—opening acts, honky-tonk bars, sold-out shows that still left me feeling empty.

Now the world finally knows my name.

And I should be happy.

But I’m tired of women who want the brand, the image, the headline --

Not me.

Then I see her.

Curvy, wild-haired, dancing in the front row like the music is hers.

Until something knocks her down … and everything else fades.

I stopped the song. I ran to her. And nothing’s felt real since.

Lily Morgan:

My life isn’t a highlight reel. It’s spreadsheets, polite smiles, and being the dependable one who never rocks the boat.

But that concert? I danced like no one was watching … because I thought no one was.

Until Knox Rylan jumped off the stage and carried me out like a fairytale gone sideways.

Now I’m the mystery girl in a viral video.

And the man whose voice made me fall harder than I should have … might be writing songs about me.

I don’t know if I’m ready to be seen.

But I can’t stop hoping he’s still looking.

I should stay hidden. But the way he looked at me … the way he took care of me … Maybe I don’t want to be lost.

💘 A steamy, swoony short read with a curvy heroine, a protective country bad boy, and a fairytale moment too big to ignore. No cliffhanger. No cheating. Just heat, heart, and one unforgettable rescue that might be the start of something real.

Chapter One

Lily

Something about tonight feels loose. Like I’ve finally unlatched the pressure valve on my carefully constructed, pressed-and-perfected life. I throw my arms up, spinning like no one’s watching … which is kind of the point. I didn’t come to this concert to sit or stand. I also didn’t plan to be right up front, dancing like a girl having a moment in a music video. I got lucky!

As soon as I entered the gate, a woman was walking out, moving fast. She had her hand around a little boy’s wrist. I suppose it was her son. She looked at me and could tell I was alone, all by myself. She said, “Here … you might as well enjoy this. I have an emergency and can’t stay.” The woman handed me her lanyard with a pass to front row access – VIP. It’s good for all four days of this giant festival. I stared at it, struggling to understand the moment. Before I could properly thank her, she was gone.

This four day concert venue cost me a bundle at the general admission level. It’s money I’ve been putting back for a while. Living right here in Derby City, USA, why not? I don’t need to pay for a hotel room or even expensive parking. I can’t afford a true vacation on my salary anyway. But now, I’ve hit the jackpot with this lanyard around my neck and the VIP experience.

Southern Fire Live is a music, bourbon and food festival celebrating the end of summer with over a hundred high quality music acts on multiple sound stages. The event has people flying into this city from all over the world.

Presently, I’m front and center dancing to a bluegrass band, but waiting for country’s chart-topping new hottie. I’m going to enjoy all four days as long as my legs and appetite for bourbon hold out. The band plays their own version of Foggy Mountain Breakdown for an encore and the crowd goes berserk. I tug the hair tie off my ponytail and slip it into my pocket, letting my hair go wild. My hips move with the rhythm, boots scuffing the packed earth.

As the bluegrass band leaves the stage and the crew begins moving and setting up for the next act – the one I can’t wait for – I visit the ladies room where the line is fairly long. Lucky again, it’s moving fast. Next, time to fuel for the show. I grab a bourbon with lemonade plus a chicken gyro that I devour quickly. I have to get back to my spot – front and center for country’s new star.

Lights flood the stage, and the crowd roars as Knox Rylan steps into view. God help me, he’s even hotter in real life. Black jeans. Fitted shirt that’s already rolled up at the sleeves. That dark cowboy hat tilted just enough to be cocky. The man oozes swagger, even before he opens his mouth.

Then he sings.

It’s not polished like on the radio. It’s raw – a mixture of deep baritone and honey. He grips the mic stand like it might fly away, eyes closed for the first few lines. And then he opens them. And looks straight at me.

I freeze. Not because I think he’s really looking at me. But for half a second … I let myself believe it. I smile … big. He’s still singing as his gaze lingers my way. Then he begins to move across the stage. I go back to dancing, heart thudding harder than the beat, telling myself I imagined it. I’ve had one too many lemonades spiked with bourbon.

The next song starts and I lose myself in it – head back, hair sticking to the back of my neck. I glance at him again. Damn, he looks yummy! The bass drops so hard I feel it in my teeth. Someone behind me screams, but I’m too blissed out to care. Until something cold and heavy slams into the side of my head.

Pain explodes behind my eye. There’s another scream – might be mine. The world tilts and my knees give out. I hear gasps, shouting, the music cutting out. Boots thunder against the stage. Warm strong hands slide around my back.

“Hey … hey, you with me?”

The voice is low and urgent. The kind of voice that could sing you to sleep or wreck you in the best way possible. I blink, trying to open my eyes. The lights are too bright. His face is too close. Wait! Is that him? No, I’m delusional.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs. “You’re gonna be okay.”

My body feels like it’s floating. Someone shouts for security. Another voice says paramedics are coming. But all I hear is him speaking in a deep, impossibly gentle, voice repeating: “I’ve got you.”

Chapter Two

Knox

I’ve performed under all kinds of strange conditions. Flashed lights in my eyes. Missed notes. A woman in the second row pulling her top down just enough to see if I’d lose focus. But nothing – and I mean nothing – has ever knocked the breath outta me like seeing her fall.

One second, she was keeping me tethered to the stage with her enthusiasm. Twirling like the music is hers. Hair wild, her body moving like a lioness uncaged. Her vibe was real and intoxicating in a sea of fans. She stood out to me. I hope she felt even a twinge of what I experienced when our eyes locked.

Then, some asshole launches a can or a bottle – whatever it was – and she crumples. Mid-verse, I drop the mic. Security’s slow. Way too slow. I’m off the front of the stage and into the pit before they realize what happened.

She’s already on the ground, eyes fluttering. Her face is pale and there’s a trickle of blood along her hairline. My gut twists hard just seeing damage to her.

Someone says, “Don’t touch her. Let the medics …”

“I am the damn medic right now,” I snap at the guy with a clipboard.

I slide one arm under her knees, one behind her back, and lift. She’s warm and soft in my arms, completely limp. The crowd parts like the Red Sea when they see me carrying her, and the collective crowd gasps are loud enough to come through the mics.

I don’t care!

Backstage smells like sweat, bourbon and beer. A tech clears a space on the folding table for me to lay her down. Her lashes flick. Then her lips move. “Did I miss the bridge?”

I almost laugh. Almost. “Nah, sweetheart. You’re right on time.”

She blinks up at me, confused. And then – God help me, she smiles. It’s weak and dazed, but beautiful. She’s beautiful.

“You’re okay,” I tell her again, softer this time. “You’re safe.”

“Did I … ruin your set?”

That actually makes me grin. “You made the damn set.” She’s in no shape to tell her how hard I was watching her dance … or how hard it hit me inside when she fell.

The EMTs rush in a minute later. I step back, hands shaking, every nerve ending buzzing with adrenaline. They check her vitals and ask her name. But, she’s not responding. The female EMT notices she has a small purse wrapped around her. “Probably has her ID inside,” she says to her partner.

I lean forward. “Listen, gorgeous. What is your name?” I can see she’s trying to open her eyes, but she’s drifting again. Someone tries to usher me back toward the stage, but I wave them off. I just want to know if she’s going to be alright. If she’s going to remember me. There’s something about this woman. I should ask for her info – something, anything. But my head’s a wreck and the PR handler’s already yelling in my earpiece.

They want me to finish the show. They want a statement. They want the moment.

But the only thing I want right now ... is her name. And one more chance to find her again.

Chapter Three

Lily

I wake up to fluorescent lights and the antiseptic scent of a hospital room. What the hell? My thoughts travel back to the concert. I reach for my chest, trying to grasp the VIP lanyard I know I had. It’s not there. Did I dream all of it? Did I dream that a man was cradling me like a princess?

Something beeps softly near my head. There’s an IV in my other arm, a scratchy blanket across my legs, and the ghost memory of a low, kind voice still in my ears. I try to sit up, but the world tilts, and I groan.

A nurse appears like a ninja. “Easy, hon. You’re at the hospital. You took a pretty good hit to the head, but you didn’t lose consciousness for long.”

Right … the crowd … the music … the pain … and him.

“Did I …” I blink up at her. “Did I miss the rest of the concert?”

The nurse grins. “You gave them a show of your own. But you’re lucky. Knox Rylan himself carried you off the field like some kinda rodeo rescue.”

Okay, so that did happen.

I close my eyes. Not because I’m in pain, but because my brain is short-circuiting.

“Where is my stuff? I was wearing a lanyard and my purse was attached to me. I need my phone,” I whisper. “Please.”

The nurse walks toward a cabinet in the room and retrieves a plastic bag with the hospital’s logo on it. She hands it over and inside is my purse and the lanyard. I also feel the dress I was wearing. What about my boots I ask her?

She goes back to the cabinet and retrieves only one boot. She looks at her screen on the rolling desk and takes a moment. “There’s a note here that you only came in with one boot,” she replies. “Let me get your vitals while I’m here.”

She goes through the motions and records everything on her screen. I wait, patiently, but not! “When can I leave?”

“Doctor should be in soon. We’ll know more then,” she says, rolling her computer cart out the door with a smile.

“Thanks,” I tell her and dig for my phone inside my purse. One boot?

I unlock my phone to a flood of notifications. Group texts and even local news alerts. A photo – oh my God. A photo of Knox carrying me, front and center.

“Mystery Girl Knocked Out Cold at Southern Fire Live – Knox Rylan to the Rescue!”

I stare at it in stunned silence. I’m limp in his arms, hair a mess, face pale, one boot hanging half-off. Not exactly the look I was going for.

It doesn’t take long. Buzz.

Buzz buzz.

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZBUZZBUZZ …

“Oh no,” I gasp.

It’s like someone set off fireworks in my text thread.

Lana: ARE YOU OKAY?!???!

Maya: Bitch are you DEAD or FAMOUS now?!

Travis (my boss): We need to talk about your sudden media presence.

I click one of the links Lana sent. It’s a screenshot of a grainy video still. It shows Knox, his shirt slightly unbuttoned and eyes blazing – carrying me like a bride straight off the battlefield.

In the next image, he’s crouched over me, cupping my cheek. In another, someone’s added a caption that says:

“When a cowboy finds his damsel.”
Complete with a lasso emoji.

My heart does something weird. I’m glad the nurse already took my vitals because if she took readings now … there’s no telling what they would be. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down.

I wasn’t trying to be anyone’s damsel. I was just dancing, trying to live it up for once … until something took me down. But the internet doesn’t care what you’re trying to be. They decide for you.

I text Lana first:

Alive. Not famous. See the doctor soon.

Then Maya:

Please tell me it’s not as bad as it looks.

She sends back a GIF of Knox jumping off the stage like a superhero.

Another buzz – this time a notification from Instagram. I open the app and my hands start shaking. I’ve been tagged in three videos and at least a dozen photos from strangers. None with my name attached, thank God, but it won’t take long. Someone always knows someone.

The moment I was carried off the stage? It’s already soundtracked to Knox’s biggest hit, stitched into reels with captions like:

Country star carries mystery girl off backstage. Are they a couple?

I lock my phone. I don’t know whether to be flattered, mortified, or afraid. I just know one thing:

I felt something when he touched me. When he looked at me. When he whispered those words … “I’ve got you.”

I want to believe he meant them. But I’m not that naïve, right? Famous men don’t fall for random girls in concert crowds. Not in real life … right?

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Cowboy Heartthrob Preview

Synopsis

Knox Rylan:

They call me Nashville’s next big thing … chart climber, heartbreaker, the man who lives for the stage. But under the lights, I’m done faking it.

I’ve been chasing the spotlight for years—opening acts, honky-tonk bars, sold-out shows that still left me feeling empty.

Now the world finally knows my name.

And I should be happy.

But I’m tired of women who want the brand, the image, the headline --

Not me.

Then I see her.

Curvy, wild-haired, dancing in the front row like the music is hers.

Until something knocks her down … and everything else fades.

I stopped the song. I ran to her. And nothing’s felt real since.

Lily Morgan:

My life isn’t a highlight reel. It’s spreadsheets, polite smiles, and being the dependable one who never rocks the boat.

Chapter One

Lily

Southern Fire Live is a music, bourbon and food festival celebrating the end of summer with over a hundred high quality music acts on multiple sound stages. The event has people flying into this city from all over the world.

Lights flood the stage, and the crowd roars as Knox Rylan steps into view. God help me, he’s even hotter in real life. Black jeans. Fitted shirt that’s already rolled up at the sleeves. That dark cowboy hat tilted just enough to be cocky. The man oozes swagger, even before he opens his mouth.

Then he sings.

It’s not polished like on the radio. It’s raw – a mixture of deep baritone and honey. He grips the mic stand like it might fly away, eyes closed for the first few lines. And then he opens them. And looks straight at me.

Pain explodes behind my eye. There’s another scream – might be mine. The world tilts and my knees give out. I hear gasps, shouting, the music cutting out. Boots thunder against the stage. Warm strong hands slide around my back.

“Hey … hey, you with me?”

The voice is low and urgent. The kind of voice that could sing you to sleep or wreck you in the best way possible. I blink, trying to open my eyes. The lights are too bright. His face is too close. Wait! Is that him? No, I’m delusional.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs. “You’re gonna be okay.”

My body feels like it’s floating. Someone shouts for security. Another voice says paramedics are coming. But all I hear is him speaking in a deep, impossibly gentle, voice repeating: “I’ve got you.”

Chapter Two

Knox

I’ve performed under all kinds of strange conditions. Flashed lights in my eyes. Missed notes. A woman in the second row pulling her top down just enough to see if I’d lose focus. But nothing – and I mean nothing – has ever knocked the breath outta me like seeing her fall.

Then, some asshole launches a can or a bottle – whatever it was – and she crumples. Mid-verse, I drop the mic. Security’s slow. Way too slow. I’m off the front of the stage and into the pit before they realize what happened.

She’s already on the ground, eyes fluttering. Her face is pale and there’s a trickle of blood along her hairline. My gut twists hard just seeing damage to her.

Someone says, “Don’t touch her. Let the medics …”

“I am the damn medic right now,” I snap at the guy with a clipboard.

I slide one arm under her knees, one behind her back, and lift. She’s warm and soft in my arms, completely limp. The crowd parts like the Red Sea when they see me carrying her, and the collective crowd gasps are loud enough to come through the mics.

I don’t care!

Backstage smells like sweat, bourbon and beer. A tech clears a space on the folding table for me to lay her down. Her lashes flick. Then her lips move. “Did I miss the bridge?”

I almost laugh. Almost. “Nah, sweetheart. You’re right on time.”

She blinks up at me, confused. And then – God help me, she smiles. It’s weak and dazed, but beautiful. She’s beautiful.

“You’re okay,” I tell her again, softer this time. “You’re safe.”

“Did I … ruin your set?”

That actually makes me grin. “You made the damn set.” She’s in no shape to tell her how hard I was watching her dance … or how hard it hit me inside when she fell.

The EMTs rush in a minute later. I step back, hands shaking, every nerve ending buzzing with adrenaline. They check her vitals and ask her name. But, she’s not responding. The female EMT notices she has a small purse wrapped around her. “Probably has her ID inside,” she says to her partner.

They want me to finish the show. They want a statement. They want the moment.

But the only thing I want right now ... is her name. And one more chance to find her again.

Chapter Three

Lily

I wake up to fluorescent lights and the antiseptic scent of a hospital room. What the hell? My thoughts travel back to the concert. I reach for my chest, trying to grasp the VIP lanyard I know I had. It’s not there. Did I dream all of it? Did I dream that a man was cradling me like a princess?

Something beeps softly near my head. There’s an IV in my other arm, a scratchy blanket across my legs, and the ghost memory of a low, kind voice still in my ears. I try to sit up, but the world tilts, and I groan.

A nurse appears like a ninja. “Easy, hon. You’re at the hospital. You took a pretty good hit to the head, but you didn’t lose consciousness for long.”

Right … the crowd … the music … the pain … and him.

“Did I …” I blink up at her. “Did I miss the rest of the concert?”

The nurse grins. “You gave them a show of your own. But you’re lucky. Knox Rylan himself carried you off the field like some kinda rodeo rescue.”

Okay, so that did happen.

I close my eyes. Not because I’m in pain, but because my brain is short-circuiting.

“Where is my stuff? I was wearing a lanyard and my purse was attached to me. I need my phone,” I whisper. “Please.”

The nurse walks toward a cabinet in the room and retrieves a plastic bag with the hospital’s logo on it. She hands it over and inside is my purse and the lanyard. I also feel the dress I was wearing. What about my boots I ask her?

She goes back to the cabinet and retrieves only one boot. She looks at her screen on the rolling desk and takes a moment. “There’s a note here that you only came in with one boot,” she replies. “Let me get your vitals while I’m here.”

She goes through the motions and records everything on her screen. I wait, patiently, but not! “When can I leave?”

“Doctor should be in soon. We’ll know more then,” she says, rolling her computer cart out the door with a smile.

“Thanks,” I tell her and dig for my phone inside my purse. One boot?

I unlock my phone to a flood of notifications. Group texts and even local news alerts. A photo – oh my God. A photo of Knox carrying me, front and center.

“Mystery Girl Knocked Out Cold at Southern Fire Live – Knox Rylan to the Rescue!”

I stare at it in stunned silence. I’m limp in his arms, hair a mess, face pale, one boot hanging half-off. Not exactly the look I was going for.

It doesn’t take long. Buzz.

Buzz buzz.

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZBUZZBUZZ …

“Oh no,” I gasp.

It’s like someone set off fireworks in my text thread.

Lana: ARE YOU OKAY?!???!

Maya: Bitch are you DEAD or FAMOUS now?!

Travis (my boss): We need to talk about your sudden media presence.

I click one of the links Lana sent. It’s a screenshot of a grainy video still. It shows Knox, his shirt slightly unbuttoned and eyes blazing – carrying me like a bride straight off the battlefield.

In the next image, he’s crouched over me, cupping my cheek. In another, someone’s added a caption that says:

“When a cowboy finds his damsel.”Complete with a lasso emoji.

My heart does something weird. I’m glad the nurse already took my vitals because if she took readings now … there’s no telling what they would be. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down.

I wasn’t trying to be anyone’s damsel. I was just dancing, trying to live it up for once … until something took me down. But the internet doesn’t care what you’re trying to be. They decide for you.

I text Lana first:

Alive. Not famous. See the doctor soon.

“When a cowboy finds his damsel.”
Complete with a lasso emoji.