It’s Friday night and hardworking cowboys and ranchers from all around Fort Worth come to The Lone Star for a cold brew and someone warm to dance with. Lucky for them, one table is always reserved for Bailey Rose and her friends, who come there to unwind and maybe to get wound up by a good-looking guy with a big smile and a bigger rodeo buckle.
I should have questioned Grant’s use of the word pony, but I was putty in his arms as he two-stepped us around the Lone Star’s dance floor. Silly me. I thought he was talking about small equines. He wasn’t. After seeing his ranch, or should I say Pony Camp, I know one thing for sure. I’m not cut out to train ponies. I want to be a pony. I want to be Grant’s pony. If he’ll have me. ~ Shelby