One Rodeo Season

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

“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?