One Rodeo Season
One Rodeo Season
Sarah M. Anderson
When his past collides with her present, only true love can survive the wild ride….Bullfighter Ian Tall Chief is determined to get off the reservation and onto the pro circuit. After a wild youth, and some big mistakes, he's found his focus. The only person who can break his concentration? Lacy Evans, owner of the Straight Arrow Ranch.But the beautiful cowgirl is dealing with problems of her own. She's running the ranch alone, after her parents' deaths. The macho rodeo world is not ready for a female stock contractor. And she's discovered her parents were keeping secrets from her–ones that rock the very foundation of her identity. Can she trust Ian to be the good man he claims to be?
When his past collides with her present, only true love can survive the wild ride...
Bullfighter Ian Tall Chief is determined to get off the reservation and onto the pro circuit. After a wild youth, and some big mistakes, he’s found his focus. The only person who can break his concentration? Lacy Evans, owner of the Straight Arrow Ranch.
But the beautiful cowgirl is dealing with problems of her own. She’s running the ranch alone, after her parents’ deaths. The macho rodeo world is not ready for a female stock contractor. And she’s discovered her parents were keeping secrets from her—ones that rock the very foundation of her identity. Can she trust Ian to be the good man he claims to be?
“I know how this goes.”
Lacy paused before adding, “There are two kinds of men here. The first doesn’t think a woman like me should be anywhere near a bull because we might do better than them and that would obviously be the end of the world. The second thinks I’m nothing but a one-night stand that hasn’t happened yet.” She pointed a finger at him. “Guess which one you are.”
His lips...nice lips, rounded and full and—no, stop it, Lacy. She was not going to start thinking about his lips! All they were doing were twisting off to the side, as if he was thinking about laughing at her but trying not to.
Unfortunately, in trying so hard not to stare at his mouth, her gaze drifted back down to his chest. The wet T-shirt left nothing to the imagination. Pecs, nipples!
She snapped her gaze to the front windshield of the truck. She wouldn’t look at him. That was the best solution.
“Have you considered,” Ian Tall Chief said in an amused drawl, “that there might be another kind of man here?”
Dear Reader (#ulink_2b7f6627-f3a5-50de-bdbc-b49646fe32de),
Welcome back to the rodeo, where dreams are made—and broken—in eight seconds in the arena on the back of a two-ton bull.
Ian Tall Chief has something to prove. He’s got a secret, one he guards with his life: he’s got a son he gave up for adoption. It’s been six years and he wants to be someone his son can be proud of, which is why he’s determined to make it to the rodeo finals as a bullfighter.
But his path is blocked by one very stubborn woman. Lacy Evans. She’s the owner of the Straight Arrow Ranch and her bulls have been giving Ian nothing but trouble. Lacy is as tough as nails, yet there’s something vulnerable about her that makes Ian want to protect her.
When Lacy’s hidden past comes to light and collides head-on with Ian’s, will these two make it out of the arena?
One Rodeo Season is a sensual story about accepting your past and fighting for your future—and falling in love. I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it! Be sure to stop by sarahmanderson.com (http://www.sarahmanderson.com) and sign up for my newsletter at eepurl.com/nv39b (http://eepurl.com/nv39b) to join me as I say, Long Live Cowboys!
Sarah
One Rodeo Season
Sarah M. Anderson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SARAH M. ANDERSON may live east of the Mississippi River, but her heart lies out West on the Great Plains. Sarah’s book A Man of Privilege won an RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award in 2012.
Sarah spends her days having conversations with imaginary cowboys and American Indians. Find out more about Sarah’s love of cowboys and Indians at sarahmanderson.com (http://www.sarahmanderson.com) and sign up for the new-release newsletter at eepurl.com/nv39b (http://eepurl.com/nv39b).
To Hannah and Willa and to parents everywhere who love the children they gave up and the children they adopted.
Contents
Cover (#u4c81379b-5d40-5be1-97fe-7d96ca3df201)
Back Cover Text (#u583faef1-24db-5c2e-8895-41c80c344d9d)
Introduction (#u2f8e9384-a8ca-5caa-86ab-08b2a596dd3c)
Dear Reader (#u95d354b4-db43-5433-a5c6-a9cacf17d4b4)
Title Page (#ue94c626f-a6aa-5da9-8db2-eb59755f592f)
About the Author (#u4594bd71-c412-5d04-8815-bf7655c077fe)
Dedication (#u4ab93210-3e2b-54e3-b94e-c94e5a9f4209)
CHAPTER ONE (#uc06437aa-d3a2-5a30-9ee6-c9bfbce1e5d8)
CHAPTER TWO (#ud25a514f-4db1-5908-b5c4-a5a10d224473)
CHAPTER THREE (#uba13107e-fa53-51bc-baea-df4b95a6b560)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u69a7e101-7336-574e-a843-2de1f3bde47d)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u72fefbc3-833d-52d9-8a9c-bb245f01a9b3)
CHAPTER SIX (#ufe981722-db0d-5c78-bb38-75d5c35bf4e8)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_883959a9-5b24-5e9d-973f-e772052126bf)
“COME ON, COME ON.” Ian Tall Chief bounced on the balls of his feet, adrenaline dumping into his system. The bull rider in the chute apparently couldn’t get his grip and kept resetting. The bull kept trying to rear up and Ian couldn’t blame the animal. This was taking forever. This was the last ride of the long goes, the opening round of the rodeo. “Come on, Randy.”
Ian had met Randy on the Total Championship Bulls Ranger circuit—the minor leagues of the TCB Challenger circuit—last year. He was friends with most of the riders. They were little more than kids, but hell, he wasn’t that much older. Bull riders were a good time on a Saturday night.
If they made it that far. Randy was in no hurry to get on with his eight-second rush. At this rate, they would be in this arena in Hays, Kansas, all night long.
From behind him, he heard his partner, Black Jack Johnson, snort. Later, Ian knew, Black Jack would give Ian crap about his impatience. A good bullfighter waited. A good bullfighter did not rush in early. Bad bullfighters rushed in and spooked a bull. That got a bullfighter or a bull rider or even a bull hurt.
Ian’s job was to stand back and wait until a bull rider dismounted. Or was bucked off. Didn’t matter. All riders had to get off a bull one way or another, and when they did, Ian and Jack were on the ground, ready to make sure no one got gored or crushed to death.
Hadn’t happened yet. That wasn’t to say no one had gotten trampled or tossed on Ian’s watch—they had. Ian and Jack had kept things from getting worse. That was their job. But the fact that things could go bad kept Ian on high alert.
Finally, Randy nodded and the chute gate swung open. About damn time, Ian thought as the bull roared out, its hind legs flailing up and out with incredible speed. It was a monster of an animal—a mottled brown beast that was probably close to two-thousand pounds. Ian danced out of the path he thought the bull would take, barely clearing the back hooves. That bull had one hell of a kick.
A fact Randy was not prepared to deal with. The kid went sailing through the air after only a few seconds, landing in a heap behind Ian—which was a good enough place to fall.
But tell that to the bull. This was one mean—and fast—sucker that kept on coming. Jack jumped at the side of the bull, waving his hands to distract the bull from charging at where Randy was having a little trouble getting up, but all Jack got was knocked over for his troubles.
Oh, crap, Ian thought as he watched his partner literally bite the dust. Ian was on his own. He could get out of the way fast enough, but Randy couldn’t and Ian got the feeling this bull wasn’t going to quit anytime soon.
Ian had two choices. He could try to grab Randy and spin the two of them out of the way and hope like hell that Jack could get back on his feet or...
No time. Ian stood his ground in front of Randy and did the only thing he could.
When the bull got within feet of him—close enough that Ian could smell the rank bull snot coming out of his nose—he stepped to the side and grabbed the bull by the horns.
Bad idea, he thought as he dug in his heels and twisted to the right, trying to get his left arm under the bull’s jaw. Normal steer wrestling meant falling on a five-hundred-pound castrated bull from the back of a horse. This bull was the moving definition of aggressive and weighed maybe three times that much. Plus, Ian didn’t have momentum on his side. The bull was dragging him and bearing down on Randy and Jack was shouting and Ian was losing his grip. Hard. Bad, bad, bad—
Then the bull slowed, shaking his head as if Ian were nothing but a fly he could shoo away. Ian held on, fighting to drag the bull’s head to the side. Out of the corner of his eye, Ian saw Jack grab Randy by the arm and haul him to the side. The bull slowed another half step, trying to decide if he wanted to change course to go after Randy or focus on Ian. That half step gave Ian the chance to get his grip.
He twisted the bull’s head up. His muscles screamed at the awkward angle and for a second he thought the bull was going to throw him instead of the other way around. He put everything he had into getting the bull’s jaw up and lifted. Come on, come on. If this didn’t work...
He felt it the moment he gained control. Instead of being dragged along with the bull’s momentum, Ian was suddenly able to get his heels into the dirt. Then it happened in less than a second. The bull’s feet flipped out from underneath his body and the animal went down on its side with a muffled grunt of surprise.
Ian lay on the bull’s neck and checked the arena. Randy was up and hobbling toward the fence. Jack was off to the side, staring at Ian with his mouth flopped open in shock. The handler on horseback had his lasso ready to rope the bull and drag him out.
The whole place—the arena, the cowboys waiting their ride, the spectators in the stands—was eerily silent. The hair on the back of Ian’s neck stood up. Bull riding was many things, but “quiet” wasn’t one of them.
“O...kay...” Jack mumbled. “You need any help there, Chief?”
“Just gotta get up,” Ian replied as the bull tried to lift its head. The animal made a deep bellowing sound, one of pure bovine anger. Getting up wasn’t a problem. Getting up without getting kicked? That was another story entirely.
Jack came and stood within an arm’s reach, crouched down on his heels and braced himself. “On three?”
Ian nodded. One, two— He let go and rolled to the side as fast as he could. Everyone always worried about getting a bull’s horn up the ass, but any cowboy worth his salt knew that the hooves were what killed a man. And this bull had all four hooves pointed at Ian.
Jack latched onto Ian’s arm and yanked him up so hard it made the world spin. Both men took off for the fencing as fast as they could.
The bull stumbled to his feet, but by the time he got all four on the floor, Ian and Jack were climbing up the fence to safety and the rider had the bull roped.
It was only when the bull had successfully made it down the chute and Ian was straddling the fence that he heard it—the roar that swelled with each passing second until it damn near deafened him.
“Damn, man,” Jack shouted over the noise. “Where the hell did you learn to do that?”
“Back on the ranch,” Ian yelled back. Which was partially true. He’d done plenty of bulldogging back on the ranch.
But never a bull that size. Never from the ground.
Adrenaline pumped into his system. Had he really done that? Taken down a charging bull in a test of strength and skill?
Hell yeah, he had. Damn, he felt invincible. The number of men who could do that and not get killed could probably be counted on one hand. He turned to the stands and took off his hat, waving it for the crowd. They yelled their approval. A pretty blonde caught his eye and blew him a kiss.
God, he loved this job. Best damned job he’d ever had.
The rodeo clown joined in with the crowd. “That’s our very own Chief, everyone! Using those Indian superpowers to save Randy Sloap from certain death!”
Ian gritted his teeth. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been called Chief. When your last name was Tall Chief, it was unavoidable. But he hated it when people ascribed his hard-won physical skills to some mystical Indian gift.
Ian was a cowboy, a linebacker, a bullfighter. He was not some noble savage who communed with bulls, dammit all.
From somewhere behind the chutes, he heard what sounded distinctly like a war whoop. Ian rolled his eyes at Jack, who shrugged helplessly. Just another day on the job.
He looked back at the chutes, and a cowboy caught his eye. At least, it looked like a cowboy. A little shorter, a little rounder. With a jolt of awareness, Ian realized it was not a cowboy, but a cowgirl, which was unusual enough. Aside from his cousin, June Spotted Elk—who was one of the better bull riders in the world—there weren’t usually a whole lot of women behind the chutes during the rides. Buckle bunnies had no place back there. Ian tried to think. Had there been a cowgirl out in the arena for the preride introductions and prayers—another rider? He didn’t think so.
But what made her more unusual was that the cowgirl was glaring at him as if Ian had personally slapped her on the ass and told her she should be pregnant, barefoot and in a kitchen somewhere. What the hell?
He nodded his head at her, which only made her scowl harder. Everyone else in the arena tonight was his biggest admirer. To hell with what one woman thought.
Randy limped up to him. “Man, I owe you one for that.”
Ian shrugged. “Just doing my job.”
Randy grinned. “It’s one hell of a job, ain’t it?” He slapped Ian on the leg. “I’ll catch you tonight at the bar—drinks on me!”
Ian nodded and grinned. After that save, the bar was going to be a lot of fun tonight. It’d been more months than he wanted to admit since he’d picked anyone up. Maybe he’d cut loose and find a beautiful woman to spend the evening with. He might not have the street cred of a bull rider, but bull riders tended to be on the scrawny side of things, like Randy. That kid probably didn’t weigh 170 pounds wet. Ian brought a certain physicality to the table. It went with the whole football player thing.
Even as he was thinking about buckle bunnies, his gaze drifted back over to where he’d last seen the angry cowgirl. She wasn’t there.
“Did you see that woman?” he asked Jack.
“The blonde? Damn straight I saw her,” Jack replied with a low whistle. “She didn’t see me, though. Only had eyes for you, curse your red hide.”
Jack was about the only man on the planet who could say something like that to Ian and not get the pulp beat out of him, mostly because Black Jack Johnson was, in fact, black. Aside from a few Brazilians and Mexicans, there weren’t a lot of men of color on the circuit. Jack and Ian stuck together.
“Never seen anyone pull a stunt like that in the arena,” Jack went on, shaking his head. “Damn foolish, too. What if you’d hurt the bull?”
“I’m fine, but I appreciate your concern,” Ian retorted as they hopped down off the fence and headed back toward the water. They had about twenty minutes before the short goes started. “This isn’t the first time I’ve wrestled a steer. I know what I’m doing.”
Mostly, anyway. And he had a feeling he wasn’t entirely fine. The right side of his body was screaming from the strain now that the adrenaline was wearing off. He must have pulled something. Ian did a couple of preliminary twists and felt a twinge. Damn. The latissimus dorsi on his left side was definitely strained. Looked like he would have to take an ice bath tonight.
“Don’t do it again,” Jack said, and Ian had to nod in agreement. Jack had been a bullfighter for close to twelve years and this was Ian’s first year at this level. Bullfighters made it to the bigs as a team. Jack was calling the shots like a quarterback. Ian was, once again, the linebacker doing the blocking. Funny how the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
Ian dumped half a bucket of water over his head to knock the dust and sweat down a layer. Bullfighting might be a lot of fun, but it was a dirty job on the best of days. As the water dripped down the back of his neck, he said, “Don’t get knocked on your ass again, old man.” Jack had been a much higher ranked bullfighter before he’d gotten stepped on in a bad wreck two years ago. This season was about him getting back on top of his game. “Then I won’t have to save—”
“Hey! You!” An angry voice cut through the din.
Ian whipped his head around to see the cowgirl he most definitely had not imagined stalking toward him. The look on her face might turn a lesser man to stone, but Ian held firm. Besides, he had the advantage of height. This woman was a little thing, probably a solid foot shorter than he was—but she clearly made up for that in sheer ferocity. She might even be pretty, if she wiped that scowl off her face.
But pretty was not the word for her. Violent would be better. Ian opened his mouth to say something—“hi” was always a good place to start—but she cut him off. “What was that?”
“A damn good save,” Ian replied confidently. He stood up straight and puffed out his chest.
Her eyes widened and a spark of electricity flowed between them as her features softened. She was pretty, he noticed. Delicate features, wide eyes with fringed lashes. Her skin was tanned, but she had a smattering of freckles over her nose. Her lips were lush and lightly parted. Her face was diametrically opposed to the unsexed cowboy outfit, almost as if she were trying to hide herself under a cowboy hat.
The electricity between them felt good. He admired a lot of beautiful women in the bars, but that spark—he hadn’t felt that in a long time. “Hey,” he said in a more seductive voice, hoping to fan the flames a little. “Tonight at the bar—”
Anything pretty or sparky or electric about her disappeared as she sneered up at him. “You do not touch the bull, you understand?”
“What?” Ian said, bristling. “I’ve got a job to do. I’m there to protect the riders. I protected the rider. I don’t give a damn about the bull.”
A look of hatred twisted her features. “That animal is worth a hundred grand. You so much as rub his fur the wrong way and I’ll sue you for everything you’re worth.” She gave his dirt-and-muck-stained pants and the red-and-black shirt that matched Jack’s a dismissive glance. “Which obviously isn’t much.”
“What is your problem, lady?” Even as he said it, he realized what she’d said. She’d sue him.
“He’s my bull,” she snapped. “Touch him again and you will live to regret it.”
“You’re the stock contractor?” But he said it to her back as she turned and stomped off in the direction of the pens. “She’s the stock contractor?” he asked the only other person who was listening.
Jack didn’t answer. He was too busy laughing.
Ian twisted back around and tried to see where she’d gone. Who was she?
Someone tiny and fierce and unafraid of him. Someone who had a hell of a lot of spark.
It wasn’t as if Ian hadn’t been yelled at before—he had. Especially the time he’d dated two girls years ago. Yeah, that hadn’t been his smartest idea. But Ian was a big guy—especially compared to a slip of a girl. Most women—hell, most men—wouldn’t confront him like that. She’d gotten the drop on him, and that, he didn’t like. Next time—if there was a next time—he didn’t want to be caught off guard.
He hoped there was a next time.
He located her as an older man in a ten-gallon hat stepped in front of her. The huge hat topped off a face pinched into a permanent sneer. The long mustache did nothing to improve the man’s appearance. Neither did the potbelly that hung over his belt buckle. Aside from the belly, everything else about the man was scrawny—scrawny mustache, scrawny legs, scrawny neck. He was ugly and mean looking, but the cocky grin on his face said loud and clear that he enjoyed the meanness.
The man said something to her. Even at the distance of twenty or so feet, Ian saw her reaction. Her shoulders tightened and she took a nervous step backward. The older man said something else, and the woman backed up again.
The hackles went up on the back of Ian’s neck and he started moving. Okay, so that woman might have dressed him down in public, but Ian didn’t like the way the man was leering at her and he especially didn’t like the way the woman was reacting. Where was the no-fear, take-no-prisoners woman who had threatened him within an inch of his life? She was gone, replaced by a small woman who was afraid of the older man.
Not on Ian’s watch, that was for damn sure.
Well, he amended as he heard her snap something out at the older man, maybe afraid wasn’t the right word.
As Ian got within earshot, he heard the older man say, “...to see something bad happen to a pretty little thing like you, Evans,” in tones of mock concern.
Evans what? Surely that wasn’t her first name.
The man’s tone was dismissive and threatening. Ian had heard plenty of men talk to his cousin June that way because she wanted to ride bulls. Ian had backed June up when she wanted to ride. Just because Evans didn’t necessarily like him didn’t mean she didn’t deserve the same.
“You wouldn’t,” she shot back. Her voice wasn’t quite as sharp as it had been with him. “You’d only hate it if someone else got first crack at the Straight Arrow.” She held her ground and, as Ian came up behind her, stood as tall as she could. “Stay the hell away from me and my bulls, Slim.”
Okay, so these two had history—that much was clear. A small gathering of cowboys had formed around Evans and Slim. Ian noticed that most of the cowboys were standing behind Slim. Evans looked small and very alone.
Nope, not happening on his watch.
Slim smiled the oily smile of a man who would get what he wanted, one way or the other. “Or what?” he asked, the mock concern replaced by sheer menace.
Ian cleared his throat and crossed his arms. She started, but didn’t make a noise. Instead, she glanced over her shoulder and made eye contact with Ian. He gave her a curt nod that he hoped said, I’m on your side. At least in this matter.
The corner of her mouth twitched, as if she wanted to smile but wasn’t going to. Then she turned back to Slim, who was now glaring at Ian with undisguised hatred. “Do you really want to find out, Slim? Because I guarantee you won’t like it. I’m not afraid of you.” This statement was only slightly contradicted by the way her voice wavered. “My father wasn’t afraid of you, either.”
Slim spat. “He can’t protect you anymore, you little—”
“Watch your mouth around a lady,” Ian growled as he flexed his muscles. That was a threat, plain and clear. And sometimes, a threat had to be met with a threat.
Slim snorted. “What are you going to do about it, Geronimo? Scalp me?”
Ian charged. His vision narrowed until all he could see was Slim. Just like when he’d been on the football field, when all he could see was the quarterback, the ball. His body primed for the hit, the satisfying crunch of pad against pad, bone against bone.
He didn’t make it. Suddenly, he was jerked to the side. At the same time, Evans turned around and put both hands on his chest, pushing him back.
“Dammit, Chief,” Jack hissed in his ear. “You’ll get kicked off the circuit.”
“Don’t,” Evans said, her wide eyes all the wider with a mix of horror and fear. Then she pitched her voice up louder. “He’s not worth it.”
Ian’s vision widened enough to see that Slim was now standing behind two riders Ian didn’t know real well. Ian could have easily taken them both. “What’s the matter?” he asked, shaking off Jack. “You’ll threaten a woman but you’re too much a coward to man up?”
“Boy,” Slim said, spitting the word out as if it was an insult. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.” Then he turned on his heel and walked off.
Ian watched him go and then turned his attention to Evans. “There,” he said. “That should—”
“What the hell is your problem?” Evans demanded, cutting him off. “Are you trying to ruin my life or what? Because you’re doing a damn fine job.”
“I was trying to help,” Ian said through gritted teeth.
“Well, don’t. I don’t need any help, certainly not from you. I don’t know how I can make it any clearer, buddy— Leave. Me. Alone.”
And with that, she turned and stormed off for the second time in less than fifteen minutes.
Ian blinked, but this time she really was gone.
“What the hell happened?” he asked Jack.
“I think,” Jack replied, his Texas drawl stronger than normal, “you made her mad.”
“Yeah, thanks for that insight,” Ian shot back. He looked again, but he didn’t see Miss Evans from the Straight Arrow Ranch anywhere.
Ian started after where he’d last seen her, but the promoter began shouting that the short goes was starting and everyone needed to stop standing around and gawking like schoolboys.
Ian had to get back to work.
But he wasn’t done with Miss Evans.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_a69df438-bdc6-55cb-8cd7-7dc1b27a0512)
HER HANDS SHAKING, Lacy Evans walked back to where Rattler was penned after his go. Please let the animal be okay, she prayed. Without Rattler...
The thought brought on a wave of nausea so strong it almost stopped her in her tracks. She didn’t stop, though. She couldn’t afford a single sign of weakness. No throwing up. No hysterics. And absolutely no crying allowed.
What would Slim Smalls do if he caught Lacy in a true moment of weakness? Bad enough he’d obviously seen the bullfighter take Rattler down—worse that he was hoping Rattler would never get up. Lacy had no doubt about that.
Rattler was the only thing keeping the Straight Arrow going. If she lost that bull, Slim would say something misogynistic about how a “pretty little thing” like Lacy had no business in stock contracting, no business running a ranch—no business existing. And when she broke—or he pushed her too far...
She tried to swallow down the rock in her throat that was pushing against her tongue, but it didn’t budge. So she kept walking.
She saw Rattler in the pen and for a moment, she thought he was holding a leg funny.
She tried to push the panic away as she hurried to the pen. Without getting in there with him, she looked over the bull as carefully as she could—especially his legs.
He shifted his weight onto the leg. Thank God.
In place of the panic, a new emotion took root—anger. The anger felt good. She was furious with that bullfighter. What the hell had he been thinking, twisting her best bull to the ground like that? For God’s sake, he could have killed Rattler! Snapped a leg—or several legs, given the force with which he’d dropped Rattler, as if the eighteen-hundred-pound bull was little more than a stuffed animal someone had thrown at him. Who the hell did that bullfighter think he was?
Chief. That’s what the other bullfighter had called him. The thorn in her side had a ridiculous name like Chief. Of course he did. Lacy didn’t know if that was his real name or another dig at him being an Indian. Because she was pretty sure he was an American Indian. There’d been his faint accent, a different way of clipping his vowels. But beyond that, it was Chief’s dark hair and dark eyes and bronzed skin and eagle nose and strong jaw and muscles moving beneath his shirt.
Not that she’d noticed all those muscles when she’d put her hands on his chest and held him back.
A very small part of her brain replayed the scene again. The whole thing hadn’t taken more than twenty seconds. The bull rider hadn’t made it past five, which was good for Rattler’s statistics. Then there’d been the few agonizingly long seconds where the bullfighter had thought about running. Lacy had seen it in his face. Anyone else would have dodged out of the way. Rattler was no pussy cat—he was a mean son of a bitch who’d broken her father’s arm once and launched Murph, one of her hired hands, fifteen feet into a fence.
But the bullfighter hadn’t run. He hadn’t abandoned the downed rider. He’d stood his ground, absorbed the impact and redirected the bull’s energy into the twist.
If it hadn’t been her bull, her livelihood—she would have been cheering with the rest of them.
But it was her bull, her livelihood. If something happened to Rattler...
She refused to think about that worst-case scenario as she shooed Rattler from one end of his narrow pen to the other, watching his gait the whole time. Rattler seemed okay. No pulling up lame, no favoring one foot.
She needed him to be okay. If that Chief so much as touched her bull again, he wouldn’t have to be worried about getting gored. Lacy would see to that herself.
Reluctantly, she left Rattler. Her other bull, Peachy Keen, was due up soon. Peachy wasn’t half the bull Rattler was, but that didn’t mean Peachy wasn’t a good bull. He was perfectly suited to the Total Championship Bulls Ranger circuit. The riders here were all trying to break into the big league, the Challenger circuit. If they couldn’t get past Peachy, then they didn’t have a hope of making it to the finals in Las Vegas this October, a mere six months away.
Rattler, however, was a different story. He was amassing points every time he was loaded into the chutes. If he had a good summer, he could be bumped up to the bigs. And the bigs paid better.
She needed that. The Straight Arrow was hanging on by what felt like the thinnest of threads. She’d cut every expense she could. If Rattler didn’t have a good year with a strong finish in Vegas, she’d have to start selling off the beef cattle that paid at least half of the ranch’s bills.
And if that happened...
She would do anything to keep the ranch. If she lost the Straight Arrow, she didn’t know what she’d do.
She didn’t know who she’d be, without that ranch.
It wouldn’t come to that. Rattler was going to have a strong summer. Peachy and Chicken Run would earn their keep. Then there was Wreckerator. Some rides, he was every bit as good as Rattler. But other rides were a total disaster. She couldn’t bet the ranch on Wreckerator. Not yet, anyway.
Everything was riding on Rattler.
She made her way to the chutes as Peachy went in. She didn’t recognize the rider’s name, but he tipped his hat and said, “Ma’am,” when she slung her leg over the railing to grab Peachy’s flank strap.
She nodded at him. Well, that was a nice change of pace. At least half of these cowboys treated her like a pariah at a family picnic, as if the mere fact that she had boobs meant she shouldn’t be contaminating the air they breathed. Never mind that she’d been a working rancher since she was old enough to sit in a saddle. Never mind that she did a man’s work all day, every day. It didn’t matter. She was not welcome here.
But every so often, one of the cowboys was a decent human being, as her father had been. Dale Evans never let anyone talk down to her or any other woman. It wasn’t the Straight Arrow Ranch for nothing.
She’d never understood what had started the feud with Slim Smalls. At this point, it didn’t matter. Not even Dale’s and Linda’s deaths were enough for Slim. He wanted more. He wanted Lacy’s ranch.
She pulled the flank strap as another rider pulled the bull rope. Peachy shifted nervously in the chute as the rider got his grip. Lacy realized he was praying under his breath. “Have a good one, Preacher,” the other rider said.
The Preacher? Fitting, she thought as the man nodded his head. The chute swung open.
Normally, Lacy watched the rides, making notes on how her bulls did, where they were stronger, where they were weaker. She and her father had always done that, breaking down each ride together until Lacy understood bulls better than her dad did.
But not this time. This time, she was watching a bullfighter named Chief.
Now that she knew Rattler was okay, she almost felt bad for tearing into the man. Of course he was doing his job. Of course he didn’t know about Rattler or Lacy Evans or the Straight Arrow or even Slim Smalls. He’d only known how to take down a charging bull with his bare hands. It had nothing to do with her.
And he had been trying to help her, hadn’t he? He’d cut Slim off before he could start cursing, and Lacy would be willing to bet that he’d have taken Slim down in much the same way he’d taken Rattler down. For her.
Even if it was all macho posturing—still, he’d been willing to throw down on her behalf. And that was after she’d yelled at him. The first time, anyway. She didn’t know if he’d be so eager to defend her again after she’d told him off a second time.
Okay, she did feel bad. She’d been upset and angry and she hadn’t been able to take all of her anger out on Slim. Somehow, Chief had seemed safer. Maybe it was because she didn’t know him. Or maybe it was something else.
She’d pushed him. She’d put her hands on his chest and shoved to keep him from beating the hell out of a man who richly deserved it. She’d felt Chief’s body tense at her touch, which was bad enough. But what was worse was the way he’d looked down at her, as if he hadn’t expected to find her there but he was glad she was.
Then she had to open her big mouth. Again.
She’d apologize, she decided as the Preacher made the time on Peachy. If she got the chance, she’d thank him for not killing her bull and for putting Slim in his place and for letting her hold him back. Then her conscience would be clear and that would be that.
Peachy obligingly trotted out of the arena. Lacy heard the announcer say the Preacher had gotten a seventy-four—not a great score for either the rider or the bull, but it was enough. She was done here. There were only a few riders left, and then the rodeo would be over except for the belt buckles. She could load up her bulls and begin the long trip home to the Straight Arrow in Wyoming.
She couldn’t say the prospect excited her. If she went home to the empty house, there’d be no distractions, good or bad. She’d be utterly alone, except for when the hired hands did their work and even then, there wasn’t a whole lot of interaction. It’d be just her and the truth she kept trying to avoid.
A little distraction could be good. Hell, it might even be great. As she thought it, she looked back at Chief. She might see him again, she might not. Bullfighters didn’t always follow the same schedule as the bulls and the riders. This could be a one-off, for all she knew.
At that moment, Chief looked up and caught her eye. She tensed. She couldn’t exactly apologize or thank him across an arena but what if she didn’t get another chance?
He was staring at her. She only knew this because she was staring back. His head dipped forward in a polite nod. Wow, she thought. Polite and tough and hot? He was the kind of guy who could be very distracting.
Then he winked at her, his mouth curving up into a suggestive smile.
She scowled. Great. It hadn’t been no-strings-attached, that little show he’d put on earlier with Slim. Chief wanted something in return. Did it matter that she’d been thinking about nearly the same thing? No.
She did not hook up and she did not hang out, not with bull riders or fighters or stock contractors. That was that.
She pushed away from the chute and went to get her animals. She could not afford to be distracted by a bullfighter with a testosterone imbalance. She had a ranch to save and contracted bulls to deliver. Anything outside of that was...
Well, it was unlike her. Dale and Linda Evans’s daughter did not allow distractions.
But even as she thought it, sadness gripped her. Sure, Dale and Linda’s daughter didn’t hook up.
But Lacy wasn’t their daughter, not really.
The lump was back and breathing was difficult. The only thing that kept her from falling apart was the sheer number of people milling around. She would not cry or weep or, God help her, sob. Cowgirls didn’t cry. Certainly not in public, anyway. She was not weak.
She got to her truck and sat there for a few minutes, taking deep breaths until the lump passed and she had things back under control. She drove over to the pens. It was really a two-person job but she wasn’t about to ask for help. Besides, she’d been loading bulls since she was a kid. She could do this. She had to.
“Come on,” she grunted at Rattler. He lowered his head and bellowed. Lacy glared at him. “I’m not the one who grounded you. Don’t take it out on me. Now get up!”
Rattler gave her a look and blew snot in her face and walked into the trailer. Peachy followed his traveling buddy, thank God.
Slim and his “pretty little thing” could go to hell. She could do this—deliver her bulls and get them back home. She could do the job—which meant she could keep her ranch.
She climbed into the cab of her dad’s F-350 and fired up the engine. No, this wasn’t his truck anymore. He’d been gone for seven months now. The truck, the bulls, the Straight Arrow and every single bill were hers now. Distantly, she thought she might be hungry. When was the last time she’d eaten? No lunch today. Had she had breakfast? Well, she’d eat when she got home.
Hays, Kansas, was only about six hours from the Straight Arrow, which sat between Cheyenne and Laramie, Wyoming, although it was closer to Laramie. Laramie was where her mom had taught second grade and, therefore, where Lacy had gone to school.
The Straight Arrow was set on the high plains near the base of the Laramie range. The winter held lots of snow for forts and snowball fights. In the summer, the Laramie River was only a short horse ride from the house. It didn’t matter that the river never got much above sixty degrees, even in the warmest part of the year. Lacy would ride out and jump in again and again until her lips were practically blue, and then she’d lie out in the sun until she warmed up. Or until her mom rang the dinner bell. Then they’d all sit around the table and talk about the day before they watched the movies her dad had loved so much.
She’d never have that back, that sense of perfect belonging. It was gone now. The only part of her life still recognizably hers was this—bulls in the trailer, sitting in the truck, driving home from a rodeo.
God, she missed her parents. She missed being their daughter.
She was so lost in thought that she didn’t see the tall figure in a white T-shirt flagging her down until she almost ran into him. But the man stepped to the side, neatly avoiding having his toes squashed, just as he’d avoided Rattler’s horns.
Lacy slammed on the brakes—at least she’d only been going about ten miles per hour. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been able to stop. “Dammit!”
Because it was Chief again. The pain in her neck, come back for more.
He leaned against her driver’s-side mirror and waited for her to roll the window down, looking cool and graceful and hot all at once, dang it.
She lowered her window. “What now?”
“I’m sorry about the bull,” he said. “I’ll pay for any treatment he needs.”
She blinked at him. “What?”
“The bull.” He shifted and she realized the white T-shirt he was wearing was soaked through. It clung to his body, highlighting muscles and more muscles and then, down a little lower...
Chief cleared his throat, making Lacy startle. “Is he okay?” he asked again.
She needed to come up with something that wouldn’t have her breaking down in grateful tears that Rattler was, in fact, okay. It would be best if that something she came up with didn’t let Chief off the hook or give away the fact that she was having a hard time not looking at his chest. “I won’t know for sure until the vet checks him out.” There.
“Let me know.”
She nodded in agreement and waited for him to move back, but he didn’t. “Yes?”
The corner of his mouth curved up into the kind of smile women like her didn’t often get from men like him—confident and sensual and interested. If Lacy had been a normal single woman, it was the kind of smile that would make her want to melt into his arms and kiss him.
But she wasn’t a normal single woman. She had responsibilities.
“We got off on the wrong foot. I’m Ian Tall Chief.” He stuck out his hand.
And waited while Lacy looked at it. “Are you serious?”
He dropped his hand, looking offended. “Did I look like I was joking?”
Oh, hell—had that come out wrong? She wasn’t trying to make fun of his name. Actually, given that everyone called him Chief, she was relieved to hear that was not some sort of derogatory nickname.
So she clarified, “I’m not interested. I don’t hook up.”
That got both eyebrows up and moving as his face relaxed.
“Are you serious?”
“Look,” she said in exasperation, “I know how this goes. There are two kinds of men here. The first doesn’t think a woman like me should be anywhere near a bull because we might do better than them and that would obviously be the end of the world. The second thinks I’m nothing but a one-night stand that hasn’t happened yet.” She pointed a finger at him. “Guess which one you are.”
His lips—nice lips, rounded and full and— No, stop it, Lacy. She was not going to start thinking about his lips, which were twisting as if he was thinking about laughing at her but trying not to.
Unfortunately, in trying so hard not to stare at his mouth, her gaze drifted back down to his chest. The wet T-shirt left nothing to the imagination. Pecs, nipples—
She snapped her gaze to the front windshield. She wouldn’t look at him. That was the best solution.
“Have you considered,” Ian Tall Chief said in an amused drawl, “that there might be another kind of man here?”
“No.”
“What’d that old man say to you?”
“What?”
Ian leaned forward. “Before I got there to back you up. What’d he say?”
“Look,” Lacy said in frustration, “it’s really not a big deal.”
Ian dropped his head to one side. “That’s not what it looked like to me. It looked like he was threatening you. Sounded like it, too. Does he always go after you like that or was today a special occasion?”
She tried to shrug, as if another verbal battle with Slim Smalls was no big deal. “I appreciate you trying to help, but I can handle it.”
Ian snorted. “You shouldn’t have to ‘handle’ it.”
She glared at him. “I was doing fine without your help, Mr. Tall Chief. I can handle Slim. I can handle my bulls. I’m not some silly girl who’s in over her head. I’ve been bringing bulls to rodeos for over fifteen years now.” But she’d had her father with her then.
Didn’t matter. She could still handle this—all of this. Slim, the bulls, the fighters and the riders—she could even handle Ian Tall Chief.
“Any woman who can load two bulls by herself is not silly.” Ian met her gaze and held it with his own. At least, she thought she could handle him. It’d be easier if he were wearing a dry shirt, though. Or if he stopped looking at her like that, with some mix of protectiveness and—dare she say it—respect in his eyes.
He crossed his arms over his chest. Unfortunately, that put a whole lot of biceps right at eye level. Good lord, was any part of this man not muscled and ripped? He had some interesting tattoos on his right side—not the standard stuff, but something that looked like a circle in red and black and yellow.
“There’s no shame in asking for help,” he said. His voice was surprisingly soft—gentle, even. “Or accepting it.”
Warning bells went off in her head—loud, clanging bells that beat a fast rhythm. For some ridiculous reason, she felt exposed, even though he was the one standing around in a practically see-through T-shirt. She wanted to look away—she desperately needed to—but she couldn’t break his gaze.
“I don’t need any help.” It came out as a whisper. It was a lie and she knew it. And, given the way he looked at her, he knew it, too. But she couldn’t accept what he was offering, whatever it was. She couldn’t be in anyone’s debt. Not his, not Slim’s—no one’s.
So she tried again. “I don’t need any help.”
There. That was better. She just had to keep saying it.
After what felt like a long time of staring into his eyes—deep, dark pools with things hidden in their depths she could only wonder at—Ian nodded and took a step back. “All right, then. Have a safe trip home.”
She blinked. What? Was that it? After that long, lingering look? She hadn’t even told him her name yet. Was that the end of the conversation?
Was he going to take her at her word?
He was. How freaking weird.
“You, too,” she said, because it was the most polite thing she could come up with.
She drove off. In her side mirror, she saw Ian Tall Chief stand there and watch her go.
She might not ever see him again. Bullfighters operated under a different schedule than the riders or the bulls. Her next contracted rodeo was next weekend, in Colorado Springs. Ian Tall Chief might be in Amarillo or even Baton Rouge, for all she knew. She certainly didn’t want to see him again—not to risk having him hurt one of her animals or piss off Slim Smalls even more.
Before I got there to back you up, he’d said. That and, You shouldn’t have to handle it. She could almost hear the word alone after that second statement.
Because she was alone.
Or at least, she had been. Until Ian Tall Chief had backed her up.
Maybe he’d be in Colorado Springs next week, after all.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_6d4d40ad-639f-59cc-a05f-32b8407af2fc)
LACY ROLLED INTO Colorado Springs Thursday afternoon. She was feeling good. Okay, good might be a bit strong, but she was feeling better. She’d been able to sleep the past few nights without too many nightmares about car wrecks, so that counted for something.
The night before a rodeo was her favorite time. The arena grounds were quiet, with only a few stock contractors and the promoter around to unload the bulls. The riders wouldn’t show up until tomorrow, and then tomorrow night, the crowds would come pouring in.
This time was about the bulls. Had it been less than a year since she’d done this with her dad? They’d get in around dark on Thursday nights and unload. Dale would shoot the breeze with the other stock contractors and check in with the promoter.
She didn’t want to run into Slim again. If she could get through this weekend without feeling as if she was losing her grip on—well, everything, that’d be great.
Lacy checked in with Mort and got the details on where she was to unload her bulls. She had three with her today—Rattler, Chicken Run and Wreckerator.
You can do this, she thought as she backed the truck up to the pens. Sure, unloading and loading two bulls by herself had been a challenge. Three would be downright hard, especially because Wreckerator was in one of his moods. She’d had Murph to help her at the Straight Arrow, and Wreckerator had almost charged the trailer. Which meant he’d have a good bunch of rides this weekend, but it didn’t help Lacy right now.
She got out of the cab and looked around. The good news was, she didn’t see Slim. But the bad news was, she didn’t see anyone else, either. For some ridiculous reason, she was disappointed not to see Ian Tall Chief. Not that she wanted to. She didn’t. She didn’t need his help or his excessively large muscles, and that was that. Besides, he would have no reason to be here tonight. He’d probably roll in tomorrow afternoon with everyone. She was being ridiculous to even look for him.
Except Rattler was refusing to back out of the trailer and Lacy didn’t want to push her luck going in to lead him out, not with Wreckerator behind him, pawing at the metal floor and bellowing with nervous energy. She needed to get the bulls out so they could stretch and get water. She could go get Mort, but she didn’t want to tell the promoter of the rodeo that she couldn’t handle her animals on her own. That was the sort of thing that could be used against her in future contract negotiations, and the last thing she could afford was to weaken her bargaining position.
Nope, she was on her own here. She knew it; the bulls knew it. “Come on, Rattler—get up,” she hissed, poking at his haunch through the slats. She didn’t want to use the cattle prod, but if Rattler didn’t get a move on, she would have to. Which would upset Wreckerator, which meant he would be practically unmanageable.
“You look like you need help,” a man said from behind her—too close.
Lacy startled, banging her elbow against the trailer. She pulled her arm out and spun to see a cowboy standing less than three feet from her. Not Ian.
Oh, this was a good-looking cowboy, all right. He was maybe six inches taller than she was, on the lean side of things, wearing jeans and a black Western shirt with silver piping on the sleeves and white mother-of-pearl buttons. He had stubble that looked intentional on his chin and a leather cord with a silver cross on it around his neck. He was pretty and polished and he did nothing for her.
And he was talking to her chest. “Let me get that for you.”
“I’m fine.” The moment the words left her mouth, she knew she’d said the wrong thing.
The cowboy’s mouth curved up into a predatory smile as he looked her up and down. After what felt like an hour of inspection, he finally looked in the vicinity of her face and said, “You sure are, sugar. What’s a stunner like you doing unloading bulls?” He took a step toward her, effectively pinning her against the trailer.
Her heart began to pound as panic dumped adrenaline into her system. She didn’t want to do this. This never would have happened if her dad were still here. And even that realization was depressing because he wasn’t here and she was completely on her own.
She had two choices. Start swinging now or... She went with option two. She forced a smile to her face and said, “What was your name, sugar?”
“Jerome.” The pretty cowboy smirked, bracing an arm against the trailer right next to her head. “I’m one of the riders. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”
She hadn’t. If his ego got any bigger, it’d suffocate her. Dimly, she thought he might have been one of the cowboys standing around Slim last week, but she wasn’t sure.
She made an effort to bat her eyelashes. She wasn’t any good at it—hell, she couldn’t pull off flirting even when she wanted to—but option two was to start swinging later. And if Pretty Boy Jerome would shift his legs a bit, she’d have a clear shot to kneeing him in the groin. A girl had to do what a girl had to do to defend herself, because she hadn’t lied to Chief the other week. There were two kinds of men at these rodeos—the Slims and the Jeromes.
Lacy was about to make her move when something in the air shifted. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as they had last week when Slim had been threatening her—right before Ian had made himself known.
Ian.
Jerome leaned down, unaware of how the air had changed. His gaze dropped to her lips as he cupped her chin. No, no, no. She couldn’t fight the shiver of fear that went through her body, but Jerome either thought it was a shiver of desire or he wanted her afraid. She shifted her legs, hoping she had a clear shot of his crotch. He ran his thumb over her lip and said, “Why don’t we— Oof!”
Then Jerome was gone, being plowed sideways by something the size of a small bulldozer. No, not something—someone.
Two conflicting emotions hit her at the same time as Jerome hit a fence. One was sheer relief. She hadn’t had to defend herself and she hadn’t had to find out what a man like Jerome would do if he got his nuts crushed. For a second, she didn’t feel so alone in the world because Ian Tall Chief had her back—even when she was backed up against the trailer.
But the other was pure irritation. She could defend herself. She didn’t need help—or him. But it was too late—he was already helping her, and that put her in his debt. She didn’t want to owe him. She didn’t want to owe anyone.
“Touch her again and I’ll break every bone in your hand,” Ian growled, lifting Jerome by his shirt clean off the ground. A tearing sound filled the air.
“Jesus—” Jerome’s voice came out in a strangled squeak “—we were just talking!”
“Talk to someone else.” Still holding Jerome off the ground, Ian spun and threw him to the ground. Jerome crumpled like an empty feedbag. “Clear?”
“Jesus, Chief,” Jerome repeated, scrambling to his feet and spitting into the dirt. “What the hell is your deal?”
“She isn’t here for you.” Ian had the nerve to ball his hands into fists and take a step toward Jerome, who was now considerably less pretty. His face was an angry red, his shirt trashed and he was covered in dirt and worse. “Now move.”
Jerome did as he was told—but not until he’d straightened his shirt and dusted off his butt. He gave Ian a long look. “Another time?” he said, sounding less squeaky and more threatening.
Ian smiled, as if this was what he’d wanted to hear. “Anytime, man.”
Jerome nodded and turned. It wasn’t until he’d disappeared around some trailers that Lacy felt herself breathe again. Her knees felt wobbly and she wanted to lean against the trailer and allow herself a moment to process.
She did no such thing. She couldn’t, not with Ian standing there and watching her with an unsettling mixture of concern and anger in his eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked, and damn him, he sounded genuinely concerned. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
No. Yes. No.
How was it possible to be this irritated and this grateful at the same time? “I’m not here for you, either,” she told him, completely ignoring the fact that at least part of her was more than a little glad to see him.
He gave her a fierce look before his face settled back into something that looked almost disappointed. “Yeah, you’re welcome.”
She should at least thank him. Why couldn’t she? She didn’t know. “Ian, I don’t need your help. I wish you’d listen to me.”
“No? So what was that all about? You can’t tell me you wanted that slime bag to be touching you. He was going to kiss you, Evans. More, knowing him.”
Evans? It felt weird to be called that. “Yes, and when he did, I was going to knee him in the groin and then punch him.” She turned back to her trailer. She had to get her bulls out and she’d be damned if she accepted any more help from one Ian Tall Chief. She couldn’t be beholden to him. “The situation was under control. I didn’t ask for a guardian angel.” Never mind that she might need one. “I can handle myself.”
“Yeah? What if Salzberg hadn’t taken kindly to getting his nuts crushed? Or what if Slim had showed up? You collect an awful lot of enemies, Evans.”
She gave him a pointed look. “It must be my sunny nature.”
That got her a smile—a full-on smile that took the remaining adrenaline still pumping through her body and drove it down deeper, where an unfamiliar warmth started to spread up her back.
Jerome Salzberg might have been pretty, but Ian Tall Chief was something else entirely—broad and muscled and completely unafraid of anyone or anything. And for some reason, he’d decided to keep an eye on her.
She couldn’t be his type. Hell, she wasn’t anyone’s type.
Something in Ian’s eyes deepened. Good lord, was she blushing? No. Not allowed. She would not let her body betray her like that. She turned back to the trailer and the stubborn bulls that wouldn’t get the hell out of it.
“Tell me you at least have a gun.” His voice was so serious that she was forced to turn around and look at him again.
“In the glove box.”
He scoffed. “Fat lot of good it’s going to do you there. Can you use it?”
She jammed her hands on her hips and tried to glare him to death. “What do you think? I’ve competed in mounted shooting events, thank you very much. Won a few, too.”
If Ian was insulted by her attitude, he didn’t show it. If anything, he looked relieved. “Good. You should be wearing it. The next time someone gives you crap, shoot them in the knee.”
She looked at him. It appeared, whether she wanted one or not, she had a guardian angel. This realization made that warm sensation that had spread up her back burn hotter, until she was afraid she was going to start sweating. “Why are you helping me?”
He tilted his head from side to side, as if he was debating how to respond. “I have my reasons. And they have nothing to do with getting you into bed,” he added before she could snap off another insult. “Now, do you want help with your bulls or not?”
She knew she should say yes and let it drop. But she couldn’t. She kept pushing what little luck she had and the only reason she could even remotely come up with was that it felt safe to push Ian. “Is that why you’re here a day early? Because of the bulls?”
Ian gave her a little smile, one that somehow made him look innocent and yet not innocent at the same time. “I wanted to make sure I didn’t owe you money for that one bull. What was his name?”
“Rattler.” She stared at him a moment longer. She didn’t buy that he was here to check on Rattler but she didn’t not buy it when he said he wasn’t trying to get her into bed.
And honestly? She could use a hand, at least for right now.
Up to this point, Ian hadn’t done the best job following the simple directions to leave her alone. But he’d stood up for her—twice now. It was more than anyone else had done for her in the long months since her parents had died. What’s more than that, he looked her in the eyes when he talked to her.
But you touched him, a small voice piped up from the back of her mind. She’d put her hands on his massive chest and felt his muscles and he’d halted in his charge on Slim. And at no point had he suggested that contact between them “meant” that Lacy wanted him or anything other than what it was—she’d asked him to stop and he had.
That had to count for something.
“This doesn’t mean I owe you a thing.”
He smirked. “Are you always this stubborn, Evans?”
“I’m not stubborn.” Another lie. She ignored the incredulous look on his face and turned back to the trailer. “And my name’s Lacy.”
* * *
LACY. OF COURSE she was Lacy. Underneath that pricklier-than-hell exterior, she was probably soft and gentle.
There might be a part of her that was quiet and sweet—as there was a part of her that wanted his help—but it wasn’t a part she was all that excited to share with him, and it’d be best if he didn’t allow his thoughts to wander off in that direction. Even if she didn’t have a pistol on her, she had a gun and she knew how to use it—and he’d basically told her to shoot him if he did anything underhanded.
Lacy Evans might not realize it, but he’d given her his word and he intended to keep it. This wasn’t about getting her into the sack.
Of course, that didn’t exactly explain what it was about.
That wasn’t entirely true, either. It was about that spark she had. When she tore into him, her body language was completely different than what it had been when she’d been confronted by Slim or when Ian had come around the corner and seen her pinned against the trailer by Jerome.
She’d been physically shaking, pale and panicked—and then Jerome had touched her. And that had been all Ian had seen before the world narrowed to Jerome. That asshole would not touch Lacy like that. Not while Ian was breathing.
“Why are you alone?” he asked as the first bull emerged from the trailer. “This isn’t a one-man job.”
“You really don’t think I can do this, do you?” she snapped before adding, “Get up, Wreck.”
“I’m not questioning your skills. I’m saying you have three bulls and you’re by yourself. You were by yourself last week, too. You should have a traveling partner.”
“I—” Oh, hell—he heard her voice catch. She dropped her head and put her hands on her hips. “I had a partner. He died.”
“I’m sorry.” Ian had the urge to put his arm around her shoulder and hold her. He didn’t do it, of course—he wasn’t particularly in the mood to have his nuts crushed up into his stomach. But the urge alone was troubling. It was obvious that she’d loved the guy. Ian could only hope he’d treated her well.
“All I’m saying,” he went on, pointedly not looking at her, “is that I’m only ever in the arena with one bull at a time and I’ve got a partner. And here you’re traveling with three bulls. Don’t you have any hired hands or something?”
“I don’t have to defend myself to you.”
There, that was better. Her moment of weakness had been just that—a moment. Already she was back to her fighting self. “Lacy.”
He had things he wanted to say after her name, but then she looked up at him and whatever speech he’d been about to make about safety died on his tongue. Her eyes were wide-open, a pale brown color with a darker brown ring around the outside.
He wanted to see what she looked like without that hat crammed down on her head. He wanted to tangle his fingers in her hair and tilt her head up and—
She looked away first, her cheeks turning a sweet pink. “Maybe if Rattler and Wreckerator have a good season,” she said, her voice pinched, “I can afford to hire someone. But right now, I can’t. There. Are you happy now?”
“I don’t know why you’d think I’d be happy about that,” he said, taking a step away from her. “Sounds like it’s been a rough road for a while.”
This observation was met with the kind of silence that made stone walls look cushy. They got the third bull out.
“That one’s Rattler, right?” he said into the silence, pointing at the brown bull.
“You should remember him,” she said. It ought to have come out snippy, but her voice was quiet—thoughtful, even. “He checked out, by the way.”
“How much was the vet call?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Now it was his turn to gape at her. “Seriously, Evans?” She flinched when he used her last name. “You’re busy convincing yourself that me helping you unload the bulls doesn’t mean you ‘owe’ me anything, but you won’t let me cover the cost of the vet visit—which, I might add, I already promised to pay for? This isn’t charity and I’m not taking pity on you. I might have injured your animal. Let me pay for the damn vet.”
She turned toward him, her brow furrowed in what looked like confusion. Well, she could just be confused. He was completely turned around by a hard woman with a soft name and several chips on both shoulders.
“You helped unload the bulls. We’re even,” she said, her hand slicing through the air as if that was that.
It wasn’t. “If this is you being not stubborn, I’d hate to see what you’d do if you really dug your heels in. I’m paying for the vet visit one way or the other. Either you tell me how much it cost or...”
She leaned toward him. It wasn’t a big movement—she might not even have been aware she’d done it. But he noticed. Her big brown eyes were locked on his and her body was angled toward his and her lips were parted. When she tilted her head to one side, as if she wanted to be kissed, his self-control almost snapped.
The only thing that saved him from making a first-class fool of himself was Jack’s voice echoing in his mind—a good bullfighter waited. A bad one rushed in.
Ian would not rush this. Not her.
So, despite the signals her body was sending, he did not pull her into his arms and he did not take the kiss she appeared to be offering.
“Or what?”
But by God, it would be easier to not kiss her if she didn’t sound so soft and sweet. “Or I’ll work it off. I’ll help you load and unload the bulls when we’re at the same rodeos, make sure the assholes don’t treat you like crap.” He couldn’t help it, not when her eyes widened even more. He leaned forward, his voice dropping down a notch. “Either way, you’ll get it out of me.”
Then he waited. Either she’d punch him or kiss him or she’d walk off.
She didn’t do any of those. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, that voice of hers so soft without all the hard edges she usually used. “I’m nothing to you. You don’t even know me.”
“You’re not nothing. Not to me.” She sucked in a quick gasp of air. “And rodeo is a family. I was raised to look after my own.”
But even as he said the words, he could feel the ink over his heart start to burn, like he was having it carved into his skin all over again.
So it was a lie that he always looked out for his own. No one knew about Eliot, not even Ian’s cousin June. All she knew was that he’d been seeing two girls at the same time before he went off to college. Leasha had left the rez to have the baby and hadn’t told anyone she’d given the boy up.
Not even Ian. Not until the papers had arrived.
And Ian had— Well, he’d signed them.
He hadn’t taken care of his own son.
Ian rubbed the tattoo on his chest until the pain edged back again.
“A...family,” she said, turning back to the bulls. She sounded very faraway.
“We’re not all like Salzberg or Slim,” Ian felt obligated to point out. “Some of us are decent human beings. My partner, Jack, is a good guy. There’s the Preacher, Randy—heck, even Garth is okay, if you get him before he’s had more than three beers.”
“You spend a lot of time with the riders?”
He shrugged. “I have connections.” She shot him a sideways look. “There’s always going to be the jerks who think you shouldn’t be here. Let’s just say I enjoy putting jerks in their proper places.”
As he’d done at that first rodeo he’d gone to with his cousin June. She’d been climbing the ranks of professional riders, but she’d had a problem with some of the riders. Ian had been more than happy to stand up for his cousin.
Before that rodeo, Ian had been an ex-football player without a team.
But after that rodeo? He was a bullfighter.
“No strings?” Lacy asked, a hint of worry at the edge of her eyes. She didn’t trust him. Not yet, a quiet voice whispered in his ear.
“No strings,” he agreed. Then he stuck out his hand. “Friends?”
She regarded him for a long second. Then she slipped her small hand into his, gave him a brief squeeze, and yanked her hand back. “Don’t get carried away,” she told him.
He grinned at her. Oh, she was a piece of work, but really, he didn’t expect anything less from her. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_3b1e707e-c8dc-5436-88c6-d8ac3ec03af8)
“HEARD YOU GOT into it with Salzberg,” Jack said, giving Ian a look. “Can’t take you anywhere, can I?”
Ian bristled. “He had Lacy pinned against her trailer. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.”
That got Jack’s eyebrows up and moving. “Lacy, is it?”
There were days that talking with Jack was like talking with Ian’s father, Dave Tall Chief. Dave had a way of making Ian feel as if he was still fourteen, big and wild and more than a little stupid.
This, apparently, was one of those days. “I reckon that girl can take care of herself,” Jack said, lazily scratching his throat.
They were sitting behind the chutes. The rodeo didn’t start for another hour, but the crowd had started to filter into the outdoor arena as people jockeyed for the best seats. The stock contractors were loading the bulls in order.
He looked around, but he didn’t see Lacy. All he saw were bull riders strapping on their spurs and chaps or rosining up their bull ropes.
Every athlete needed a pregame ritual to get their head into the game, he thought. When Ian had played football, he’d needed to smash helmets or bump chests with his teammates.
Ian and Jack had some collapsible chairs that they set up next to their watercooler. Jack liked to watch the bulls and try to guess which ones would give him the most trouble. Ian always had a hard time sitting still for this part—he’d always been a little hyper. But today was worse than normal. He wanted to find Lacy and make sure she was all right. At the same time, he was sure that doing anything remotely like that would get him in trouble.
More trouble than he was in, anyway. “I don’t see what the big deal is. I watch your back. Why shouldn’t I watch hers, too?” Jack snorted, so Ian went on. “I thought you were the one who told me that rodeo is a family and we look out for each other.”
Jack sat forward, his massive biceps straining at his white T-shirt. Ian was big—but Jack was bigger. “I’ve fought too damn hard to prove that I’m not some gangbanger playing at cowboys and Indians for you to toss that aside for some chick. You dig?”
Ian glared at his friend. “All I’m saying is that we stick together because we don’t fit in with them,” he said, nodding toward where the all-white rodeo riders were gearing up. “And Lacy doesn’t fit with them, either. You know some of them don’t want her here because she’s a woman. How’s that any different from someone calling us names?”
“This ain’t the Land of the Misfit Toys, man,” Jack drawled in his strongest Texas accent. He only busted it out when he was being condescending—or when he was trying to pick up buckle bunnies. Either way, it grated on Ian’s nerves.
“Like hell it isn’t.” Ian spotted her. She’d walked up alongside the chutes, her eyes on the bulls. “I’m keeping an eye on her,” he stated. “If you decide to grow a pair and man up, you can do the same. I won’t tell—it’ll be our little secret that big, mean Black Jack Johnson’s got a soft spot for misfits.”
“Boy,” Jack growled, “that mouth is going to get you into a lot of trouble one of these days.” But he slumped back into his chair, the fight gone from his body.
“Too late,” Ian said cheerfully. He’d won this round. Winning wasn’t everything, but sometimes, it came close. “What do you know about that Slim fellow?”
“Slim Smalls?” Black Jack chuckled. “He’s an ass. Always has been. There are some that don’t think a black man should be in the arena and Slim is always leading that charge.”
“The more things change?” Ian asked.
“The more they stay the same,” Jack agreed. “But his bulls are rank and he knows how to grease the wheels. Got friends in high places and all that crap.”
“And the Straight Arrow?”
Jack shrugged. “Man...”
“Come on, Jack. You know everything and everyone. I don’t know a thing.”
“Wait!” Jack dug his phone out of his pocket and held it up. “Say that again, Chief. I want it on the record.”
“Ha-ha. But you know what I mean. She said she’d lost her traveling partner.”
“Honest to God, I don’t remember a lady stock contractor,” Jack replied, pocketing his phone again. “I want to say that the Straight Arrow was owned by a guy named Dale? If I’m remembering right, nice guy. Never made a big deal about me one way or the other. Quiet, kept to himself.” He gave Ian a blank look. “I suppose you’re gonna want me to ask around.”
Ian shrugged. “Don’t put yourself out, man. I do have my own connections.” He could always call Travis Younkin, June’s husband and a former world-class bull rider in his own right. Travis would make a few phone calls and get back to Ian with all kinds of information.
But then, Ian could have already done that. And he hadn’t.
He wanted to know. But for some ridiculous reason, he wanted her to tell him.
Like yesterday, when she’d finally told him her first name. He could have found out, but it was sweeter hearing the name come out of her mouth because he’d earned it. The fact that she trusted him with her real name was powerful stuff.
He wanted to show her that men weren’t all Slims and Jeromes. He wanted...
Well, hell. He didn’t want to be the man he’d been seven years ago.
Ian realized he was rubbing the ink over his heart again. “We gonna get to Vegas this year?” he asked Jack.
Jack notched an eyebrow at Ian. “Might,” he drawled. “Assuming you stop pulling dumb-ass stunts like you did last week. Why?”
“No reason.”
Except for Eliot. Ian knew the boy and his family lived in Las Vegas. If Ian could get to Vegas, maybe he could see if Eliot’s folks would bring the boy to the rodeo. Maybe, after all this time, Ian could meet his son.
He found himself looking at Lacy again. What would a woman like her think of a man like him, if she knew about Eliot? Would she think he was a deadbeat dad? A serial womanizer who didn’t care what happened to the women he loved and left?
Would she still trust him with her name?
Jack stood up and began to stretch. Ian did the same. They’d get loosened up, don their matching work shirts and suffer through the opening rounds of the same tired jokes that the rodeo clowns used at every stop along the way. Then it was time to dance with the devils in the late-summer light.
“She brought that bull I took down last week,” Ian told Jack as he stretched. His back was still tight where he’d pulled it last week. “Rattler.”
“Yeah? The bull wasn’t hurt, was he?”
“Nope. She wouldn’t even let me pay for the vet visit.”
Jack cracked a wide smile. “You be careful. A woman like that doesn’t take crap from anyone—not even the likes of you.”
“Tell me something I don’t already know.”
They went out for the introductions and the opening prayer. The Land of the Misfits, Ian thought. It wasn’t far off. He didn’t fit anywhere else. He had a job back on the Real Pride Ranch and the rez would always be home, but he’d wanted more. He’d thought football was his ticket to the rest of the world, but it hadn’t worked out like that.
He found Lacy. She was behind the arena fence, apart from everyone else. Instead of having her head down in prayer, her hands were clasped as she stared up at the dusk sky. For a woman who was not to be taken lightly, there was something fragile about her that pulled at him.
The fireworks shocked him back to himself. They were all noise and smoke, but they got the crowd energized after Preacher’s solemn prayers for safe rides. Heavy metal music blared through the speakers as the riders got back behind the chutes and began to mount up on their bulls.
He couldn’t think about Lacy right now. Distractions could be deadly. He had to focus on the bulls and the riders. He let the music push him until his adrenaline was flowing and his head was in the game.
Lacy would have to wait.
It was time to go to work.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_722a3e07-1470-5dfe-9420-9c0f2426a25d)
WRECKERATOR WAS NOT in the mood to be ridden. He came flying out of the gate awkwardly, slamming into the chute hard enough that Lacy had to grab onto the top of the gate to keep her balance. The rider had no such luxury—he lost his grip and went down.
The crowd gasped as the rider bounced off the ground. Then Ian and his partner were there. They threw themselves in front of Wreck, arms waving as they shouted at him.
Wreck’s flank strap didn’t fall off, which meant it was still irritating him. He was not the sharpest knife in the drawer and, in his pissed state, he got confused by the noise. Still bucking, he lowered his head and charged at Ian. Lacy held her breath. He wouldn’t try to wrestle Wreck, would he? She wanted to shout at him, but her voice got stuck in the back of her throat and all she could do was watch in horror as Wreck bore down on Ian.
Ian made a stutter step to the right, and then spun left as Wreck blew past him. Lacy leaned forward, trying to see around her bull to where Ian was—had he gotten clipped?
But no. Ian was standing in the middle of the arena, hands on his hips, shaking his head as if Wreckerator—a fourteen-hundred-pound bull—was a naughty child. Lacy felt herself breathe again in relief as the crowd cheered.
Wreck’s flank strap loosened and fell to the ground. Ian’s partner, Jack, danced in front of Wreck, moving toward the open chute that would funnel the bull back to the pens. Wreck charged, but it didn’t have the same murderous intent. When Black Jack dodged, Wreck saw the opening and kept right on going, still kicking up his back heels as he was shunted down the chutes.
“That’ll earn Garth Whitley a reride, folks,” the announcer proclaimed. “And let’s hear it for our dedicated bullfighters Ian Tall Chief and Jack Johnson, ladies and gents! They’re working hard for our riders tonight!”
Both men tipped their hats to the crowd. Lacy couldn’t help but note that the sounds of female voices seemed to drown out male cheers. She realized she was scowling at the crowd and forced herself to stop.
Gah, she was being ridiculous. Ian was a good-looking man—well, they both were. Of course the ladies were going to cheer for them. Bull riders tended to be lightweights and the bullfighters were anything but. Ian and Jack were both well over six feet and even their dorky matching shirts couldn’t disguise their muscles.
Muscles she’d touched. Muscles she’d seen in detail when Ian’s wet T-shirt had clung to his chest.
She shook the image out of her head and wondered how many of the people here had heard about Ian wrestling Rattler to the ground. She’d meant to see if anyone had posted a video, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to walk into her father’s office and turn on the computer, not when the box was still sitting on the desk, exactly where she’d left it. The Straight Arrow was far enough out in the middle of nowhere that Wi-Fi and broadband were still pipe dreams. Dad had sprung for a satellite connection when Lacy had gone to college so she and Mom could email, but Lacy couldn’t get her laptop hooked into the system. Well, she probably could, if she could bring herself to go into the damn office. But she couldn’t. Not yet, anyway. She would. Soon.
Besides, she hadn’t had time to do any online digging into Ian Tall Chief in the first place. Murph, her hired hand, had come down with the flu and Lacy had been doing most of the ranch work herself. The vet had come to preg-check the cows and had looked at Rattler while he was there. After loading a couple of hundred cows into a holding chute, she’d barely been able to do anything other than stumble into the shower and collapse into bed. At least she’d slept. She had that going for her.
Lacy climbed down off the chutes and threaded her way back to the pens to check on Wreck. No one messed with her, not during the rodeo. Bull riders were a superstitious lot. No one wanted to risk her jinxing them before a ride.
She took a deep breath and let the smell of dirt and manure and bulls fill her nose. For a moment, she could be. It was as close to free as Lacy felt these days.
Wreck was safely in his pen, blowing snot on everything and bellowing his dissatisfaction with not getting to crush anyone to death.
“It was a good effort,” she told the bull. “You have to get out of the chute, though. A no-ride doesn’t do either of us any good.”
If only Wreck could get it together—he could be such a good bull. But he was still too green to be reliable.
She headed back up to the front. Chicken was due up soon, and she liked to be near him. Where Wreck was all impatient, Chicken Run had gotten to the point where he’d seen this, done that. After this year, she’d retire him out to the ranch and he’d live out the rest of his bull days among the fawning herds of cows, hopefully making mean little bulls that would grow up to be as rank as their daddy.
That was the plan, anyway. The six months of the season felt like a long time to go.
She watched a few of the other rides from the side of one of the chutes, well away from the rest of the riders. She located Jerome Salzberg on the other side of the chutes. He was in the middle of a crowd and didn’t seem to notice her. That was how she liked it.
But even looking at him caused her to tense up as she remembered the feeling of his breath on her cheek and the trailer biting into her back. She had to be smarter. She knew that. She couldn’t let someone like Jerome or Slim surprise her again and she absolutely couldn’t let anyone get close enough to touch her.
She didn’t have a belt holster for her pistol and she wasn’t sure how she’d feel open-carrying it around. Her father had never needed to pack heat when he traveled. The gun was there in case an animal got injured and had to be put out of its misery. She’d seen it happen a couple of times and it was a hard thing to watch.
Cowgirls didn’t cry. Not in public, anyway.
Ian was in the middle of the arena, bouncing on the balls of his feet. All of his attention was focused on the chutes. She thought it was the same guy who’d nearly gotten crushed by Rattler—until Ian had saved his hide.
Ian really was good—there was a fearlessness about him that she admired. She wished she could be that certain, that confident. Instead, she was going through the motions, hoping everyone else didn’t see how close to the edge of total collapse she really was.
Chicken had a good ride, bucking his rider off at the 6.8 second mark. A better rider would have made the time, but this one committed to the right when he should have gone left.
The moment he’d dumped his rider, Chicken trotted toward the gate. Ian hadn’t even moved during the ride. She hadn’t realized she was staring at him until he looked up and caught her gaze. She could feel heat build on her cheeks, especially when his mouth quirked into a smile. For her.
She didn’t smile back. Yes, Ian had said they were friends. But because he’d said so didn’t make it true. She would not do anything he might take the wrong way. She was smarter than that.
Still...
She touched the brim of her hat in acknowledgment. It was more than a nod, less than a smile. It was the best she could do.
He did the same back.
Not that it mattered. She wasn’t here for Ian. She was here for the bulls. She followed Chicken back to make sure he made it into the pens without a problem, but she didn’t have to worry. The old bull wanted some water and hay.
Part of her thought she should watch the rest of the rides, but part of her wanted to stay back here with the bulls. When she was with the bulls, she didn’t have to worry about sending the “wrong” signals or defending herself or any of that crap. She had to make sure they didn’t step on her. It was easy in its simplicity. Don’t make a mistake. Don’t get crushed.
Rattler was going tomorrow. She hoped like hell he had a good ride. They needed another three-hundred-and-some-odd points before she could start negotiating with the promoters for appearances at the Challenger level.
She climbed into her truck. She had a good view of her trailer and the pen where her bulls were held. She should probably eat dinner. She knew she’d eaten breakfast—the hotel had served doughnuts and coffee, that sort of thing. But she wasn’t sure she’d eaten lunch.
She had the feeling that, if her mom were still alive, she’d give Lacy that look and say, “Honey, I know you can do better than this.” It was Mom’s favorite phrase, one she deployed equally for underwhelming grades or a messy room. And then Dad would say, “Linda, go easy on the girl. She’ll get it next time—won’t you, honey?” And Lacy would nod and promise that next time, she’d do better.
As an only child, Lacy had often thought it was unfair that her mom expected her to be so perfect all the time. But now that Lacy knew the truth...
How much of that prodding had been Mom hedging against Lacy’s true nature?
What was Lacy’s true nature?
The answers were in the box. The box that Lacy couldn’t bring herself to look into again.
She couldn’t ignore that box for the rest of her life. At the very least, she needed to get back into Dad’s office, sort through the bills that were way past due, pull the stock contracts out—that sort of thing. She couldn’t let the box loom over her.
She wouldn’t. Tomorrow, the bulls would buck and she’d load them up and drive home. And this week, she promised herself, she’d go into the office and face the box again.
She would do better. She knew she could.
* * *
TAP, TAP, TAP.
“Lacy?”
She started awake—wait—when had she fallen asleep? She blinked groggily as she tried to remember where she was.
Knocking, again. “Lacy?” the voice repeated, more concerned this time.
She swung her head to the left and saw him. He stood there like some sort of dream—although this time, he wasn’t in a T-shirt, wet or otherwise. He was in a bright blue button-up shirt with white buttons. The sleeves were cuffed, revealing his massive forearms. He had a brown leather strap around one wrist and a brown felt cowboy hat on his head. He looked good, she thought dimly. He’d look better naked, though.
Wait—had that been real?
She rolled down the window and, to her horror, heard herself say, “I liked the wet T-shirt better.” Which was shortly followed by, “Oh, hell—did I say that out loud?”
Ian blinked. “If you did,” he said, giving her an easy out, “I didn’t hear it. You’re not sleeping in this truck alone, are you?”
“I wasn’t sleeping,” she lied. “And I have a gun.”
He gave her a look that was probably supposed to be stern, but didn’t quite make it. “Is it still in the glove box?”
“Maybe.” The cobwebs started to clear out of her head.
“Where are you sleeping tonight?” he asked. She didn’t much care for his tone. It was too much like the way she’d always imagined big brothers talking to their irritating little sisters.
At least he hadn’t made it sound as if she should be sleeping with him. Even if she might have been dreaming about doing just that. Even though it hadn’t been real, none of it, an image of his mouth closing around her nipple flashed back through her mind. She shuddered. “I have a hotel room.”
He nodded. “Have you eaten today?”
“Yes.” She wasn’t quite sure when. “I know I had breakfast. Doughnuts.”
That got her another irritated big-brother look. “I’ll buy you dinner.”
“No,” she said quickly. “You don’t have to.” Dinner after the rodeo was something she’d always done with her dad. They’d make sure the bulls were secure for the night, and then hit a local diner or something. Lacy had always spent so much time with her mom, going to and from school, that those times with her dad had been special.
As nice as it was of Ian to offer, she didn’t want to replace Dad in that ritual.
Not that Ian knew that. “I know I don’t. But I want to.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. “Another time?” she said, because that seemed like something her dad would say.
Ian gave her a long look then, one she couldn’t hide from. Most people looked past her. She wasn’t a pretty woman—never had been, never would be. And she didn’t fit into anyone’s neat little box about how a woman should think or act. As a result, most people ignored her, which suited her fine.
But Ian? He did not ignore her. He didn’t look through her.
He saw her. God, it was unnerving.
Finally, he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“That’d be good.” She realized she meant it. She wanted to see him tomorrow. To see what he’d do in the arena, to see if he’d tip his hat in respect to her.
It had nothing to do with the dream.
“I’ll help you load the bulls up after the rodeo. That’s our deal,” he added before she could protest. “I keep my word.”
“You know that’s not normal?” The words were out before she could think better of them. She must not be as awake as she’d thought she was. “Most people don’t.”
Up until that moment, he’d kept a reasonable distance between him and the truck. He was fond of leaning against the driver’s-side mirror, she noted.
But when she said that, he leaned forward, his hands on her door, his face where the window would have been if it’d been rolled up.
For the first time, he entered her space. Not because he wanted to shake her hand and seal the deal, and not because she was in between him and a man who had it coming.
This wasn’t incidental. This was intentional. They were close enough to touch.
Close enough to kiss.
Her body tightened with awareness, taking the vague frustration leftover from the dream and making it painful. She heard herself gasp, but she felt as if she was holding her breath. His eyes were a deep, dark brown—maybe black. She couldn’t tell in this light. But they were intense—and focused on her.
Kiss me. Don’t. The two thoughts hit at exactly the same moment, swamping her in confusion. She couldn’t lean in and she couldn’t lean away. She couldn’t do anything but stare into those eyes and wonder what he saw when he looked at her.
When he spoke, his words were a quiet whisper that she somehow felt deep down in the very center of her body. “I’m not most people, Lacy.”
Then he was gone, leaning back and tapping his hand against the hood of the truck. “Get some dinner and some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He started to walk away, and Lacy blurted out, “Ian?”
He paused and turned back. “Yeah?”
“It was a good rodeo tonight.” No, no—that’s not what she’d wanted to say. Of course, she didn’t know what she wanted to say. Something that wasn’t bitchy or dazed, something that said that they were friends.
“I mean, you were good tonight. In the rodeo.” Ugh, that was not any better. “I mean...”
He saved her from death by embarrassment. “Thanks.” Then he was gone, walking off into the night.
Lacy fired up the truck. Dinner. She’d go get some dinner.
For the first time in a long time, she was hungry.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_9f8bc155-0588-5ef7-804d-8199f830da5d)
THE RODEO DIDN’T start until seven that night. Ian rolled into the arena grounds at four thirty.
He wouldn’t be surprised if Lacy had actually slept in that truck. And then, when he’d asked about dinner, she’d gotten a fuzzy look on her face and had admitted that she couldn’t remember if she’d eaten lunch. He’d put the odds on her actually eating something after he left her last night at maybe fifty-fifty.
He had almost two hours before he needed to start his prerodeo warm-up. If she wouldn’t let him take her to dinner, then he’d go get some food and bring it back to her. She was too thin, the circles under her eyes too dark.
She was entirely too stubborn. He got the feeling that if he tried to tell her to breathe, she might hold her breath to show him that he wasn’t the boss of her.
The way she’d held her breath last night, when he’d leaned into the cab of her truck. He hadn’t intended it to be an erotic thing. He hadn’t even touched her.
But she’d sucked in that little gasp and hadn’t let it back out. Instead, her eyes had gone wide and her pupils had dilated as a sweet blush heated her cheeks—and his blood. The spark that he felt when he was around her had threatened to catch and ignite a hell of a fire.
He’d almost kissed her. It would have been easy. He’d only had to lean forward another few inches and take her mouth.
And he hadn’t. He hadn’t kissed her, hadn’t touched her. Instead—and he still didn’t quite believe this—he’d gone back to the cheap hotel room he shared with Black Jack and ordered a pizza and watched some cheesy movie from the ’80s.
It didn’t make a damn bit of sense to him. Lacy wasn’t his type. She was as tough as nails and twice as sharp. But underneath that—there was a vulnerability that had him at the arena hours early to make sure she ate dinner.
He parked and headed toward her truck. Something told him that, even if she had gone back to her hotel, she’d be here early.
He was not disappointed. She was sitting exactly where he’d left her. The only difference was she had on a different shirt, a pale green shot through with pink.
She still had her hat on. He was more disappointed than he cared to admit.
“Hey,” she said when she saw him.
“Hiya,” he replied. Her brows furrowed. Now what had he done wrong? “What?”
She tilted her head to the side as she looked at him. There was something about her face today that was softer. He took back everything he’d ever thought about her being not traditionally beautiful. She was gorgeous.
“Your accent.”
“What about it?”
“Now it’s gone. It was stronger.” She shrugged.
He allowed himself a small smile. “Yeah, it comes and it goes, depending on who I’m talking to.” It was always strongest when he went home and everyone spoke the same way. But sometimes, when he was hanging out with someone he was sure wouldn’t hold his accent against him, it slipped out.
“It was pretty,” she said without looking at him. Then her face scrunched up as it had last night when she’d sleepily told him she liked the wet T-shirt. It was a look that said pretty loud and clear I can’t believe I said that.
“You eaten today? Something more than doughnuts?”
“I remembered to have lunch.”
There was something about the way she said it that struck him as weird. “You remembered? Is that something you usually forget?”
“I eat when I’m hungry.” But she didn’t meet his eyes when she said it.
He tapped the hood again. “Come on. Let’s go grab something before the show.”
She shook her head. “I’ll stay here, thanks. I want to keep an eye on my bulls.”
“Did you sleep in the truck last night?”
The color on her cheeks deepened. “No.”
That admission made him want to smile. She’d done as he’d asked. He got the feeling that didn’t happen too often. “And yet, the bulls were fine?”
That got him a sharp look. Her whole face was transformed from one of surprisingly feminine beauty to a tough, tomboy scowl. “Yes.”
“Then they’ll be fine for another hour.” Again, he wondered who Dale was to her. He couldn’t tell how old she was—he’d guess Lacy was in her twenties, although whether that was twenty-two or twenty-nine was up for debate.
She could have been married. Or not, he thought, checking out her ring finger. No tan lines. But she was certainly old enough that she could have been in a long-term relationship. Of course, it was also possible that Dale had been someone else entirely—not a lover, but a friend, a brother...family.
She opened her mouth, to argue no doubt. Ian shot her a hard look. “I’m betting you’re going to load up those bulls and head straight for home, wherever home is. I’m betting you won’t stop until you get there. I’m betting that you’ll ‘forget’ to eat then. So dinner now.”
Her eyes narrowed, but then, unexpectedly, she gave in. “Fine,” she said, cranking on the engine. “But I’m driving.”
He snorted. “Yeah, I’m not surprised.” He crossed around the front of the truck and climbed in. “You know where you want to go?”
* * *
THEY WOUND UP at Denny’s. If Ian had any reservations about her choice, he didn’t voice them.
For some reason, her dad had loved Denny’s. And every single time they ate at one—which was frequently—he cracked the same “Moons Over My Hammy” joke. And Lacy laughed. Always.
Part of her felt as though bringing Ian to Denny’s was wrong, somehow. She hadn’t been able to face eating here alone. Somehow, with Ian, it felt as if...
As if she could do this.
“What are you going to get?” he asked when they slid into a booth that looked out onto the street.
“I’m not that hungry,” she said. When he looked up at her sharply, she said, “I ate today. Really.”
For a moment, she thought he was going to scold her like a child—much as he’d all but scolded her bull last night. But then his mouth twisted off to one side and he said, “Easy, Evans. We’re just friends here.”
“Yeah?”
“You don’t sound like you believe me,” he said from behind his menu.
“I’m not very good at having friends,” she admitted. It’d always felt like such a failure, that she wasn’t any good at maintaining friendships. Her mother had once said that Lacy was an out-of-sight, out-of-mind kind of person, and it was true.
He tried not to laugh but didn’t quite make it. “You don’t say.”
She rolled her eyes. “I suppose you’re friends with everyone?”
“Most everyone. I’m either friends with them or they deserve to be flattened by a bull.”
“Or by you?”
“If need be,” he told her. “Did you have a history with Jerome before this rodeo?”
She physically flinched at the mention of that jerk. “No. Didn’t even know his name. I don’t normally pal around with the riders.”
He let that set for a moment. The waitress came over, poured the coffee and took their orders. Lacy ordered a salad but Ian ordered three appetizers and a steak dinner with sides. The waitress gave his physique a once-over before she left the table.
Lacy looked with her. Today, Ian had on a gray shirt. It was still cuffed at the elbows and he still had that leather strap around his wrist. He’d taken his hat off and set it on the windowsill. The hat was brown felt, but the band wasn’t horsehair or leather. Quills? That would make sense, she guessed. He was an Indian.
Ian cleared his throat. “Or the fighters?”
She didn’t want to answer that question because admitting that she’d never hung out with a bullfighter before felt as if she was admitting something. That Ian might be an exception.
So she changed the subject. “Is this your first year as a fighter? I think I would have remembered you from last season.” If she could get him to talk about himself, then maybe he wouldn’t ask any questions about her.
He went along with her tangent. “Yeah. I used to play football—”
“Shocking,” she said, a smile on her face. A real smile. Then she made the mistake of letting her eyes drift over his shoulders and down to that chest.
Ian leaned forward, a playful smile on his lips. “You know, you’re actually quite funny when you want to be.”
Was that a challenge? It sounded like one. “Don’t tell anyone. It’d ruin my reputation as that bitch with the bulls, and then where would I be?” She ignored the way her face warmed at his compliment, and she really ignored the way he noticed it. Something in his eyes shifted—deepened.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his voice lower. She felt it in her chest. But then, he leaned back, breaking the spell. “Anyway, I got lucky getting to tag along with Black Jack. Otherwise, I’d probably be down at the level below this one. Black Jack was up in the bigs for a long time before he got into a bad wreck. He thinks we can get back there if...”
She arched an eyebrow at him and actually smiled. “If you stop throwing bulls to the ground?” She was teasing him, she realized. When was the last time she’d teased someone?
“Yeah, that.”
The waitress set down a huge mound of onion rings and mozzarella sticks. “Be right back with those chips,” she said, and Lacy swore she winked at Ian.
If he noticed, he didn’t show it. Instead, after offering Lacy some cheese sticks, he said, “How about you? How long have you been rodeoing?”
It was a perfectly innocent question, the kind someone asked when they were making polite small talk. But suddenly it was harder to breathe. A weight was on her chest and she wished she’d ordered the Moons Over My Hammy, just for Dad.
“I’ve been coming for as long as I can remember. My dad was the stock contractor. The Straight Arrow was his business.”
“Ah,” Ian said, as if that had answered all his questions. “This your first year without him?” His voice was kind.
She nodded, a small movement of her head.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She tried to shrug, but it wasn’t a smooth thing. She was not a smooth woman.
She couldn’t hold up under his intense gaze, so she grabbed a cheese stick and began to eat it to hide her anxiety.
“Is your mom doing okay?”
She blinked a few times. She would not cry. Hell, she would not even tear up. Absolutely no moisture would leak from any orifice in her body. “I... I really don’t want to talk about this.” She set her half-eaten cheese on her plate. “If you don’t mind.”
He tilted his head from side to side. “If you decide you want to talk, you let me know.”
“Why?” It came out so quietly it barely made it to the level of a whisper. She tried again. “Why would you want to listen to me?”
“Because,” he said simply, as if that were the only answer that mattered.
It wasn’t. Honestly, what was he doing here with her, besides trying to feed her fried food? “This isn’t a date,” she reminded him. “I’m paying for my half of the food.”
He pointedly looked at her cheese stick. “Seriously, Evans? I’m buying your salad. Consider it part of my payback for the vet bill.”
“You can’t keep using that excuse.”
“Sure I can,” he said as he ate another cheese stick. “You act like if I buy your dinner, I’ll expect you to put out or something.”
“Most guys would. Most guys would have expected something in return for saving me from Jerome. Not that I needed saving,” she hurried to add, because she realized she was making herself sound weak and she was not weak. She wasn’t.
“And you’re right. This isn’t a date.”
“Yeah?” She should have been pleased with his agreement. She wasn’t. What the hell was her problem?
Ian leaned forward again. The air between them seemed to thin away to nothingness. She forgot how to breathe. She forgot how to think.
“I’m only going to say this once more, Lacy. I’m not most guys. I’m not sitting here with you because I think it’s the best way to get you naked. I’m sitting here—with you—because we’re friends.”
Flashes of that dream came back to her. Naked. With Ian.
His gaze dropped down to her lips. He took a deep breath, his eyelids drifting to half-mast, as if he were smelling her and not the overpowering scent of fried onions. “Besides,” he added in the exact same voice she’d heard in her dream, pure sex in the air, “you want me, you know where to find me.”
“Wait—what?”
“You know what I mean,” he said, leaning back. The waitress brought her salad and the chips, but Lacy couldn’t even acknowledge food right now.
Had this man promised that they were friends, and then immediately offered—well, something? Something that he probably didn’t offer his other friends?
Yes. Yes, he had. The look he was giving her was exactly the stuff that dreams were made of, and for a moment, she considered the possibility that, once again, she’d fallen asleep in the cab of the truck and that at any second, all of her clothes were going to fly off and Ian would be reclined on a bed, promising her that she wouldn’t be able to think straight by the time he was done with her.
“I’m not the kind of man who boxes a woman into a corner—or pins her against a trailer—without her permission. That’s not how I operate. Me trying to be a decent human doesn’t mean you owe me a damn thing. Yeah, I’m attracted to you. There’s something about you...”
His voice trailed off as his gaze drifted over her face, her chest. He took another deep breath and exhaled. Lacy knew her jaw was on the ground, but she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Had he just— Did he want her?
“If you’re not looking for a good time, then no harm, no foul,” he went on. “You’ve got a lot to deal with right now and I respect that. But if you want to have a little fun, you know where to find me. No strings.”
“I can’t—I can’t be hurt. I can’t take any more pain.” The admission was out before she could do anything about it.
He leaned forward and cupped her face in his palm. His touch was a kind of electric that she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt before. Not from another man. Not even from her handshake with Ian a few days ago.
His thumb stroked over her cheek and she knew she should lean away. She should break the contact and put an end to this madness that he’d started. That she’d started.
“I won’t hurt you, Lacy Evans. And I’ll do what it takes to make sure no one else hurts you, either.”
Good lord, he was serious. He barely knew her and he was touching her and promising to—to what? To protect her? To be her friend? With benefits? But only if she wanted to? Did any of that even make sense?
Nothing made sense. It made even less sense when the look in his eyes changed—she felt it where his skin touched hers.
Once, she’d been caught out in a summer storm while she’d been swimming in the creek. The skies had opened up and she’d barely gotten out of the water before lightning started striking. She’d grabbed her horse, Jacks, and dragged him out of the cover of the trees into the open grass. Moments after they’d made it to safety, lightning had struck one of the trees. The air around them had taken on a charged feel, making her hair stand on end. It was as close to being struck by lightning as she’d ever been.
But here? With Ian touching her, looking at her with the kind of intensity that made talking, thinking, nearly impossible? All she could do was feel the way he cupped her face, his massive hand tenderly holding her, his thumb stroking over her skin as if she was a jewel of the highest value.
And then his hand dropped away from her, breaking the spell. He sat back and said, “No strings, either way. It’d be fun. Nothing more.”
She wasn’t so naive that she didn’t get his meaning. He’d sleep with her if she wanted him to—but any relationship they might have would be limited to friendship.
So she might have had an erotic dream about Ian Tall Chief. So he could reduce her to a quivering, wordless mass with a look and a simple touch. So he might be the most gorgeous man to ever look at her. It didn’t matter.
“Honey, I know you can do better than this.”
Mom’s voice floated up through Lacy’s memories. Her parents had raised her better than to tumble into a relationship that was no strings—and no promises.
She could do better than a not-relationship with Ian Tall Chief. And she would. She would not give in to these—these urges, for lack of a better word, to rip his shirt off and pin him to a bed and let him do things to her and...
She wouldn’t let go. She couldn’t.
She could do better.
So she forced her lungs to breathe and dug deep for a voice she hoped like hell wasn’t desperate. “How is this supposed to work? Because I don’t understand how we’re supposed to be friends after you say something like that. You don’t make that kind of offer for your other friends.”
That got a laugh out of him—deep and rich and genuine. “No, can’t say that I offered that to Black Jack. I feel pretty sure he’d turn me down.” Then he looked up at her, his face open and, well, joyful. “We can be friends because I can control myself.”
“It’s not enough,” she pressed on. His eyebrows jumped as he chewed his meat. Suddenly, she had to know why. “Yes, hurrah, you have self-control. That doesn’t explain why you insist on helping me, if you’re not trying to sleep with me. You said you had your reasons, and I don’t want to hear about how you’re making up for Rattler. Spill it.”
He let that demand sit for a moment before he said, “Eat.” She glared at him, which only made him smile. Which only made her glare more. “Eat,” he said again, this time in a more pleading voice.
She picked up her fork and stabbed a leaf of lettuce. “There, happy?”
He waited until she’d actually started chewing. “I can’t believe you haven’t heard about this already,” he finally said when she was into her third bite. “It’s fairly common knowledge, at least among some of the riders.”
“I don’t hang out with the riders,” she mumbled around a mouthful of tomato. Ranch dressing made everything better, she decided.
“No, I reckon you don’t. You ever hear of June Spotted Elk?”
She paused midbite. “Of course I’ve heard of her. She’s the woman who rode No Man’s Land—the bull no man could ride. That was huge.”
Ian nodded his head in acknowledgment but didn’t immediately fill in the blanks for her. Instead, he dropped his gaze to his plate and fiddled with the leather strap on his wrist.
Wait—why did he look so sheepish? Oh, lord—had June been his girlfriend? Or his friend with benefits? And if so, why would that matter? She’d married, hadn’t she? Yeah, Lacy thought she remembered reading that. She’d been dealing with the fallout of Mom’s and Dad’s death, but even the world’s most famous female bull rider marrying one of the more famous male bull riders had penetrated through Lacy’s grief.
Ian still hadn’t said anything. Dread filled Lacy’s stomach and it did not mix well with ranch dressing. She felt sour. Ian was a bullfighter because he was trying to win June back. It made sense. They were both American Indians. Gah.
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Sarah M. Anderson
When his past collides with her present, only true love can survive the wild ride….Bullfighter Ian Tall Chief is determined to get off the reservation and onto the pro circuit. After a wild youth, and some big mistakes, he's found his focus. The only person who can break his concentration? Lacy Evans, owner of the Straight Arrow Ranch.But the beautiful cowgirl is dealing with problems of her own. She's running the ranch alone, after her parents' deaths. The macho rodeo world is not ready for a female stock contractor. And she's discovered her parents were keeping secrets from her–ones that rock the very foundation of her identity. Can she trust Ian to be the good man he claims to be?
When his past collides with her present, only true love can survive the wild ride...
Bullfighter Ian Tall Chief is determined to get off the reservation and onto the pro circuit. After a wild youth, and some big mistakes, he’s found his focus. The only person who can break his concentration? Lacy Evans, owner of the Straight Arrow Ranch.
But the beautiful cowgirl is dealing with problems of her own. She’s running the ranch alone, after her parents’ deaths. The macho rodeo world is not ready for a female stock contractor. And she’s discovered her parents were keeping secrets from her—ones that rock the very foundation of her identity. Can she trust Ian to be the good man he claims to be?
“I know how this goes.”
Lacy paused before adding, “There are two kinds of men here. The first doesn’t think a woman like me should be anywhere near a bull because we might do better than them and that would obviously be the end of the world. The second thinks I’m nothing but a one-night stand that hasn’t happened yet.” She pointed a finger at him. “Guess which one you are.”
His lips...nice lips, rounded and full and—no, stop it, Lacy. She was not going to start thinking about his lips! All they were doing were twisting off to the side, as if he was thinking about laughing at her but trying not to.
Unfortunately, in trying so hard not to stare at his mouth, her gaze drifted back down to his chest. The wet T-shirt left nothing to the imagination. Pecs, nipples!
She snapped her gaze to the front windshield of the truck. She wouldn’t look at him. That was the best solution.
“Have you considered,” Ian Tall Chief said in an amused drawl, “that there might be another kind of man here?”
Dear Reader (#ulink_2b7f6627-f3a5-50de-bdbc-b49646fe32de),
Welcome back to the rodeo, where dreams are made—and broken—in eight seconds in the arena on the back of a two-ton bull.
Ian Tall Chief has something to prove. He’s got a secret, one he guards with his life: he’s got a son he gave up for adoption. It’s been six years and he wants to be someone his son can be proud of, which is why he’s determined to make it to the rodeo finals as a bullfighter.
But his path is blocked by one very stubborn woman. Lacy Evans. She’s the owner of the Straight Arrow Ranch and her bulls have been giving Ian nothing but trouble. Lacy is as tough as nails, yet there’s something vulnerable about her that makes Ian want to protect her.
When Lacy’s hidden past comes to light and collides head-on with Ian’s, will these two make it out of the arena?
One Rodeo Season is a sensual story about accepting your past and fighting for your future—and falling in love. I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it! Be sure to stop by sarahmanderson.com (http://www.sarahmanderson.com) and sign up for my newsletter at eepurl.com/nv39b (http://eepurl.com/nv39b) to join me as I say, Long Live Cowboys!
Sarah
One Rodeo Season
Sarah M. Anderson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SARAH M. ANDERSON may live east of the Mississippi River, but her heart lies out West on the Great Plains. Sarah’s book A Man of Privilege won an RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award in 2012.
Sarah spends her days having conversations with imaginary cowboys and American Indians. Find out more about Sarah’s love of cowboys and Indians at sarahmanderson.com (http://www.sarahmanderson.com) and sign up for the new-release newsletter at eepurl.com/nv39b (http://eepurl.com/nv39b).
To Hannah and Willa and to parents everywhere who love the children they gave up and the children they adopted.
Contents
Cover (#u4c81379b-5d40-5be1-97fe-7d96ca3df201)
Back Cover Text (#u583faef1-24db-5c2e-8895-41c80c344d9d)
Introduction (#u2f8e9384-a8ca-5caa-86ab-08b2a596dd3c)
Dear Reader (#u95d354b4-db43-5433-a5c6-a9cacf17d4b4)
Title Page (#ue94c626f-a6aa-5da9-8db2-eb59755f592f)
About the Author (#u4594bd71-c412-5d04-8815-bf7655c077fe)
Dedication (#u4ab93210-3e2b-54e3-b94e-c94e5a9f4209)
CHAPTER ONE (#uc06437aa-d3a2-5a30-9ee6-c9bfbce1e5d8)
CHAPTER TWO (#ud25a514f-4db1-5908-b5c4-a5a10d224473)
CHAPTER THREE (#uba13107e-fa53-51bc-baea-df4b95a6b560)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u69a7e101-7336-574e-a843-2de1f3bde47d)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u72fefbc3-833d-52d9-8a9c-bb245f01a9b3)
CHAPTER SIX (#ufe981722-db0d-5c78-bb38-75d5c35bf4e8)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_883959a9-5b24-5e9d-973f-e772052126bf)
“COME ON, COME ON.” Ian Tall Chief bounced on the balls of his feet, adrenaline dumping into his system. The bull rider in the chute apparently couldn’t get his grip and kept resetting. The bull kept trying to rear up and Ian couldn’t blame the animal. This was taking forever. This was the last ride of the long goes, the opening round of the rodeo. “Come on, Randy.”
Ian had met Randy on the Total Championship Bulls Ranger circuit—the minor leagues of the TCB Challenger circuit—last year. He was friends with most of the riders. They were little more than kids, but hell, he wasn’t that much older. Bull riders were a good time on a Saturday night.
If they made it that far. Randy was in no hurry to get on with his eight-second rush. At this rate, they would be in this arena in Hays, Kansas, all night long.
From behind him, he heard his partner, Black Jack Johnson, snort. Later, Ian knew, Black Jack would give Ian crap about his impatience. A good bullfighter waited. A good bullfighter did not rush in early. Bad bullfighters rushed in and spooked a bull. That got a bullfighter or a bull rider or even a bull hurt.
Ian’s job was to stand back and wait until a bull rider dismounted. Or was bucked off. Didn’t matter. All riders had to get off a bull one way or another, and when they did, Ian and Jack were on the ground, ready to make sure no one got gored or crushed to death.
Hadn’t happened yet. That wasn’t to say no one had gotten trampled or tossed on Ian’s watch—they had. Ian and Jack had kept things from getting worse. That was their job. But the fact that things could go bad kept Ian on high alert.
Finally, Randy nodded and the chute gate swung open. About damn time, Ian thought as the bull roared out, its hind legs flailing up and out with incredible speed. It was a monster of an animal—a mottled brown beast that was probably close to two-thousand pounds. Ian danced out of the path he thought the bull would take, barely clearing the back hooves. That bull had one hell of a kick.
A fact Randy was not prepared to deal with. The kid went sailing through the air after only a few seconds, landing in a heap behind Ian—which was a good enough place to fall.
But tell that to the bull. This was one mean—and fast—sucker that kept on coming. Jack jumped at the side of the bull, waving his hands to distract the bull from charging at where Randy was having a little trouble getting up, but all Jack got was knocked over for his troubles.
Oh, crap, Ian thought as he watched his partner literally bite the dust. Ian was on his own. He could get out of the way fast enough, but Randy couldn’t and Ian got the feeling this bull wasn’t going to quit anytime soon.
Ian had two choices. He could try to grab Randy and spin the two of them out of the way and hope like hell that Jack could get back on his feet or...
No time. Ian stood his ground in front of Randy and did the only thing he could.
When the bull got within feet of him—close enough that Ian could smell the rank bull snot coming out of his nose—he stepped to the side and grabbed the bull by the horns.
Bad idea, he thought as he dug in his heels and twisted to the right, trying to get his left arm under the bull’s jaw. Normal steer wrestling meant falling on a five-hundred-pound castrated bull from the back of a horse. This bull was the moving definition of aggressive and weighed maybe three times that much. Plus, Ian didn’t have momentum on his side. The bull was dragging him and bearing down on Randy and Jack was shouting and Ian was losing his grip. Hard. Bad, bad, bad—
Then the bull slowed, shaking his head as if Ian were nothing but a fly he could shoo away. Ian held on, fighting to drag the bull’s head to the side. Out of the corner of his eye, Ian saw Jack grab Randy by the arm and haul him to the side. The bull slowed another half step, trying to decide if he wanted to change course to go after Randy or focus on Ian. That half step gave Ian the chance to get his grip.
He twisted the bull’s head up. His muscles screamed at the awkward angle and for a second he thought the bull was going to throw him instead of the other way around. He put everything he had into getting the bull’s jaw up and lifted. Come on, come on. If this didn’t work...
He felt it the moment he gained control. Instead of being dragged along with the bull’s momentum, Ian was suddenly able to get his heels into the dirt. Then it happened in less than a second. The bull’s feet flipped out from underneath his body and the animal went down on its side with a muffled grunt of surprise.
Ian lay on the bull’s neck and checked the arena. Randy was up and hobbling toward the fence. Jack was off to the side, staring at Ian with his mouth flopped open in shock. The handler on horseback had his lasso ready to rope the bull and drag him out.
The whole place—the arena, the cowboys waiting their ride, the spectators in the stands—was eerily silent. The hair on the back of Ian’s neck stood up. Bull riding was many things, but “quiet” wasn’t one of them.
“O...kay...” Jack mumbled. “You need any help there, Chief?”
“Just gotta get up,” Ian replied as the bull tried to lift its head. The animal made a deep bellowing sound, one of pure bovine anger. Getting up wasn’t a problem. Getting up without getting kicked? That was another story entirely.
Jack came and stood within an arm’s reach, crouched down on his heels and braced himself. “On three?”
Ian nodded. One, two— He let go and rolled to the side as fast as he could. Everyone always worried about getting a bull’s horn up the ass, but any cowboy worth his salt knew that the hooves were what killed a man. And this bull had all four hooves pointed at Ian.
Jack latched onto Ian’s arm and yanked him up so hard it made the world spin. Both men took off for the fencing as fast as they could.
The bull stumbled to his feet, but by the time he got all four on the floor, Ian and Jack were climbing up the fence to safety and the rider had the bull roped.
It was only when the bull had successfully made it down the chute and Ian was straddling the fence that he heard it—the roar that swelled with each passing second until it damn near deafened him.
“Damn, man,” Jack shouted over the noise. “Where the hell did you learn to do that?”
“Back on the ranch,” Ian yelled back. Which was partially true. He’d done plenty of bulldogging back on the ranch.
But never a bull that size. Never from the ground.
Adrenaline pumped into his system. Had he really done that? Taken down a charging bull in a test of strength and skill?
Hell yeah, he had. Damn, he felt invincible. The number of men who could do that and not get killed could probably be counted on one hand. He turned to the stands and took off his hat, waving it for the crowd. They yelled their approval. A pretty blonde caught his eye and blew him a kiss.
God, he loved this job. Best damned job he’d ever had.
The rodeo clown joined in with the crowd. “That’s our very own Chief, everyone! Using those Indian superpowers to save Randy Sloap from certain death!”
Ian gritted his teeth. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been called Chief. When your last name was Tall Chief, it was unavoidable. But he hated it when people ascribed his hard-won physical skills to some mystical Indian gift.
Ian was a cowboy, a linebacker, a bullfighter. He was not some noble savage who communed with bulls, dammit all.
From somewhere behind the chutes, he heard what sounded distinctly like a war whoop. Ian rolled his eyes at Jack, who shrugged helplessly. Just another day on the job.
He looked back at the chutes, and a cowboy caught his eye. At least, it looked like a cowboy. A little shorter, a little rounder. With a jolt of awareness, Ian realized it was not a cowboy, but a cowgirl, which was unusual enough. Aside from his cousin, June Spotted Elk—who was one of the better bull riders in the world—there weren’t usually a whole lot of women behind the chutes during the rides. Buckle bunnies had no place back there. Ian tried to think. Had there been a cowgirl out in the arena for the preride introductions and prayers—another rider? He didn’t think so.
But what made her more unusual was that the cowgirl was glaring at him as if Ian had personally slapped her on the ass and told her she should be pregnant, barefoot and in a kitchen somewhere. What the hell?
He nodded his head at her, which only made her scowl harder. Everyone else in the arena tonight was his biggest admirer. To hell with what one woman thought.
Randy limped up to him. “Man, I owe you one for that.”
Ian shrugged. “Just doing my job.”
Randy grinned. “It’s one hell of a job, ain’t it?” He slapped Ian on the leg. “I’ll catch you tonight at the bar—drinks on me!”
Ian nodded and grinned. After that save, the bar was going to be a lot of fun tonight. It’d been more months than he wanted to admit since he’d picked anyone up. Maybe he’d cut loose and find a beautiful woman to spend the evening with. He might not have the street cred of a bull rider, but bull riders tended to be on the scrawny side of things, like Randy. That kid probably didn’t weigh 170 pounds wet. Ian brought a certain physicality to the table. It went with the whole football player thing.
Even as he was thinking about buckle bunnies, his gaze drifted back over to where he’d last seen the angry cowgirl. She wasn’t there.
“Did you see that woman?” he asked Jack.
“The blonde? Damn straight I saw her,” Jack replied with a low whistle. “She didn’t see me, though. Only had eyes for you, curse your red hide.”
Jack was about the only man on the planet who could say something like that to Ian and not get the pulp beat out of him, mostly because Black Jack Johnson was, in fact, black. Aside from a few Brazilians and Mexicans, there weren’t a lot of men of color on the circuit. Jack and Ian stuck together.
“Never seen anyone pull a stunt like that in the arena,” Jack went on, shaking his head. “Damn foolish, too. What if you’d hurt the bull?”
“I’m fine, but I appreciate your concern,” Ian retorted as they hopped down off the fence and headed back toward the water. They had about twenty minutes before the short goes started. “This isn’t the first time I’ve wrestled a steer. I know what I’m doing.”
Mostly, anyway. And he had a feeling he wasn’t entirely fine. The right side of his body was screaming from the strain now that the adrenaline was wearing off. He must have pulled something. Ian did a couple of preliminary twists and felt a twinge. Damn. The latissimus dorsi on his left side was definitely strained. Looked like he would have to take an ice bath tonight.
“Don’t do it again,” Jack said, and Ian had to nod in agreement. Jack had been a bullfighter for close to twelve years and this was Ian’s first year at this level. Bullfighters made it to the bigs as a team. Jack was calling the shots like a quarterback. Ian was, once again, the linebacker doing the blocking. Funny how the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
Ian dumped half a bucket of water over his head to knock the dust and sweat down a layer. Bullfighting might be a lot of fun, but it was a dirty job on the best of days. As the water dripped down the back of his neck, he said, “Don’t get knocked on your ass again, old man.” Jack had been a much higher ranked bullfighter before he’d gotten stepped on in a bad wreck two years ago. This season was about him getting back on top of his game. “Then I won’t have to save—”
“Hey! You!” An angry voice cut through the din.
Ian whipped his head around to see the cowgirl he most definitely had not imagined stalking toward him. The look on her face might turn a lesser man to stone, but Ian held firm. Besides, he had the advantage of height. This woman was a little thing, probably a solid foot shorter than he was—but she clearly made up for that in sheer ferocity. She might even be pretty, if she wiped that scowl off her face.
But pretty was not the word for her. Violent would be better. Ian opened his mouth to say something—“hi” was always a good place to start—but she cut him off. “What was that?”
“A damn good save,” Ian replied confidently. He stood up straight and puffed out his chest.
Her eyes widened and a spark of electricity flowed between them as her features softened. She was pretty, he noticed. Delicate features, wide eyes with fringed lashes. Her skin was tanned, but she had a smattering of freckles over her nose. Her lips were lush and lightly parted. Her face was diametrically opposed to the unsexed cowboy outfit, almost as if she were trying to hide herself under a cowboy hat.
The electricity between them felt good. He admired a lot of beautiful women in the bars, but that spark—he hadn’t felt that in a long time. “Hey,” he said in a more seductive voice, hoping to fan the flames a little. “Tonight at the bar—”
Anything pretty or sparky or electric about her disappeared as she sneered up at him. “You do not touch the bull, you understand?”
“What?” Ian said, bristling. “I’ve got a job to do. I’m there to protect the riders. I protected the rider. I don’t give a damn about the bull.”
A look of hatred twisted her features. “That animal is worth a hundred grand. You so much as rub his fur the wrong way and I’ll sue you for everything you’re worth.” She gave his dirt-and-muck-stained pants and the red-and-black shirt that matched Jack’s a dismissive glance. “Which obviously isn’t much.”
“What is your problem, lady?” Even as he said it, he realized what she’d said. She’d sue him.
“He’s my bull,” she snapped. “Touch him again and you will live to regret it.”
“You’re the stock contractor?” But he said it to her back as she turned and stomped off in the direction of the pens. “She’s the stock contractor?” he asked the only other person who was listening.
Jack didn’t answer. He was too busy laughing.
Ian twisted back around and tried to see where she’d gone. Who was she?
Someone tiny and fierce and unafraid of him. Someone who had a hell of a lot of spark.
It wasn’t as if Ian hadn’t been yelled at before—he had. Especially the time he’d dated two girls years ago. Yeah, that hadn’t been his smartest idea. But Ian was a big guy—especially compared to a slip of a girl. Most women—hell, most men—wouldn’t confront him like that. She’d gotten the drop on him, and that, he didn’t like. Next time—if there was a next time—he didn’t want to be caught off guard.
He hoped there was a next time.
He located her as an older man in a ten-gallon hat stepped in front of her. The huge hat topped off a face pinched into a permanent sneer. The long mustache did nothing to improve the man’s appearance. Neither did the potbelly that hung over his belt buckle. Aside from the belly, everything else about the man was scrawny—scrawny mustache, scrawny legs, scrawny neck. He was ugly and mean looking, but the cocky grin on his face said loud and clear that he enjoyed the meanness.
The man said something to her. Even at the distance of twenty or so feet, Ian saw her reaction. Her shoulders tightened and she took a nervous step backward. The older man said something else, and the woman backed up again.
The hackles went up on the back of Ian’s neck and he started moving. Okay, so that woman might have dressed him down in public, but Ian didn’t like the way the man was leering at her and he especially didn’t like the way the woman was reacting. Where was the no-fear, take-no-prisoners woman who had threatened him within an inch of his life? She was gone, replaced by a small woman who was afraid of the older man.
Not on Ian’s watch, that was for damn sure.
Well, he amended as he heard her snap something out at the older man, maybe afraid wasn’t the right word.
As Ian got within earshot, he heard the older man say, “...to see something bad happen to a pretty little thing like you, Evans,” in tones of mock concern.
Evans what? Surely that wasn’t her first name.
The man’s tone was dismissive and threatening. Ian had heard plenty of men talk to his cousin June that way because she wanted to ride bulls. Ian had backed June up when she wanted to ride. Just because Evans didn’t necessarily like him didn’t mean she didn’t deserve the same.
“You wouldn’t,” she shot back. Her voice wasn’t quite as sharp as it had been with him. “You’d only hate it if someone else got first crack at the Straight Arrow.” She held her ground and, as Ian came up behind her, stood as tall as she could. “Stay the hell away from me and my bulls, Slim.”
Okay, so these two had history—that much was clear. A small gathering of cowboys had formed around Evans and Slim. Ian noticed that most of the cowboys were standing behind Slim. Evans looked small and very alone.
Nope, not happening on his watch.
Slim smiled the oily smile of a man who would get what he wanted, one way or the other. “Or what?” he asked, the mock concern replaced by sheer menace.
Ian cleared his throat and crossed his arms. She started, but didn’t make a noise. Instead, she glanced over her shoulder and made eye contact with Ian. He gave her a curt nod that he hoped said, I’m on your side. At least in this matter.
The corner of her mouth twitched, as if she wanted to smile but wasn’t going to. Then she turned back to Slim, who was now glaring at Ian with undisguised hatred. “Do you really want to find out, Slim? Because I guarantee you won’t like it. I’m not afraid of you.” This statement was only slightly contradicted by the way her voice wavered. “My father wasn’t afraid of you, either.”
Slim spat. “He can’t protect you anymore, you little—”
“Watch your mouth around a lady,” Ian growled as he flexed his muscles. That was a threat, plain and clear. And sometimes, a threat had to be met with a threat.
Slim snorted. “What are you going to do about it, Geronimo? Scalp me?”
Ian charged. His vision narrowed until all he could see was Slim. Just like when he’d been on the football field, when all he could see was the quarterback, the ball. His body primed for the hit, the satisfying crunch of pad against pad, bone against bone.
He didn’t make it. Suddenly, he was jerked to the side. At the same time, Evans turned around and put both hands on his chest, pushing him back.
“Dammit, Chief,” Jack hissed in his ear. “You’ll get kicked off the circuit.”
“Don’t,” Evans said, her wide eyes all the wider with a mix of horror and fear. Then she pitched her voice up louder. “He’s not worth it.”
Ian’s vision widened enough to see that Slim was now standing behind two riders Ian didn’t know real well. Ian could have easily taken them both. “What’s the matter?” he asked, shaking off Jack. “You’ll threaten a woman but you’re too much a coward to man up?”
“Boy,” Slim said, spitting the word out as if it was an insult. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.” Then he turned on his heel and walked off.
Ian watched him go and then turned his attention to Evans. “There,” he said. “That should—”
“What the hell is your problem?” Evans demanded, cutting him off. “Are you trying to ruin my life or what? Because you’re doing a damn fine job.”
“I was trying to help,” Ian said through gritted teeth.
“Well, don’t. I don’t need any help, certainly not from you. I don’t know how I can make it any clearer, buddy— Leave. Me. Alone.”
And with that, she turned and stormed off for the second time in less than fifteen minutes.
Ian blinked, but this time she really was gone.
“What the hell happened?” he asked Jack.
“I think,” Jack replied, his Texas drawl stronger than normal, “you made her mad.”
“Yeah, thanks for that insight,” Ian shot back. He looked again, but he didn’t see Miss Evans from the Straight Arrow Ranch anywhere.
Ian started after where he’d last seen her, but the promoter began shouting that the short goes was starting and everyone needed to stop standing around and gawking like schoolboys.
Ian had to get back to work.
But he wasn’t done with Miss Evans.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_a69df438-bdc6-55cb-8cd7-7dc1b27a0512)
HER HANDS SHAKING, Lacy Evans walked back to where Rattler was penned after his go. Please let the animal be okay, she prayed. Without Rattler...
The thought brought on a wave of nausea so strong it almost stopped her in her tracks. She didn’t stop, though. She couldn’t afford a single sign of weakness. No throwing up. No hysterics. And absolutely no crying allowed.
What would Slim Smalls do if he caught Lacy in a true moment of weakness? Bad enough he’d obviously seen the bullfighter take Rattler down—worse that he was hoping Rattler would never get up. Lacy had no doubt about that.
Rattler was the only thing keeping the Straight Arrow going. If she lost that bull, Slim would say something misogynistic about how a “pretty little thing” like Lacy had no business in stock contracting, no business running a ranch—no business existing. And when she broke—or he pushed her too far...
She tried to swallow down the rock in her throat that was pushing against her tongue, but it didn’t budge. So she kept walking.
She saw Rattler in the pen and for a moment, she thought he was holding a leg funny.
She tried to push the panic away as she hurried to the pen. Without getting in there with him, she looked over the bull as carefully as she could—especially his legs.
He shifted his weight onto the leg. Thank God.
In place of the panic, a new emotion took root—anger. The anger felt good. She was furious with that bullfighter. What the hell had he been thinking, twisting her best bull to the ground like that? For God’s sake, he could have killed Rattler! Snapped a leg—or several legs, given the force with which he’d dropped Rattler, as if the eighteen-hundred-pound bull was little more than a stuffed animal someone had thrown at him. Who the hell did that bullfighter think he was?
Chief. That’s what the other bullfighter had called him. The thorn in her side had a ridiculous name like Chief. Of course he did. Lacy didn’t know if that was his real name or another dig at him being an Indian. Because she was pretty sure he was an American Indian. There’d been his faint accent, a different way of clipping his vowels. But beyond that, it was Chief’s dark hair and dark eyes and bronzed skin and eagle nose and strong jaw and muscles moving beneath his shirt.
Not that she’d noticed all those muscles when she’d put her hands on his chest and held him back.
A very small part of her brain replayed the scene again. The whole thing hadn’t taken more than twenty seconds. The bull rider hadn’t made it past five, which was good for Rattler’s statistics. Then there’d been the few agonizingly long seconds where the bullfighter had thought about running. Lacy had seen it in his face. Anyone else would have dodged out of the way. Rattler was no pussy cat—he was a mean son of a bitch who’d broken her father’s arm once and launched Murph, one of her hired hands, fifteen feet into a fence.
But the bullfighter hadn’t run. He hadn’t abandoned the downed rider. He’d stood his ground, absorbed the impact and redirected the bull’s energy into the twist.
If it hadn’t been her bull, her livelihood—she would have been cheering with the rest of them.
But it was her bull, her livelihood. If something happened to Rattler...
She refused to think about that worst-case scenario as she shooed Rattler from one end of his narrow pen to the other, watching his gait the whole time. Rattler seemed okay. No pulling up lame, no favoring one foot.
She needed him to be okay. If that Chief so much as touched her bull again, he wouldn’t have to be worried about getting gored. Lacy would see to that herself.
Reluctantly, she left Rattler. Her other bull, Peachy Keen, was due up soon. Peachy wasn’t half the bull Rattler was, but that didn’t mean Peachy wasn’t a good bull. He was perfectly suited to the Total Championship Bulls Ranger circuit. The riders here were all trying to break into the big league, the Challenger circuit. If they couldn’t get past Peachy, then they didn’t have a hope of making it to the finals in Las Vegas this October, a mere six months away.
Rattler, however, was a different story. He was amassing points every time he was loaded into the chutes. If he had a good summer, he could be bumped up to the bigs. And the bigs paid better.
She needed that. The Straight Arrow was hanging on by what felt like the thinnest of threads. She’d cut every expense she could. If Rattler didn’t have a good year with a strong finish in Vegas, she’d have to start selling off the beef cattle that paid at least half of the ranch’s bills.
And if that happened...
She would do anything to keep the ranch. If she lost the Straight Arrow, she didn’t know what she’d do.
She didn’t know who she’d be, without that ranch.
It wouldn’t come to that. Rattler was going to have a strong summer. Peachy and Chicken Run would earn their keep. Then there was Wreckerator. Some rides, he was every bit as good as Rattler. But other rides were a total disaster. She couldn’t bet the ranch on Wreckerator. Not yet, anyway.
Everything was riding on Rattler.
She made her way to the chutes as Peachy went in. She didn’t recognize the rider’s name, but he tipped his hat and said, “Ma’am,” when she slung her leg over the railing to grab Peachy’s flank strap.
She nodded at him. Well, that was a nice change of pace. At least half of these cowboys treated her like a pariah at a family picnic, as if the mere fact that she had boobs meant she shouldn’t be contaminating the air they breathed. Never mind that she’d been a working rancher since she was old enough to sit in a saddle. Never mind that she did a man’s work all day, every day. It didn’t matter. She was not welcome here.
But every so often, one of the cowboys was a decent human being, as her father had been. Dale Evans never let anyone talk down to her or any other woman. It wasn’t the Straight Arrow Ranch for nothing.
She’d never understood what had started the feud with Slim Smalls. At this point, it didn’t matter. Not even Dale’s and Linda’s deaths were enough for Slim. He wanted more. He wanted Lacy’s ranch.
She pulled the flank strap as another rider pulled the bull rope. Peachy shifted nervously in the chute as the rider got his grip. Lacy realized he was praying under his breath. “Have a good one, Preacher,” the other rider said.
The Preacher? Fitting, she thought as the man nodded his head. The chute swung open.
Normally, Lacy watched the rides, making notes on how her bulls did, where they were stronger, where they were weaker. She and her father had always done that, breaking down each ride together until Lacy understood bulls better than her dad did.
But not this time. This time, she was watching a bullfighter named Chief.
Now that she knew Rattler was okay, she almost felt bad for tearing into the man. Of course he was doing his job. Of course he didn’t know about Rattler or Lacy Evans or the Straight Arrow or even Slim Smalls. He’d only known how to take down a charging bull with his bare hands. It had nothing to do with her.
And he had been trying to help her, hadn’t he? He’d cut Slim off before he could start cursing, and Lacy would be willing to bet that he’d have taken Slim down in much the same way he’d taken Rattler down. For her.
Even if it was all macho posturing—still, he’d been willing to throw down on her behalf. And that was after she’d yelled at him. The first time, anyway. She didn’t know if he’d be so eager to defend her again after she’d told him off a second time.
Okay, she did feel bad. She’d been upset and angry and she hadn’t been able to take all of her anger out on Slim. Somehow, Chief had seemed safer. Maybe it was because she didn’t know him. Or maybe it was something else.
She’d pushed him. She’d put her hands on his chest and shoved to keep him from beating the hell out of a man who richly deserved it. She’d felt Chief’s body tense at her touch, which was bad enough. But what was worse was the way he’d looked down at her, as if he hadn’t expected to find her there but he was glad she was.
Then she had to open her big mouth. Again.
She’d apologize, she decided as the Preacher made the time on Peachy. If she got the chance, she’d thank him for not killing her bull and for putting Slim in his place and for letting her hold him back. Then her conscience would be clear and that would be that.
Peachy obligingly trotted out of the arena. Lacy heard the announcer say the Preacher had gotten a seventy-four—not a great score for either the rider or the bull, but it was enough. She was done here. There were only a few riders left, and then the rodeo would be over except for the belt buckles. She could load up her bulls and begin the long trip home to the Straight Arrow in Wyoming.
She couldn’t say the prospect excited her. If she went home to the empty house, there’d be no distractions, good or bad. She’d be utterly alone, except for when the hired hands did their work and even then, there wasn’t a whole lot of interaction. It’d be just her and the truth she kept trying to avoid.
A little distraction could be good. Hell, it might even be great. As she thought it, she looked back at Chief. She might see him again, she might not. Bullfighters didn’t always follow the same schedule as the bulls and the riders. This could be a one-off, for all she knew.
At that moment, Chief looked up and caught her eye. She tensed. She couldn’t exactly apologize or thank him across an arena but what if she didn’t get another chance?
He was staring at her. She only knew this because she was staring back. His head dipped forward in a polite nod. Wow, she thought. Polite and tough and hot? He was the kind of guy who could be very distracting.
Then he winked at her, his mouth curving up into a suggestive smile.
She scowled. Great. It hadn’t been no-strings-attached, that little show he’d put on earlier with Slim. Chief wanted something in return. Did it matter that she’d been thinking about nearly the same thing? No.
She did not hook up and she did not hang out, not with bull riders or fighters or stock contractors. That was that.
She pushed away from the chute and went to get her animals. She could not afford to be distracted by a bullfighter with a testosterone imbalance. She had a ranch to save and contracted bulls to deliver. Anything outside of that was...
Well, it was unlike her. Dale and Linda Evans’s daughter did not allow distractions.
But even as she thought it, sadness gripped her. Sure, Dale and Linda’s daughter didn’t hook up.
But Lacy wasn’t their daughter, not really.
The lump was back and breathing was difficult. The only thing that kept her from falling apart was the sheer number of people milling around. She would not cry or weep or, God help her, sob. Cowgirls didn’t cry. Certainly not in public, anyway. She was not weak.
She got to her truck and sat there for a few minutes, taking deep breaths until the lump passed and she had things back under control. She drove over to the pens. It was really a two-person job but she wasn’t about to ask for help. Besides, she’d been loading bulls since she was a kid. She could do this. She had to.
“Come on,” she grunted at Rattler. He lowered his head and bellowed. Lacy glared at him. “I’m not the one who grounded you. Don’t take it out on me. Now get up!”
Rattler gave her a look and blew snot in her face and walked into the trailer. Peachy followed his traveling buddy, thank God.
Slim and his “pretty little thing” could go to hell. She could do this—deliver her bulls and get them back home. She could do the job—which meant she could keep her ranch.
She climbed into the cab of her dad’s F-350 and fired up the engine. No, this wasn’t his truck anymore. He’d been gone for seven months now. The truck, the bulls, the Straight Arrow and every single bill were hers now. Distantly, she thought she might be hungry. When was the last time she’d eaten? No lunch today. Had she had breakfast? Well, she’d eat when she got home.
Hays, Kansas, was only about six hours from the Straight Arrow, which sat between Cheyenne and Laramie, Wyoming, although it was closer to Laramie. Laramie was where her mom had taught second grade and, therefore, where Lacy had gone to school.
The Straight Arrow was set on the high plains near the base of the Laramie range. The winter held lots of snow for forts and snowball fights. In the summer, the Laramie River was only a short horse ride from the house. It didn’t matter that the river never got much above sixty degrees, even in the warmest part of the year. Lacy would ride out and jump in again and again until her lips were practically blue, and then she’d lie out in the sun until she warmed up. Or until her mom rang the dinner bell. Then they’d all sit around the table and talk about the day before they watched the movies her dad had loved so much.
She’d never have that back, that sense of perfect belonging. It was gone now. The only part of her life still recognizably hers was this—bulls in the trailer, sitting in the truck, driving home from a rodeo.
God, she missed her parents. She missed being their daughter.
She was so lost in thought that she didn’t see the tall figure in a white T-shirt flagging her down until she almost ran into him. But the man stepped to the side, neatly avoiding having his toes squashed, just as he’d avoided Rattler’s horns.
Lacy slammed on the brakes—at least she’d only been going about ten miles per hour. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been able to stop. “Dammit!”
Because it was Chief again. The pain in her neck, come back for more.
He leaned against her driver’s-side mirror and waited for her to roll the window down, looking cool and graceful and hot all at once, dang it.
She lowered her window. “What now?”
“I’m sorry about the bull,” he said. “I’ll pay for any treatment he needs.”
She blinked at him. “What?”
“The bull.” He shifted and she realized the white T-shirt he was wearing was soaked through. It clung to his body, highlighting muscles and more muscles and then, down a little lower...
Chief cleared his throat, making Lacy startle. “Is he okay?” he asked again.
She needed to come up with something that wouldn’t have her breaking down in grateful tears that Rattler was, in fact, okay. It would be best if that something she came up with didn’t let Chief off the hook or give away the fact that she was having a hard time not looking at his chest. “I won’t know for sure until the vet checks him out.” There.
“Let me know.”
She nodded in agreement and waited for him to move back, but he didn’t. “Yes?”
The corner of his mouth curved up into the kind of smile women like her didn’t often get from men like him—confident and sensual and interested. If Lacy had been a normal single woman, it was the kind of smile that would make her want to melt into his arms and kiss him.
But she wasn’t a normal single woman. She had responsibilities.
“We got off on the wrong foot. I’m Ian Tall Chief.” He stuck out his hand.
And waited while Lacy looked at it. “Are you serious?”
He dropped his hand, looking offended. “Did I look like I was joking?”
Oh, hell—had that come out wrong? She wasn’t trying to make fun of his name. Actually, given that everyone called him Chief, she was relieved to hear that was not some sort of derogatory nickname.
So she clarified, “I’m not interested. I don’t hook up.”
That got both eyebrows up and moving as his face relaxed.
“Are you serious?”
“Look,” she said in exasperation, “I know how this goes. There are two kinds of men here. The first doesn’t think a woman like me should be anywhere near a bull because we might do better than them and that would obviously be the end of the world. The second thinks I’m nothing but a one-night stand that hasn’t happened yet.” She pointed a finger at him. “Guess which one you are.”
His lips—nice lips, rounded and full and— No, stop it, Lacy. She was not going to start thinking about his lips, which were twisting as if he was thinking about laughing at her but trying not to.
Unfortunately, in trying so hard not to stare at his mouth, her gaze drifted back down to his chest. The wet T-shirt left nothing to the imagination. Pecs, nipples—
She snapped her gaze to the front windshield. She wouldn’t look at him. That was the best solution.
“Have you considered,” Ian Tall Chief said in an amused drawl, “that there might be another kind of man here?”
“No.”
“What’d that old man say to you?”
“What?”
Ian leaned forward. “Before I got there to back you up. What’d he say?”
“Look,” Lacy said in frustration, “it’s really not a big deal.”
Ian dropped his head to one side. “That’s not what it looked like to me. It looked like he was threatening you. Sounded like it, too. Does he always go after you like that or was today a special occasion?”
She tried to shrug, as if another verbal battle with Slim Smalls was no big deal. “I appreciate you trying to help, but I can handle it.”
Ian snorted. “You shouldn’t have to ‘handle’ it.”
She glared at him. “I was doing fine without your help, Mr. Tall Chief. I can handle Slim. I can handle my bulls. I’m not some silly girl who’s in over her head. I’ve been bringing bulls to rodeos for over fifteen years now.” But she’d had her father with her then.
Didn’t matter. She could still handle this—all of this. Slim, the bulls, the fighters and the riders—she could even handle Ian Tall Chief.
“Any woman who can load two bulls by herself is not silly.” Ian met her gaze and held it with his own. At least, she thought she could handle him. It’d be easier if he were wearing a dry shirt, though. Or if he stopped looking at her like that, with some mix of protectiveness and—dare she say it—respect in his eyes.
He crossed his arms over his chest. Unfortunately, that put a whole lot of biceps right at eye level. Good lord, was any part of this man not muscled and ripped? He had some interesting tattoos on his right side—not the standard stuff, but something that looked like a circle in red and black and yellow.
“There’s no shame in asking for help,” he said. His voice was surprisingly soft—gentle, even. “Or accepting it.”
Warning bells went off in her head—loud, clanging bells that beat a fast rhythm. For some ridiculous reason, she felt exposed, even though he was the one standing around in a practically see-through T-shirt. She wanted to look away—she desperately needed to—but she couldn’t break his gaze.
“I don’t need any help.” It came out as a whisper. It was a lie and she knew it. And, given the way he looked at her, he knew it, too. But she couldn’t accept what he was offering, whatever it was. She couldn’t be in anyone’s debt. Not his, not Slim’s—no one’s.
So she tried again. “I don’t need any help.”
There. That was better. She just had to keep saying it.
After what felt like a long time of staring into his eyes—deep, dark pools with things hidden in their depths she could only wonder at—Ian nodded and took a step back. “All right, then. Have a safe trip home.”
She blinked. What? Was that it? After that long, lingering look? She hadn’t even told him her name yet. Was that the end of the conversation?
Was he going to take her at her word?
He was. How freaking weird.
“You, too,” she said, because it was the most polite thing she could come up with.
She drove off. In her side mirror, she saw Ian Tall Chief stand there and watch her go.
She might not ever see him again. Bullfighters operated under a different schedule than the riders or the bulls. Her next contracted rodeo was next weekend, in Colorado Springs. Ian Tall Chief might be in Amarillo or even Baton Rouge, for all she knew. She certainly didn’t want to see him again—not to risk having him hurt one of her animals or piss off Slim Smalls even more.
Before I got there to back you up, he’d said. That and, You shouldn’t have to handle it. She could almost hear the word alone after that second statement.
Because she was alone.
Or at least, she had been. Until Ian Tall Chief had backed her up.
Maybe he’d be in Colorado Springs next week, after all.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_6d4d40ad-639f-59cc-a05f-32b8407af2fc)
LACY ROLLED INTO Colorado Springs Thursday afternoon. She was feeling good. Okay, good might be a bit strong, but she was feeling better. She’d been able to sleep the past few nights without too many nightmares about car wrecks, so that counted for something.
The night before a rodeo was her favorite time. The arena grounds were quiet, with only a few stock contractors and the promoter around to unload the bulls. The riders wouldn’t show up until tomorrow, and then tomorrow night, the crowds would come pouring in.
This time was about the bulls. Had it been less than a year since she’d done this with her dad? They’d get in around dark on Thursday nights and unload. Dale would shoot the breeze with the other stock contractors and check in with the promoter.
She didn’t want to run into Slim again. If she could get through this weekend without feeling as if she was losing her grip on—well, everything, that’d be great.
Lacy checked in with Mort and got the details on where she was to unload her bulls. She had three with her today—Rattler, Chicken Run and Wreckerator.
You can do this, she thought as she backed the truck up to the pens. Sure, unloading and loading two bulls by herself had been a challenge. Three would be downright hard, especially because Wreckerator was in one of his moods. She’d had Murph to help her at the Straight Arrow, and Wreckerator had almost charged the trailer. Which meant he’d have a good bunch of rides this weekend, but it didn’t help Lacy right now.
She got out of the cab and looked around. The good news was, she didn’t see Slim. But the bad news was, she didn’t see anyone else, either. For some ridiculous reason, she was disappointed not to see Ian Tall Chief. Not that she wanted to. She didn’t. She didn’t need his help or his excessively large muscles, and that was that. Besides, he would have no reason to be here tonight. He’d probably roll in tomorrow afternoon with everyone. She was being ridiculous to even look for him.
Except Rattler was refusing to back out of the trailer and Lacy didn’t want to push her luck going in to lead him out, not with Wreckerator behind him, pawing at the metal floor and bellowing with nervous energy. She needed to get the bulls out so they could stretch and get water. She could go get Mort, but she didn’t want to tell the promoter of the rodeo that she couldn’t handle her animals on her own. That was the sort of thing that could be used against her in future contract negotiations, and the last thing she could afford was to weaken her bargaining position.
Nope, she was on her own here. She knew it; the bulls knew it. “Come on, Rattler—get up,” she hissed, poking at his haunch through the slats. She didn’t want to use the cattle prod, but if Rattler didn’t get a move on, she would have to. Which would upset Wreckerator, which meant he would be practically unmanageable.
“You look like you need help,” a man said from behind her—too close.
Lacy startled, banging her elbow against the trailer. She pulled her arm out and spun to see a cowboy standing less than three feet from her. Not Ian.
Oh, this was a good-looking cowboy, all right. He was maybe six inches taller than she was, on the lean side of things, wearing jeans and a black Western shirt with silver piping on the sleeves and white mother-of-pearl buttons. He had stubble that looked intentional on his chin and a leather cord with a silver cross on it around his neck. He was pretty and polished and he did nothing for her.
And he was talking to her chest. “Let me get that for you.”
“I’m fine.” The moment the words left her mouth, she knew she’d said the wrong thing.
The cowboy’s mouth curved up into a predatory smile as he looked her up and down. After what felt like an hour of inspection, he finally looked in the vicinity of her face and said, “You sure are, sugar. What’s a stunner like you doing unloading bulls?” He took a step toward her, effectively pinning her against the trailer.
Her heart began to pound as panic dumped adrenaline into her system. She didn’t want to do this. This never would have happened if her dad were still here. And even that realization was depressing because he wasn’t here and she was completely on her own.
She had two choices. Start swinging now or... She went with option two. She forced a smile to her face and said, “What was your name, sugar?”
“Jerome.” The pretty cowboy smirked, bracing an arm against the trailer right next to her head. “I’m one of the riders. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”
She hadn’t. If his ego got any bigger, it’d suffocate her. Dimly, she thought he might have been one of the cowboys standing around Slim last week, but she wasn’t sure.
She made an effort to bat her eyelashes. She wasn’t any good at it—hell, she couldn’t pull off flirting even when she wanted to—but option two was to start swinging later. And if Pretty Boy Jerome would shift his legs a bit, she’d have a clear shot to kneeing him in the groin. A girl had to do what a girl had to do to defend herself, because she hadn’t lied to Chief the other week. There were two kinds of men at these rodeos—the Slims and the Jeromes.
Lacy was about to make her move when something in the air shifted. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as they had last week when Slim had been threatening her—right before Ian had made himself known.
Ian.
Jerome leaned down, unaware of how the air had changed. His gaze dropped to her lips as he cupped her chin. No, no, no. She couldn’t fight the shiver of fear that went through her body, but Jerome either thought it was a shiver of desire or he wanted her afraid. She shifted her legs, hoping she had a clear shot of his crotch. He ran his thumb over her lip and said, “Why don’t we— Oof!”
Then Jerome was gone, being plowed sideways by something the size of a small bulldozer. No, not something—someone.
Two conflicting emotions hit her at the same time as Jerome hit a fence. One was sheer relief. She hadn’t had to defend herself and she hadn’t had to find out what a man like Jerome would do if he got his nuts crushed. For a second, she didn’t feel so alone in the world because Ian Tall Chief had her back—even when she was backed up against the trailer.
But the other was pure irritation. She could defend herself. She didn’t need help—or him. But it was too late—he was already helping her, and that put her in his debt. She didn’t want to owe him. She didn’t want to owe anyone.
“Touch her again and I’ll break every bone in your hand,” Ian growled, lifting Jerome by his shirt clean off the ground. A tearing sound filled the air.
“Jesus—” Jerome’s voice came out in a strangled squeak “—we were just talking!”
“Talk to someone else.” Still holding Jerome off the ground, Ian spun and threw him to the ground. Jerome crumpled like an empty feedbag. “Clear?”
“Jesus, Chief,” Jerome repeated, scrambling to his feet and spitting into the dirt. “What the hell is your deal?”
“She isn’t here for you.” Ian had the nerve to ball his hands into fists and take a step toward Jerome, who was now considerably less pretty. His face was an angry red, his shirt trashed and he was covered in dirt and worse. “Now move.”
Jerome did as he was told—but not until he’d straightened his shirt and dusted off his butt. He gave Ian a long look. “Another time?” he said, sounding less squeaky and more threatening.
Ian smiled, as if this was what he’d wanted to hear. “Anytime, man.”
Jerome nodded and turned. It wasn’t until he’d disappeared around some trailers that Lacy felt herself breathe again. Her knees felt wobbly and she wanted to lean against the trailer and allow herself a moment to process.
She did no such thing. She couldn’t, not with Ian standing there and watching her with an unsettling mixture of concern and anger in his eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked, and damn him, he sounded genuinely concerned. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
No. Yes. No.
How was it possible to be this irritated and this grateful at the same time? “I’m not here for you, either,” she told him, completely ignoring the fact that at least part of her was more than a little glad to see him.
He gave her a fierce look before his face settled back into something that looked almost disappointed. “Yeah, you’re welcome.”
She should at least thank him. Why couldn’t she? She didn’t know. “Ian, I don’t need your help. I wish you’d listen to me.”
“No? So what was that all about? You can’t tell me you wanted that slime bag to be touching you. He was going to kiss you, Evans. More, knowing him.”
Evans? It felt weird to be called that. “Yes, and when he did, I was going to knee him in the groin and then punch him.” She turned back to her trailer. She had to get her bulls out and she’d be damned if she accepted any more help from one Ian Tall Chief. She couldn’t be beholden to him. “The situation was under control. I didn’t ask for a guardian angel.” Never mind that she might need one. “I can handle myself.”
“Yeah? What if Salzberg hadn’t taken kindly to getting his nuts crushed? Or what if Slim had showed up? You collect an awful lot of enemies, Evans.”
She gave him a pointed look. “It must be my sunny nature.”
That got her a smile—a full-on smile that took the remaining adrenaline still pumping through her body and drove it down deeper, where an unfamiliar warmth started to spread up her back.
Jerome Salzberg might have been pretty, but Ian Tall Chief was something else entirely—broad and muscled and completely unafraid of anyone or anything. And for some reason, he’d decided to keep an eye on her.
She couldn’t be his type. Hell, she wasn’t anyone’s type.
Something in Ian’s eyes deepened. Good lord, was she blushing? No. Not allowed. She would not let her body betray her like that. She turned back to the trailer and the stubborn bulls that wouldn’t get the hell out of it.
“Tell me you at least have a gun.” His voice was so serious that she was forced to turn around and look at him again.
“In the glove box.”
He scoffed. “Fat lot of good it’s going to do you there. Can you use it?”
She jammed her hands on her hips and tried to glare him to death. “What do you think? I’ve competed in mounted shooting events, thank you very much. Won a few, too.”
If Ian was insulted by her attitude, he didn’t show it. If anything, he looked relieved. “Good. You should be wearing it. The next time someone gives you crap, shoot them in the knee.”
She looked at him. It appeared, whether she wanted one or not, she had a guardian angel. This realization made that warm sensation that had spread up her back burn hotter, until she was afraid she was going to start sweating. “Why are you helping me?”
He tilted his head from side to side, as if he was debating how to respond. “I have my reasons. And they have nothing to do with getting you into bed,” he added before she could snap off another insult. “Now, do you want help with your bulls or not?”
She knew she should say yes and let it drop. But she couldn’t. She kept pushing what little luck she had and the only reason she could even remotely come up with was that it felt safe to push Ian. “Is that why you’re here a day early? Because of the bulls?”
Ian gave her a little smile, one that somehow made him look innocent and yet not innocent at the same time. “I wanted to make sure I didn’t owe you money for that one bull. What was his name?”
“Rattler.” She stared at him a moment longer. She didn’t buy that he was here to check on Rattler but she didn’t not buy it when he said he wasn’t trying to get her into bed.
And honestly? She could use a hand, at least for right now.
Up to this point, Ian hadn’t done the best job following the simple directions to leave her alone. But he’d stood up for her—twice now. It was more than anyone else had done for her in the long months since her parents had died. What’s more than that, he looked her in the eyes when he talked to her.
But you touched him, a small voice piped up from the back of her mind. She’d put her hands on his massive chest and felt his muscles and he’d halted in his charge on Slim. And at no point had he suggested that contact between them “meant” that Lacy wanted him or anything other than what it was—she’d asked him to stop and he had.
That had to count for something.
“This doesn’t mean I owe you a thing.”
He smirked. “Are you always this stubborn, Evans?”
“I’m not stubborn.” Another lie. She ignored the incredulous look on his face and turned back to the trailer. “And my name’s Lacy.”
* * *
LACY. OF COURSE she was Lacy. Underneath that pricklier-than-hell exterior, she was probably soft and gentle.
There might be a part of her that was quiet and sweet—as there was a part of her that wanted his help—but it wasn’t a part she was all that excited to share with him, and it’d be best if he didn’t allow his thoughts to wander off in that direction. Even if she didn’t have a pistol on her, she had a gun and she knew how to use it—and he’d basically told her to shoot him if he did anything underhanded.
Lacy Evans might not realize it, but he’d given her his word and he intended to keep it. This wasn’t about getting her into the sack.
Of course, that didn’t exactly explain what it was about.
That wasn’t entirely true, either. It was about that spark she had. When she tore into him, her body language was completely different than what it had been when she’d been confronted by Slim or when Ian had come around the corner and seen her pinned against the trailer by Jerome.
She’d been physically shaking, pale and panicked—and then Jerome had touched her. And that had been all Ian had seen before the world narrowed to Jerome. That asshole would not touch Lacy like that. Not while Ian was breathing.
“Why are you alone?” he asked as the first bull emerged from the trailer. “This isn’t a one-man job.”
“You really don’t think I can do this, do you?” she snapped before adding, “Get up, Wreck.”
“I’m not questioning your skills. I’m saying you have three bulls and you’re by yourself. You were by yourself last week, too. You should have a traveling partner.”
“I—” Oh, hell—he heard her voice catch. She dropped her head and put her hands on her hips. “I had a partner. He died.”
“I’m sorry.” Ian had the urge to put his arm around her shoulder and hold her. He didn’t do it, of course—he wasn’t particularly in the mood to have his nuts crushed up into his stomach. But the urge alone was troubling. It was obvious that she’d loved the guy. Ian could only hope he’d treated her well.
“All I’m saying,” he went on, pointedly not looking at her, “is that I’m only ever in the arena with one bull at a time and I’ve got a partner. And here you’re traveling with three bulls. Don’t you have any hired hands or something?”
“I don’t have to defend myself to you.”
There, that was better. Her moment of weakness had been just that—a moment. Already she was back to her fighting self. “Lacy.”
He had things he wanted to say after her name, but then she looked up at him and whatever speech he’d been about to make about safety died on his tongue. Her eyes were wide-open, a pale brown color with a darker brown ring around the outside.
He wanted to see what she looked like without that hat crammed down on her head. He wanted to tangle his fingers in her hair and tilt her head up and—
She looked away first, her cheeks turning a sweet pink. “Maybe if Rattler and Wreckerator have a good season,” she said, her voice pinched, “I can afford to hire someone. But right now, I can’t. There. Are you happy now?”
“I don’t know why you’d think I’d be happy about that,” he said, taking a step away from her. “Sounds like it’s been a rough road for a while.”
This observation was met with the kind of silence that made stone walls look cushy. They got the third bull out.
“That one’s Rattler, right?” he said into the silence, pointing at the brown bull.
“You should remember him,” she said. It ought to have come out snippy, but her voice was quiet—thoughtful, even. “He checked out, by the way.”
“How much was the vet call?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Now it was his turn to gape at her. “Seriously, Evans?” She flinched when he used her last name. “You’re busy convincing yourself that me helping you unload the bulls doesn’t mean you ‘owe’ me anything, but you won’t let me cover the cost of the vet visit—which, I might add, I already promised to pay for? This isn’t charity and I’m not taking pity on you. I might have injured your animal. Let me pay for the damn vet.”
She turned toward him, her brow furrowed in what looked like confusion. Well, she could just be confused. He was completely turned around by a hard woman with a soft name and several chips on both shoulders.
“You helped unload the bulls. We’re even,” she said, her hand slicing through the air as if that was that.
It wasn’t. “If this is you being not stubborn, I’d hate to see what you’d do if you really dug your heels in. I’m paying for the vet visit one way or the other. Either you tell me how much it cost or...”
She leaned toward him. It wasn’t a big movement—she might not even have been aware she’d done it. But he noticed. Her big brown eyes were locked on his and her body was angled toward his and her lips were parted. When she tilted her head to one side, as if she wanted to be kissed, his self-control almost snapped.
The only thing that saved him from making a first-class fool of himself was Jack’s voice echoing in his mind—a good bullfighter waited. A bad one rushed in.
Ian would not rush this. Not her.
So, despite the signals her body was sending, he did not pull her into his arms and he did not take the kiss she appeared to be offering.
“Or what?”
But by God, it would be easier to not kiss her if she didn’t sound so soft and sweet. “Or I’ll work it off. I’ll help you load and unload the bulls when we’re at the same rodeos, make sure the assholes don’t treat you like crap.” He couldn’t help it, not when her eyes widened even more. He leaned forward, his voice dropping down a notch. “Either way, you’ll get it out of me.”
Then he waited. Either she’d punch him or kiss him or she’d walk off.
She didn’t do any of those. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, that voice of hers so soft without all the hard edges she usually used. “I’m nothing to you. You don’t even know me.”
“You’re not nothing. Not to me.” She sucked in a quick gasp of air. “And rodeo is a family. I was raised to look after my own.”
But even as he said the words, he could feel the ink over his heart start to burn, like he was having it carved into his skin all over again.
So it was a lie that he always looked out for his own. No one knew about Eliot, not even Ian’s cousin June. All she knew was that he’d been seeing two girls at the same time before he went off to college. Leasha had left the rez to have the baby and hadn’t told anyone she’d given the boy up.
Not even Ian. Not until the papers had arrived.
And Ian had— Well, he’d signed them.
He hadn’t taken care of his own son.
Ian rubbed the tattoo on his chest until the pain edged back again.
“A...family,” she said, turning back to the bulls. She sounded very faraway.
“We’re not all like Salzberg or Slim,” Ian felt obligated to point out. “Some of us are decent human beings. My partner, Jack, is a good guy. There’s the Preacher, Randy—heck, even Garth is okay, if you get him before he’s had more than three beers.”
“You spend a lot of time with the riders?”
He shrugged. “I have connections.” She shot him a sideways look. “There’s always going to be the jerks who think you shouldn’t be here. Let’s just say I enjoy putting jerks in their proper places.”
As he’d done at that first rodeo he’d gone to with his cousin June. She’d been climbing the ranks of professional riders, but she’d had a problem with some of the riders. Ian had been more than happy to stand up for his cousin.
Before that rodeo, Ian had been an ex-football player without a team.
But after that rodeo? He was a bullfighter.
“No strings?” Lacy asked, a hint of worry at the edge of her eyes. She didn’t trust him. Not yet, a quiet voice whispered in his ear.
“No strings,” he agreed. Then he stuck out his hand. “Friends?”
She regarded him for a long second. Then she slipped her small hand into his, gave him a brief squeeze, and yanked her hand back. “Don’t get carried away,” she told him.
He grinned at her. Oh, she was a piece of work, but really, he didn’t expect anything less from her. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_3b1e707e-c8dc-5436-88c6-d8ac3ec03af8)
“HEARD YOU GOT into it with Salzberg,” Jack said, giving Ian a look. “Can’t take you anywhere, can I?”
Ian bristled. “He had Lacy pinned against her trailer. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.”
That got Jack’s eyebrows up and moving. “Lacy, is it?”
There were days that talking with Jack was like talking with Ian’s father, Dave Tall Chief. Dave had a way of making Ian feel as if he was still fourteen, big and wild and more than a little stupid.
This, apparently, was one of those days. “I reckon that girl can take care of herself,” Jack said, lazily scratching his throat.
They were sitting behind the chutes. The rodeo didn’t start for another hour, but the crowd had started to filter into the outdoor arena as people jockeyed for the best seats. The stock contractors were loading the bulls in order.
He looked around, but he didn’t see Lacy. All he saw were bull riders strapping on their spurs and chaps or rosining up their bull ropes.
Every athlete needed a pregame ritual to get their head into the game, he thought. When Ian had played football, he’d needed to smash helmets or bump chests with his teammates.
Ian and Jack had some collapsible chairs that they set up next to their watercooler. Jack liked to watch the bulls and try to guess which ones would give him the most trouble. Ian always had a hard time sitting still for this part—he’d always been a little hyper. But today was worse than normal. He wanted to find Lacy and make sure she was all right. At the same time, he was sure that doing anything remotely like that would get him in trouble.
More trouble than he was in, anyway. “I don’t see what the big deal is. I watch your back. Why shouldn’t I watch hers, too?” Jack snorted, so Ian went on. “I thought you were the one who told me that rodeo is a family and we look out for each other.”
Jack sat forward, his massive biceps straining at his white T-shirt. Ian was big—but Jack was bigger. “I’ve fought too damn hard to prove that I’m not some gangbanger playing at cowboys and Indians for you to toss that aside for some chick. You dig?”
Ian glared at his friend. “All I’m saying is that we stick together because we don’t fit in with them,” he said, nodding toward where the all-white rodeo riders were gearing up. “And Lacy doesn’t fit with them, either. You know some of them don’t want her here because she’s a woman. How’s that any different from someone calling us names?”
“This ain’t the Land of the Misfit Toys, man,” Jack drawled in his strongest Texas accent. He only busted it out when he was being condescending—or when he was trying to pick up buckle bunnies. Either way, it grated on Ian’s nerves.
“Like hell it isn’t.” Ian spotted her. She’d walked up alongside the chutes, her eyes on the bulls. “I’m keeping an eye on her,” he stated. “If you decide to grow a pair and man up, you can do the same. I won’t tell—it’ll be our little secret that big, mean Black Jack Johnson’s got a soft spot for misfits.”
“Boy,” Jack growled, “that mouth is going to get you into a lot of trouble one of these days.” But he slumped back into his chair, the fight gone from his body.
“Too late,” Ian said cheerfully. He’d won this round. Winning wasn’t everything, but sometimes, it came close. “What do you know about that Slim fellow?”
“Slim Smalls?” Black Jack chuckled. “He’s an ass. Always has been. There are some that don’t think a black man should be in the arena and Slim is always leading that charge.”
“The more things change?” Ian asked.
“The more they stay the same,” Jack agreed. “But his bulls are rank and he knows how to grease the wheels. Got friends in high places and all that crap.”
“And the Straight Arrow?”
Jack shrugged. “Man...”
“Come on, Jack. You know everything and everyone. I don’t know a thing.”
“Wait!” Jack dug his phone out of his pocket and held it up. “Say that again, Chief. I want it on the record.”
“Ha-ha. But you know what I mean. She said she’d lost her traveling partner.”
“Honest to God, I don’t remember a lady stock contractor,” Jack replied, pocketing his phone again. “I want to say that the Straight Arrow was owned by a guy named Dale? If I’m remembering right, nice guy. Never made a big deal about me one way or the other. Quiet, kept to himself.” He gave Ian a blank look. “I suppose you’re gonna want me to ask around.”
Ian shrugged. “Don’t put yourself out, man. I do have my own connections.” He could always call Travis Younkin, June’s husband and a former world-class bull rider in his own right. Travis would make a few phone calls and get back to Ian with all kinds of information.
But then, Ian could have already done that. And he hadn’t.
He wanted to know. But for some ridiculous reason, he wanted her to tell him.
Like yesterday, when she’d finally told him her first name. He could have found out, but it was sweeter hearing the name come out of her mouth because he’d earned it. The fact that she trusted him with her real name was powerful stuff.
He wanted to show her that men weren’t all Slims and Jeromes. He wanted...
Well, hell. He didn’t want to be the man he’d been seven years ago.
Ian realized he was rubbing the ink over his heart again. “We gonna get to Vegas this year?” he asked Jack.
Jack notched an eyebrow at Ian. “Might,” he drawled. “Assuming you stop pulling dumb-ass stunts like you did last week. Why?”
“No reason.”
Except for Eliot. Ian knew the boy and his family lived in Las Vegas. If Ian could get to Vegas, maybe he could see if Eliot’s folks would bring the boy to the rodeo. Maybe, after all this time, Ian could meet his son.
He found himself looking at Lacy again. What would a woman like her think of a man like him, if she knew about Eliot? Would she think he was a deadbeat dad? A serial womanizer who didn’t care what happened to the women he loved and left?
Would she still trust him with her name?
Jack stood up and began to stretch. Ian did the same. They’d get loosened up, don their matching work shirts and suffer through the opening rounds of the same tired jokes that the rodeo clowns used at every stop along the way. Then it was time to dance with the devils in the late-summer light.
“She brought that bull I took down last week,” Ian told Jack as he stretched. His back was still tight where he’d pulled it last week. “Rattler.”
“Yeah? The bull wasn’t hurt, was he?”
“Nope. She wouldn’t even let me pay for the vet visit.”
Jack cracked a wide smile. “You be careful. A woman like that doesn’t take crap from anyone—not even the likes of you.”
“Tell me something I don’t already know.”
They went out for the introductions and the opening prayer. The Land of the Misfits, Ian thought. It wasn’t far off. He didn’t fit anywhere else. He had a job back on the Real Pride Ranch and the rez would always be home, but he’d wanted more. He’d thought football was his ticket to the rest of the world, but it hadn’t worked out like that.
He found Lacy. She was behind the arena fence, apart from everyone else. Instead of having her head down in prayer, her hands were clasped as she stared up at the dusk sky. For a woman who was not to be taken lightly, there was something fragile about her that pulled at him.
The fireworks shocked him back to himself. They were all noise and smoke, but they got the crowd energized after Preacher’s solemn prayers for safe rides. Heavy metal music blared through the speakers as the riders got back behind the chutes and began to mount up on their bulls.
He couldn’t think about Lacy right now. Distractions could be deadly. He had to focus on the bulls and the riders. He let the music push him until his adrenaline was flowing and his head was in the game.
Lacy would have to wait.
It was time to go to work.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_722a3e07-1470-5dfe-9420-9c0f2426a25d)
WRECKERATOR WAS NOT in the mood to be ridden. He came flying out of the gate awkwardly, slamming into the chute hard enough that Lacy had to grab onto the top of the gate to keep her balance. The rider had no such luxury—he lost his grip and went down.
The crowd gasped as the rider bounced off the ground. Then Ian and his partner were there. They threw themselves in front of Wreck, arms waving as they shouted at him.
Wreck’s flank strap didn’t fall off, which meant it was still irritating him. He was not the sharpest knife in the drawer and, in his pissed state, he got confused by the noise. Still bucking, he lowered his head and charged at Ian. Lacy held her breath. He wouldn’t try to wrestle Wreck, would he? She wanted to shout at him, but her voice got stuck in the back of her throat and all she could do was watch in horror as Wreck bore down on Ian.
Ian made a stutter step to the right, and then spun left as Wreck blew past him. Lacy leaned forward, trying to see around her bull to where Ian was—had he gotten clipped?
But no. Ian was standing in the middle of the arena, hands on his hips, shaking his head as if Wreckerator—a fourteen-hundred-pound bull—was a naughty child. Lacy felt herself breathe again in relief as the crowd cheered.
Wreck’s flank strap loosened and fell to the ground. Ian’s partner, Jack, danced in front of Wreck, moving toward the open chute that would funnel the bull back to the pens. Wreck charged, but it didn’t have the same murderous intent. When Black Jack dodged, Wreck saw the opening and kept right on going, still kicking up his back heels as he was shunted down the chutes.
“That’ll earn Garth Whitley a reride, folks,” the announcer proclaimed. “And let’s hear it for our dedicated bullfighters Ian Tall Chief and Jack Johnson, ladies and gents! They’re working hard for our riders tonight!”
Both men tipped their hats to the crowd. Lacy couldn’t help but note that the sounds of female voices seemed to drown out male cheers. She realized she was scowling at the crowd and forced herself to stop.
Gah, she was being ridiculous. Ian was a good-looking man—well, they both were. Of course the ladies were going to cheer for them. Bull riders tended to be lightweights and the bullfighters were anything but. Ian and Jack were both well over six feet and even their dorky matching shirts couldn’t disguise their muscles.
Muscles she’d touched. Muscles she’d seen in detail when Ian’s wet T-shirt had clung to his chest.
She shook the image out of her head and wondered how many of the people here had heard about Ian wrestling Rattler to the ground. She’d meant to see if anyone had posted a video, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to walk into her father’s office and turn on the computer, not when the box was still sitting on the desk, exactly where she’d left it. The Straight Arrow was far enough out in the middle of nowhere that Wi-Fi and broadband were still pipe dreams. Dad had sprung for a satellite connection when Lacy had gone to college so she and Mom could email, but Lacy couldn’t get her laptop hooked into the system. Well, she probably could, if she could bring herself to go into the damn office. But she couldn’t. Not yet, anyway. She would. Soon.
Besides, she hadn’t had time to do any online digging into Ian Tall Chief in the first place. Murph, her hired hand, had come down with the flu and Lacy had been doing most of the ranch work herself. The vet had come to preg-check the cows and had looked at Rattler while he was there. After loading a couple of hundred cows into a holding chute, she’d barely been able to do anything other than stumble into the shower and collapse into bed. At least she’d slept. She had that going for her.
Lacy climbed down off the chutes and threaded her way back to the pens to check on Wreck. No one messed with her, not during the rodeo. Bull riders were a superstitious lot. No one wanted to risk her jinxing them before a ride.
She took a deep breath and let the smell of dirt and manure and bulls fill her nose. For a moment, she could be. It was as close to free as Lacy felt these days.
Wreck was safely in his pen, blowing snot on everything and bellowing his dissatisfaction with not getting to crush anyone to death.
“It was a good effort,” she told the bull. “You have to get out of the chute, though. A no-ride doesn’t do either of us any good.”
If only Wreck could get it together—he could be such a good bull. But he was still too green to be reliable.
She headed back up to the front. Chicken was due up soon, and she liked to be near him. Where Wreck was all impatient, Chicken Run had gotten to the point where he’d seen this, done that. After this year, she’d retire him out to the ranch and he’d live out the rest of his bull days among the fawning herds of cows, hopefully making mean little bulls that would grow up to be as rank as their daddy.
That was the plan, anyway. The six months of the season felt like a long time to go.
She watched a few of the other rides from the side of one of the chutes, well away from the rest of the riders. She located Jerome Salzberg on the other side of the chutes. He was in the middle of a crowd and didn’t seem to notice her. That was how she liked it.
But even looking at him caused her to tense up as she remembered the feeling of his breath on her cheek and the trailer biting into her back. She had to be smarter. She knew that. She couldn’t let someone like Jerome or Slim surprise her again and she absolutely couldn’t let anyone get close enough to touch her.
She didn’t have a belt holster for her pistol and she wasn’t sure how she’d feel open-carrying it around. Her father had never needed to pack heat when he traveled. The gun was there in case an animal got injured and had to be put out of its misery. She’d seen it happen a couple of times and it was a hard thing to watch.
Cowgirls didn’t cry. Not in public, anyway.
Ian was in the middle of the arena, bouncing on the balls of his feet. All of his attention was focused on the chutes. She thought it was the same guy who’d nearly gotten crushed by Rattler—until Ian had saved his hide.
Ian really was good—there was a fearlessness about him that she admired. She wished she could be that certain, that confident. Instead, she was going through the motions, hoping everyone else didn’t see how close to the edge of total collapse she really was.
Chicken had a good ride, bucking his rider off at the 6.8 second mark. A better rider would have made the time, but this one committed to the right when he should have gone left.
The moment he’d dumped his rider, Chicken trotted toward the gate. Ian hadn’t even moved during the ride. She hadn’t realized she was staring at him until he looked up and caught her gaze. She could feel heat build on her cheeks, especially when his mouth quirked into a smile. For her.
She didn’t smile back. Yes, Ian had said they were friends. But because he’d said so didn’t make it true. She would not do anything he might take the wrong way. She was smarter than that.
Still...
She touched the brim of her hat in acknowledgment. It was more than a nod, less than a smile. It was the best she could do.
He did the same back.
Not that it mattered. She wasn’t here for Ian. She was here for the bulls. She followed Chicken back to make sure he made it into the pens without a problem, but she didn’t have to worry. The old bull wanted some water and hay.
Part of her thought she should watch the rest of the rides, but part of her wanted to stay back here with the bulls. When she was with the bulls, she didn’t have to worry about sending the “wrong” signals or defending herself or any of that crap. She had to make sure they didn’t step on her. It was easy in its simplicity. Don’t make a mistake. Don’t get crushed.
Rattler was going tomorrow. She hoped like hell he had a good ride. They needed another three-hundred-and-some-odd points before she could start negotiating with the promoters for appearances at the Challenger level.
She climbed into her truck. She had a good view of her trailer and the pen where her bulls were held. She should probably eat dinner. She knew she’d eaten breakfast—the hotel had served doughnuts and coffee, that sort of thing. But she wasn’t sure she’d eaten lunch.
She had the feeling that, if her mom were still alive, she’d give Lacy that look and say, “Honey, I know you can do better than this.” It was Mom’s favorite phrase, one she deployed equally for underwhelming grades or a messy room. And then Dad would say, “Linda, go easy on the girl. She’ll get it next time—won’t you, honey?” And Lacy would nod and promise that next time, she’d do better.
As an only child, Lacy had often thought it was unfair that her mom expected her to be so perfect all the time. But now that Lacy knew the truth...
How much of that prodding had been Mom hedging against Lacy’s true nature?
What was Lacy’s true nature?
The answers were in the box. The box that Lacy couldn’t bring herself to look into again.
She couldn’t ignore that box for the rest of her life. At the very least, she needed to get back into Dad’s office, sort through the bills that were way past due, pull the stock contracts out—that sort of thing. She couldn’t let the box loom over her.
She wouldn’t. Tomorrow, the bulls would buck and she’d load them up and drive home. And this week, she promised herself, she’d go into the office and face the box again.
She would do better. She knew she could.
* * *
TAP, TAP, TAP.
“Lacy?”
She started awake—wait—when had she fallen asleep? She blinked groggily as she tried to remember where she was.
Knocking, again. “Lacy?” the voice repeated, more concerned this time.
She swung her head to the left and saw him. He stood there like some sort of dream—although this time, he wasn’t in a T-shirt, wet or otherwise. He was in a bright blue button-up shirt with white buttons. The sleeves were cuffed, revealing his massive forearms. He had a brown leather strap around one wrist and a brown felt cowboy hat on his head. He looked good, she thought dimly. He’d look better naked, though.
Wait—had that been real?
She rolled down the window and, to her horror, heard herself say, “I liked the wet T-shirt better.” Which was shortly followed by, “Oh, hell—did I say that out loud?”
Ian blinked. “If you did,” he said, giving her an easy out, “I didn’t hear it. You’re not sleeping in this truck alone, are you?”
“I wasn’t sleeping,” she lied. “And I have a gun.”
He gave her a look that was probably supposed to be stern, but didn’t quite make it. “Is it still in the glove box?”
“Maybe.” The cobwebs started to clear out of her head.
“Where are you sleeping tonight?” he asked. She didn’t much care for his tone. It was too much like the way she’d always imagined big brothers talking to their irritating little sisters.
At least he hadn’t made it sound as if she should be sleeping with him. Even if she might have been dreaming about doing just that. Even though it hadn’t been real, none of it, an image of his mouth closing around her nipple flashed back through her mind. She shuddered. “I have a hotel room.”
He nodded. “Have you eaten today?”
“Yes.” She wasn’t quite sure when. “I know I had breakfast. Doughnuts.”
That got her another irritated big-brother look. “I’ll buy you dinner.”
“No,” she said quickly. “You don’t have to.” Dinner after the rodeo was something she’d always done with her dad. They’d make sure the bulls were secure for the night, and then hit a local diner or something. Lacy had always spent so much time with her mom, going to and from school, that those times with her dad had been special.
As nice as it was of Ian to offer, she didn’t want to replace Dad in that ritual.
Not that Ian knew that. “I know I don’t. But I want to.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. “Another time?” she said, because that seemed like something her dad would say.
Ian gave her a long look then, one she couldn’t hide from. Most people looked past her. She wasn’t a pretty woman—never had been, never would be. And she didn’t fit into anyone’s neat little box about how a woman should think or act. As a result, most people ignored her, which suited her fine.
But Ian? He did not ignore her. He didn’t look through her.
He saw her. God, it was unnerving.
Finally, he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“That’d be good.” She realized she meant it. She wanted to see him tomorrow. To see what he’d do in the arena, to see if he’d tip his hat in respect to her.
It had nothing to do with the dream.
“I’ll help you load the bulls up after the rodeo. That’s our deal,” he added before she could protest. “I keep my word.”
“You know that’s not normal?” The words were out before she could think better of them. She must not be as awake as she’d thought she was. “Most people don’t.”
Up until that moment, he’d kept a reasonable distance between him and the truck. He was fond of leaning against the driver’s-side mirror, she noted.
But when she said that, he leaned forward, his hands on her door, his face where the window would have been if it’d been rolled up.
For the first time, he entered her space. Not because he wanted to shake her hand and seal the deal, and not because she was in between him and a man who had it coming.
This wasn’t incidental. This was intentional. They were close enough to touch.
Close enough to kiss.
Her body tightened with awareness, taking the vague frustration leftover from the dream and making it painful. She heard herself gasp, but she felt as if she was holding her breath. His eyes were a deep, dark brown—maybe black. She couldn’t tell in this light. But they were intense—and focused on her.
Kiss me. Don’t. The two thoughts hit at exactly the same moment, swamping her in confusion. She couldn’t lean in and she couldn’t lean away. She couldn’t do anything but stare into those eyes and wonder what he saw when he looked at her.
When he spoke, his words were a quiet whisper that she somehow felt deep down in the very center of her body. “I’m not most people, Lacy.”
Then he was gone, leaning back and tapping his hand against the hood of the truck. “Get some dinner and some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He started to walk away, and Lacy blurted out, “Ian?”
He paused and turned back. “Yeah?”
“It was a good rodeo tonight.” No, no—that’s not what she’d wanted to say. Of course, she didn’t know what she wanted to say. Something that wasn’t bitchy or dazed, something that said that they were friends.
“I mean, you were good tonight. In the rodeo.” Ugh, that was not any better. “I mean...”
He saved her from death by embarrassment. “Thanks.” Then he was gone, walking off into the night.
Lacy fired up the truck. Dinner. She’d go get some dinner.
For the first time in a long time, she was hungry.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_9f8bc155-0588-5ef7-804d-8199f830da5d)
THE RODEO DIDN’T start until seven that night. Ian rolled into the arena grounds at four thirty.
He wouldn’t be surprised if Lacy had actually slept in that truck. And then, when he’d asked about dinner, she’d gotten a fuzzy look on her face and had admitted that she couldn’t remember if she’d eaten lunch. He’d put the odds on her actually eating something after he left her last night at maybe fifty-fifty.
He had almost two hours before he needed to start his prerodeo warm-up. If she wouldn’t let him take her to dinner, then he’d go get some food and bring it back to her. She was too thin, the circles under her eyes too dark.
She was entirely too stubborn. He got the feeling that if he tried to tell her to breathe, she might hold her breath to show him that he wasn’t the boss of her.
The way she’d held her breath last night, when he’d leaned into the cab of her truck. He hadn’t intended it to be an erotic thing. He hadn’t even touched her.
But she’d sucked in that little gasp and hadn’t let it back out. Instead, her eyes had gone wide and her pupils had dilated as a sweet blush heated her cheeks—and his blood. The spark that he felt when he was around her had threatened to catch and ignite a hell of a fire.
He’d almost kissed her. It would have been easy. He’d only had to lean forward another few inches and take her mouth.
And he hadn’t. He hadn’t kissed her, hadn’t touched her. Instead—and he still didn’t quite believe this—he’d gone back to the cheap hotel room he shared with Black Jack and ordered a pizza and watched some cheesy movie from the ’80s.
It didn’t make a damn bit of sense to him. Lacy wasn’t his type. She was as tough as nails and twice as sharp. But underneath that—there was a vulnerability that had him at the arena hours early to make sure she ate dinner.
He parked and headed toward her truck. Something told him that, even if she had gone back to her hotel, she’d be here early.
He was not disappointed. She was sitting exactly where he’d left her. The only difference was she had on a different shirt, a pale green shot through with pink.
She still had her hat on. He was more disappointed than he cared to admit.
“Hey,” she said when she saw him.
“Hiya,” he replied. Her brows furrowed. Now what had he done wrong? “What?”
She tilted her head to the side as she looked at him. There was something about her face today that was softer. He took back everything he’d ever thought about her being not traditionally beautiful. She was gorgeous.
“Your accent.”
“What about it?”
“Now it’s gone. It was stronger.” She shrugged.
He allowed himself a small smile. “Yeah, it comes and it goes, depending on who I’m talking to.” It was always strongest when he went home and everyone spoke the same way. But sometimes, when he was hanging out with someone he was sure wouldn’t hold his accent against him, it slipped out.
“It was pretty,” she said without looking at him. Then her face scrunched up as it had last night when she’d sleepily told him she liked the wet T-shirt. It was a look that said pretty loud and clear I can’t believe I said that.
“You eaten today? Something more than doughnuts?”
“I remembered to have lunch.”
There was something about the way she said it that struck him as weird. “You remembered? Is that something you usually forget?”
“I eat when I’m hungry.” But she didn’t meet his eyes when she said it.
He tapped the hood again. “Come on. Let’s go grab something before the show.”
She shook her head. “I’ll stay here, thanks. I want to keep an eye on my bulls.”
“Did you sleep in the truck last night?”
The color on her cheeks deepened. “No.”
That admission made him want to smile. She’d done as he’d asked. He got the feeling that didn’t happen too often. “And yet, the bulls were fine?”
That got him a sharp look. Her whole face was transformed from one of surprisingly feminine beauty to a tough, tomboy scowl. “Yes.”
“Then they’ll be fine for another hour.” Again, he wondered who Dale was to her. He couldn’t tell how old she was—he’d guess Lacy was in her twenties, although whether that was twenty-two or twenty-nine was up for debate.
She could have been married. Or not, he thought, checking out her ring finger. No tan lines. But she was certainly old enough that she could have been in a long-term relationship. Of course, it was also possible that Dale had been someone else entirely—not a lover, but a friend, a brother...family.
She opened her mouth, to argue no doubt. Ian shot her a hard look. “I’m betting you’re going to load up those bulls and head straight for home, wherever home is. I’m betting you won’t stop until you get there. I’m betting that you’ll ‘forget’ to eat then. So dinner now.”
Her eyes narrowed, but then, unexpectedly, she gave in. “Fine,” she said, cranking on the engine. “But I’m driving.”
He snorted. “Yeah, I’m not surprised.” He crossed around the front of the truck and climbed in. “You know where you want to go?”
* * *
THEY WOUND UP at Denny’s. If Ian had any reservations about her choice, he didn’t voice them.
For some reason, her dad had loved Denny’s. And every single time they ate at one—which was frequently—he cracked the same “Moons Over My Hammy” joke. And Lacy laughed. Always.
Part of her felt as though bringing Ian to Denny’s was wrong, somehow. She hadn’t been able to face eating here alone. Somehow, with Ian, it felt as if...
As if she could do this.
“What are you going to get?” he asked when they slid into a booth that looked out onto the street.
“I’m not that hungry,” she said. When he looked up at her sharply, she said, “I ate today. Really.”
For a moment, she thought he was going to scold her like a child—much as he’d all but scolded her bull last night. But then his mouth twisted off to one side and he said, “Easy, Evans. We’re just friends here.”
“Yeah?”
“You don’t sound like you believe me,” he said from behind his menu.
“I’m not very good at having friends,” she admitted. It’d always felt like such a failure, that she wasn’t any good at maintaining friendships. Her mother had once said that Lacy was an out-of-sight, out-of-mind kind of person, and it was true.
He tried not to laugh but didn’t quite make it. “You don’t say.”
She rolled her eyes. “I suppose you’re friends with everyone?”
“Most everyone. I’m either friends with them or they deserve to be flattened by a bull.”
“Or by you?”
“If need be,” he told her. “Did you have a history with Jerome before this rodeo?”
She physically flinched at the mention of that jerk. “No. Didn’t even know his name. I don’t normally pal around with the riders.”
He let that set for a moment. The waitress came over, poured the coffee and took their orders. Lacy ordered a salad but Ian ordered three appetizers and a steak dinner with sides. The waitress gave his physique a once-over before she left the table.
Lacy looked with her. Today, Ian had on a gray shirt. It was still cuffed at the elbows and he still had that leather strap around his wrist. He’d taken his hat off and set it on the windowsill. The hat was brown felt, but the band wasn’t horsehair or leather. Quills? That would make sense, she guessed. He was an Indian.
Ian cleared his throat. “Or the fighters?”
She didn’t want to answer that question because admitting that she’d never hung out with a bullfighter before felt as if she was admitting something. That Ian might be an exception.
So she changed the subject. “Is this your first year as a fighter? I think I would have remembered you from last season.” If she could get him to talk about himself, then maybe he wouldn’t ask any questions about her.
He went along with her tangent. “Yeah. I used to play football—”
“Shocking,” she said, a smile on her face. A real smile. Then she made the mistake of letting her eyes drift over his shoulders and down to that chest.
Ian leaned forward, a playful smile on his lips. “You know, you’re actually quite funny when you want to be.”
Was that a challenge? It sounded like one. “Don’t tell anyone. It’d ruin my reputation as that bitch with the bulls, and then where would I be?” She ignored the way her face warmed at his compliment, and she really ignored the way he noticed it. Something in his eyes shifted—deepened.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his voice lower. She felt it in her chest. But then, he leaned back, breaking the spell. “Anyway, I got lucky getting to tag along with Black Jack. Otherwise, I’d probably be down at the level below this one. Black Jack was up in the bigs for a long time before he got into a bad wreck. He thinks we can get back there if...”
She arched an eyebrow at him and actually smiled. “If you stop throwing bulls to the ground?” She was teasing him, she realized. When was the last time she’d teased someone?
“Yeah, that.”
The waitress set down a huge mound of onion rings and mozzarella sticks. “Be right back with those chips,” she said, and Lacy swore she winked at Ian.
If he noticed, he didn’t show it. Instead, after offering Lacy some cheese sticks, he said, “How about you? How long have you been rodeoing?”
It was a perfectly innocent question, the kind someone asked when they were making polite small talk. But suddenly it was harder to breathe. A weight was on her chest and she wished she’d ordered the Moons Over My Hammy, just for Dad.
“I’ve been coming for as long as I can remember. My dad was the stock contractor. The Straight Arrow was his business.”
“Ah,” Ian said, as if that had answered all his questions. “This your first year without him?” His voice was kind.
She nodded, a small movement of her head.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She tried to shrug, but it wasn’t a smooth thing. She was not a smooth woman.
She couldn’t hold up under his intense gaze, so she grabbed a cheese stick and began to eat it to hide her anxiety.
“Is your mom doing okay?”
She blinked a few times. She would not cry. Hell, she would not even tear up. Absolutely no moisture would leak from any orifice in her body. “I... I really don’t want to talk about this.” She set her half-eaten cheese on her plate. “If you don’t mind.”
He tilted his head from side to side. “If you decide you want to talk, you let me know.”
“Why?” It came out so quietly it barely made it to the level of a whisper. She tried again. “Why would you want to listen to me?”
“Because,” he said simply, as if that were the only answer that mattered.
It wasn’t. Honestly, what was he doing here with her, besides trying to feed her fried food? “This isn’t a date,” she reminded him. “I’m paying for my half of the food.”
He pointedly looked at her cheese stick. “Seriously, Evans? I’m buying your salad. Consider it part of my payback for the vet bill.”
“You can’t keep using that excuse.”
“Sure I can,” he said as he ate another cheese stick. “You act like if I buy your dinner, I’ll expect you to put out or something.”
“Most guys would. Most guys would have expected something in return for saving me from Jerome. Not that I needed saving,” she hurried to add, because she realized she was making herself sound weak and she was not weak. She wasn’t.
“And you’re right. This isn’t a date.”
“Yeah?” She should have been pleased with his agreement. She wasn’t. What the hell was her problem?
Ian leaned forward again. The air between them seemed to thin away to nothingness. She forgot how to breathe. She forgot how to think.
“I’m only going to say this once more, Lacy. I’m not most guys. I’m not sitting here with you because I think it’s the best way to get you naked. I’m sitting here—with you—because we’re friends.”
Flashes of that dream came back to her. Naked. With Ian.
His gaze dropped down to her lips. He took a deep breath, his eyelids drifting to half-mast, as if he were smelling her and not the overpowering scent of fried onions. “Besides,” he added in the exact same voice she’d heard in her dream, pure sex in the air, “you want me, you know where to find me.”
“Wait—what?”
“You know what I mean,” he said, leaning back. The waitress brought her salad and the chips, but Lacy couldn’t even acknowledge food right now.
Had this man promised that they were friends, and then immediately offered—well, something? Something that he probably didn’t offer his other friends?
Yes. Yes, he had. The look he was giving her was exactly the stuff that dreams were made of, and for a moment, she considered the possibility that, once again, she’d fallen asleep in the cab of the truck and that at any second, all of her clothes were going to fly off and Ian would be reclined on a bed, promising her that she wouldn’t be able to think straight by the time he was done with her.
“I’m not the kind of man who boxes a woman into a corner—or pins her against a trailer—without her permission. That’s not how I operate. Me trying to be a decent human doesn’t mean you owe me a damn thing. Yeah, I’m attracted to you. There’s something about you...”
His voice trailed off as his gaze drifted over her face, her chest. He took another deep breath and exhaled. Lacy knew her jaw was on the ground, but she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Had he just— Did he want her?
“If you’re not looking for a good time, then no harm, no foul,” he went on. “You’ve got a lot to deal with right now and I respect that. But if you want to have a little fun, you know where to find me. No strings.”
“I can’t—I can’t be hurt. I can’t take any more pain.” The admission was out before she could do anything about it.
He leaned forward and cupped her face in his palm. His touch was a kind of electric that she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt before. Not from another man. Not even from her handshake with Ian a few days ago.
His thumb stroked over her cheek and she knew she should lean away. She should break the contact and put an end to this madness that he’d started. That she’d started.
“I won’t hurt you, Lacy Evans. And I’ll do what it takes to make sure no one else hurts you, either.”
Good lord, he was serious. He barely knew her and he was touching her and promising to—to what? To protect her? To be her friend? With benefits? But only if she wanted to? Did any of that even make sense?
Nothing made sense. It made even less sense when the look in his eyes changed—she felt it where his skin touched hers.
Once, she’d been caught out in a summer storm while she’d been swimming in the creek. The skies had opened up and she’d barely gotten out of the water before lightning started striking. She’d grabbed her horse, Jacks, and dragged him out of the cover of the trees into the open grass. Moments after they’d made it to safety, lightning had struck one of the trees. The air around them had taken on a charged feel, making her hair stand on end. It was as close to being struck by lightning as she’d ever been.
But here? With Ian touching her, looking at her with the kind of intensity that made talking, thinking, nearly impossible? All she could do was feel the way he cupped her face, his massive hand tenderly holding her, his thumb stroking over her skin as if she was a jewel of the highest value.
And then his hand dropped away from her, breaking the spell. He sat back and said, “No strings, either way. It’d be fun. Nothing more.”
She wasn’t so naive that she didn’t get his meaning. He’d sleep with her if she wanted him to—but any relationship they might have would be limited to friendship.
So she might have had an erotic dream about Ian Tall Chief. So he could reduce her to a quivering, wordless mass with a look and a simple touch. So he might be the most gorgeous man to ever look at her. It didn’t matter.
“Honey, I know you can do better than this.”
Mom’s voice floated up through Lacy’s memories. Her parents had raised her better than to tumble into a relationship that was no strings—and no promises.
She could do better than a not-relationship with Ian Tall Chief. And she would. She would not give in to these—these urges, for lack of a better word, to rip his shirt off and pin him to a bed and let him do things to her and...
She wouldn’t let go. She couldn’t.
She could do better.
So she forced her lungs to breathe and dug deep for a voice she hoped like hell wasn’t desperate. “How is this supposed to work? Because I don’t understand how we’re supposed to be friends after you say something like that. You don’t make that kind of offer for your other friends.”
That got a laugh out of him—deep and rich and genuine. “No, can’t say that I offered that to Black Jack. I feel pretty sure he’d turn me down.” Then he looked up at her, his face open and, well, joyful. “We can be friends because I can control myself.”
“It’s not enough,” she pressed on. His eyebrows jumped as he chewed his meat. Suddenly, she had to know why. “Yes, hurrah, you have self-control. That doesn’t explain why you insist on helping me, if you’re not trying to sleep with me. You said you had your reasons, and I don’t want to hear about how you’re making up for Rattler. Spill it.”
He let that demand sit for a moment before he said, “Eat.” She glared at him, which only made him smile. Which only made her glare more. “Eat,” he said again, this time in a more pleading voice.
She picked up her fork and stabbed a leaf of lettuce. “There, happy?”
He waited until she’d actually started chewing. “I can’t believe you haven’t heard about this already,” he finally said when she was into her third bite. “It’s fairly common knowledge, at least among some of the riders.”
“I don’t hang out with the riders,” she mumbled around a mouthful of tomato. Ranch dressing made everything better, she decided.
“No, I reckon you don’t. You ever hear of June Spotted Elk?”
She paused midbite. “Of course I’ve heard of her. She’s the woman who rode No Man’s Land—the bull no man could ride. That was huge.”
Ian nodded his head in acknowledgment but didn’t immediately fill in the blanks for her. Instead, he dropped his gaze to his plate and fiddled with the leather strap on his wrist.
Wait—why did he look so sheepish? Oh, lord—had June been his girlfriend? Or his friend with benefits? And if so, why would that matter? She’d married, hadn’t she? Yeah, Lacy thought she remembered reading that. She’d been dealing with the fallout of Mom’s and Dad’s death, but even the world’s most famous female bull rider marrying one of the more famous male bull riders had penetrated through Lacy’s grief.
Ian still hadn’t said anything. Dread filled Lacy’s stomach and it did not mix well with ranch dressing. She felt sour. Ian was a bullfighter because he was trying to win June back. It made sense. They were both American Indians. Gah.
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Sarah Anderson
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: When his past collides with her present, only true love can survive the wild ride….Bullfighter Ian Tall Chief is determined to get off the reservation and onto the pro circuit. After a wild youth, and some big mistakes, he′s found his focus. The only person who can break his concentration? Lacy Evans, owner of the Straight Arrow Ranch.But the beautiful cowgirl is dealing with problems of her own. She′s running the ranch alone, after her parents′ deaths. The macho rodeo world is not ready for a female stock contractor. And she′s discovered her parents were keeping secrets from her–ones that rock the very foundation of her identity. Can she trust Ian to be the good man he claims to be?