“Where is it?” I ask casually, trying to act like I’m not ready to tear the goddamn room apart in search of a single magazine. At Ford’s nod, Reese stands and pulls the magazine from high atop the fridge. I scowl at the ridiculous hiding spot. “Here she is,” Reese says softly, passing it my way. I exhale when I open it to her centerfold advertisement. In the glossy issue of Cowgirl Magazine, Fallon sits on the back of a massive Clydesdale. She wears Tecovas, propped up on bejeweled spurs. Caramel hair curling around her slender shoulders, her eyes darkened by kohl. She looks beautiful and bad
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