Ride A Wild Heart

But he had to do it, he told himself. There was no way he was going to be able to avoid seeing her, short of leaving Clayton in a bind.

Setting his jaw, he headed for the barn, trying to hide his limp, just in case she was watching. A man had his pride, after all, he reminded himself. He stepped inside the dim interior and paused, letting his eyes adjust to the sudden change in light. He heard her murmuring softly to a horse in the far stall. As the sound of her voice washed over him, he curled his hands into tight fists at his sides. God, how he’d missed her.

But he wouldn’t let her know. Not when she had left him high and dry, without a word of explanation.

Hoping to keep his presence unknown for as long as possible, he followed the sound of her voice, keeping his tread light as he moved down the long alleyway. At the stall where she worked, he moved to the gate and braced his hands along its top rail. Inside, she was bent over, cleaning clods of dirt and stone from a sorrel mare’s rear hoof. Worn jeans covered long legs, slightly bent, and hugged slim hips shaped like an upside-down heart. A bright yellow T-shirt stretched across her back and was tucked neatly into the waist of her jeans. The brim of a stained cap shadowed her face, and hair—nearly the same shade of red as the mare’s sleek coat—spilled like a waterfall from the cap’s back opening and over her shoulders.

At the sight of her his chest tightened painfully.

“Hello, Carol.”

She dropped the mare’s hoof and whirled. He watched her green eyes widen and was glad that he’d had the element of surprise on his side. If the situation had been reversed and she’d walked up on him unsuspected, he was afraid he might have fainted dead away. Or cried. And he wasn’t sure which would’ve been worse.

Her eyes slowly narrowed and she turned her back to him, stooping to lift the mare’s hoof again.

“Hello, Pete.”

“Saw you at the rodeo last night. Were you there to watch me ride?”

She tossed a frown over her shoulder. “In your dreams, maybe.” Turning her attention back to the horse’s hoof, she added, “If you’re looking for Clayton, he’s not here.”

Though her comment stung, Pete hadn’t expected any less from her. She’d made it clear two years ago that she didn’t want to see him again. But what she hadn’t made clear was why. “I didn’t come to see Clayton. I came to take care of the place while he goes chasing after Rena.”

“He’s wasting his time.”

Pete opened the gate and stepped inside, closing it behind him. “What makes you say that?”

“Rena finally wised up and realized that Clayton doesn’t want a wife.”

“He married her, didn’t he?”

She dropped the mare’s hoof and slowly turned to face him. “Only because he had to.” She tossed the hoof pick into the tack box and retrieved a brush. Placing a hand on the mare’s wide rump, she moved to the animal’s opposite side.

Pete watched her, wondering if she felt she needed the barrier of the horse between them. “Clayton didn’t have to do anything. He married Rena because he wanted to.”

She snorted a laugh as she swept the brush along the mare’s neck. “Uh-huh. And I’m sure that’s why he stays on the road all the time, seldom coming home and rarely bothering to call to check on his wife and kids.”

He knew what she said was true. Hadn’t he worried about the same thing, constantly nagging at Clayton to call Rena and let her know that he was all right? Still, he felt an obligation to defend his friend. “You know what life’s like on the circuit. Racing from one rodeo to the next. Operating on little or no sleep. Eating breakfast in one state, dinner in another.”

She stopped brushing and lifted her head, focusing in on the cell phone he’d tucked in his shirt pocket. Slowly she lifted her gaze to his, arching a brow. “You know, technology is a wondrous thing. A person can pick up a phone and make a call no matter what the time or their location.” She gave her head a shake and went back to her brushing. “Sorry, Pete. Can’t buy into that excuse.”

He tossed his hands up in frustration. “Okay, so maybe Clayton hasn’t been the model husband.”

“He hasn’t been a husband, at all. Or a father.”

Pete quickly stepped to the mare’s side to glare at Carol over the animal’s back. “Now wait just a damn minute. Clayton loves those kids.”

She stopped brushing and rested her forearm along the mare’s spine. “Yes, I think he does,” she said, meeting his gaze levelly. “But the sad part is, he doesn’t know how to express it.”

“And you’re a professional when it comes to dealing with relationships head-on, aren’t you, Carol?” He knew the blow was low and well aimed. But he didn’t care. She’d hurt him when she’d disappeared from his life, and the need for revenge was strong.

He watched her face pale, then she took a step back, dragging her hand from the horse’s side. Turning away, she tossed the brush into the tack box. “Don’t go there, Pete.”

“Why not?” he asked, rounding the horse to confront her. “You don’t seem to mind talking about other people’s relationships, their feelings. Why can’t you talk about your own?”

When she angled her head to look at him, the eyes that met his were emotionless. “Because where you’re concerned, I don’t have any.”

Taking the mare’s lead rope, she opened the gate and led the horse out into the alleyway. Pete caught up with her just outside the barn. He grabbed her arm and whipped her around to face him, his fingers digging into the flesh above her elbow. “Yes, you do,” he said, his voice tight with suppressed fury. “You loved me once. I know you did.”

“No,” she said, trying to pull free. “I never loved you.”

He grabbed her other arm and forced her to face him. The mare shied away from the scuffle, jerking the lead from Carol’s hand, then trotted over to graze on the grass growing at the side of the barn.

“Yes, you did,” he growled and gave Carol a shake, determined to make her admit it. “I tasted it every time I kissed you. Felt it every time you put your hands on me. I saw it in your eyes when we made love.”

Panic filled her green eyes, and she frantically shook her head, denying his claim. “No. I didn’t love you. I didn’t.”

He jerked her up hard against him. “Yes, you did.” Then, as if even now he could prove it, he crushed his mouth over hers. He felt her resistance, tasted the denial on her tightly pressed lips…and was even more determined to make her remember what they’d once shared.

He swept his tongue along the seam of her lips and, when she kept them stubbornly pressed together, wondered if he’d been wrong. Maybe she didn’t love him. Maybe she never had. But then he felt a shudder pass through her, and her lips parted beneath his on a low moan of surrender while her hands climbed up his chest to curl around his neck. He felt the dig of her short, blunt nails in his skin as she drew his face closer, the fullness of her breasts as she surged against him, the desperation of a long-suppressed need as she mated her tongue with his.

Carol. Oh, Carol. What happened to us? he cried silently.

Tightening his hold on her, he lifted, drawing her to her toes, and thrust his tongue between her parted lips, deepening the kiss. The early morning sun bored down on his back, and a rivulet of sweat trailed irritatingly down his spine. A memory pushed itself into his mind of another time when he’d held her just this way, the sun warm on his back. Drawing her down to a quilt spread beneath the shade of the old live oak tree that grew on the rise just above her house. Watching the dappled sunshine play over her bare breasts. Feeling the heat of her body burning beneath his. Tasting her. Filling her. The mindless pleasure of losing himself in her, making her his.

But she wasn’t his. She’d cut him out of her life, refusing to see him and never returning his calls.

Remembering that, he pushed her from him, his chest heaving as he stared down into her flushed face. Her lids fluttered up until her gaze met his. He saw the passion that glazed her eyes, the brief flicker of disappointment that he’d ended the kiss…and he knew he was right. She did love him. Or, at the least, she wasn’t as unaffected by him as she tried to pretend.

Slowly her hands slipped from around his neck, and she dropped them to her sides. She took a step back, then another, the heat in her eyes giving way to a cool indifference.

She swept her tongue lazily across her upper lip. “You still know how to kiss a woman, Pete. I’ll give you that.” Turning her back on him, she strode for the side of the barn where the mare grazed.

Two

“Who’s that man?”

Carol glanced down at Adam, her first student of the day, then followed the line of his gaze to where Pete was riding away from the barn, Clayton’s cow dog trotting closely behind. The straw hat Pete wore was old, stained and pulled low over his forehead, shadowing his face. But she could tell by the way he sat in the saddle—shoulders square, spine as straight as an arrow—that he was still angry with her. Even the way his fingers curled around the lariat he held against his leg—knuckles white against his tanned skin and digging into his thigh—was an indication of his dark mood.

With a sigh she turned back to the mare she was saddling and pulled the cinch tight. “That’s Pete Dugan.”

“Is he a rodeo cowboy?” Adam asked, squinting up at her.

“Yes.”

“Is he a roper like Clayton?”

Chuckling, Carol squatted down, putting herself eye level with Adam. At six, his heroes were all still cowboys. “No, he’s a bronc rider.”

His eyes, already magnified by the thick lenses of his glasses, grew even larger. “For real?”

Laughing, Carol tapped the brim of his cap, knocking it down over his eyes. “Yes, for real.” She rose, drawing her hands to her hips. “Now, are you ready to ride this old bronc?” she asked, nodding toward the horse she’d just saddled.

Adam shoved up the cap and scowled at the mare who stood placidly at the arena fence. “Honey’s not a bronc. She’s just a horse.”

Carol bent over and cupped her hands, offering Adam a boost up to the saddle. “That’s what you think, buster. Honey may not buck now, but when she was younger, there wasn’t a cowboy around who could ride her.”

Adam planted a boot in her hands and swung a leg over the saddle as she hefted him up. “No foolin’?”

“No foolin’.” She gathered the reins and passed them to him. “Warm her up, okay? Three laps at a walk. Two at a trot. And remember your posture. Head up, back straight, heels down.”

“You think she can still buck?” Adam asked hopefully as he turned the mare for the arena gate.

Carol bit back a smile. “You never know,” she called after him. “Better keep a deep seat and a tight rein, just in case she takes a mind to unload you.”

She laughed softly as she watched Adam grab for the saddle horn. Shaking her head, she turned and glanced back in the direction where she’d last seen Pete. He was still in sight and, judging by his posture, he was still angry.

With a sigh she stooped to pick up the tack box and set it alongside the fence and out of the way. She’d purposefully hurt Pete and made him angry with her. Not that she’d enjoyed doing so, or had even wanted to. She’d never wanted to hurt Pete. Not then, and not now. But she couldn’t get involved with him again. Not when she’d spent the better part of two years trying to forget him.

I didn’t come to see Clayton. I came to take care of the place while he goes chasing after Rena.

Remembering his explanation of his unexpected appearance at the barn earlier that morning, she stifled a groan of frustration. And how in the world was she supposed to forget him, if he was going to be staying right next door?

She would avoid him, she told herself as she swung the arena gate closed behind her. She’d conduct her lessons, feed her horses and make sure she stayed out of his way. And if they did happen to cross paths while she was at Clayton’s ranch, she’d ignore him…or, at the very least, feign indifference. She could do that, she told herself. After all, she’d successfully managed to avoid him for two years, which was no small feat, considering she lived right next door to one of his best friends.

Saw you at the rodeo last night. Were you there to watch me ride?

Scowling, she squinted her eyes at Adam, who was still walking Honey around the arena, warming up the mare for their lesson.

Wasn’t it just like Pete to assume that she’d gone to the rodeo just to watch him ride? She had, of course, but she would choke before she’d admit that to him. Oh, she’d known she was taking a chance by attending the rodeo, but she hadn’t been able to resist the opportunity to watch him ride, to see him again. Not when she knew he was competing within driving distance of her home. Not when there wasn’t a single day that passed that she didn’t think of him, wonder about him, dream about him.

But she hadn’t intended for him to ever know she was there. And he wouldn’t have known, either, if that bronc he’d ridden hadn’t chosen the spot right beneath her box seat to scrape Pete off his back. Everyone in the section of seats, her included, had run to the rail to see if he was hurt. But when he’d looked up, it was her face he’d focused on. And when she’d seen the surprise in his eyes, the recognition, she hadn’t been able to look away.

She’d look away this time, though, she told herself as she watched Adam smooch Honey into a trot. And she’d stay away, too. Far away.

Pete slapped the coiled rope against the leather chaps that protected his legs from the thorny mesquite trees scattered around Clayton’s ranch. “Get up there,” he called to a calf that had begun to lag. Clayton’s dog, a blue heeler named Dirt of all things, barked and raced over, nipping at the calf’s rear hooves. The calf bawled and ducked back into the herd, pushing its way to the center.

Wiping the back of his hand across his dry mouth, Pete glanced toward the barn. He’d avoided the area all day, working his way down the list of chores Clayton had left, careful to choose tasks that kept him away from the house and the barn. But Clayton had indicated that a buyer was coming to pick up the calves the next morning, and Pete was left with no choice but to round them up and head them for the barn and the corral beside it.

As he drew closer, he could see that Carol’s truck was still parked beside the building, but thankfully she was nowhere in sight. He’d monitored her movements throughout the day—but from a distance—watching cars arrive and kids spill out, ready for the horseback riding lessons Troy had told him she offered in Clayton’s arena.

He pushed the calves on, hoping that he could pen them in the corral and skedaddle before she appeared again.

“Damn,” he muttered in frustration when he saw the gate was closed. Wishing that he’d thought to open it before he’d left to gather the calves, he turned his horse, planning to make a wide arc around them, open the gate, then slip back up behind them and push them through.

Just as he started to touch his spurs to his horse’s side, he caught a flash of yellow out of the corner of his eye, and saw Carol step from the barn, a feed bucket in hand. She glanced his way, immediately saw his problem, and hustled over to swing the gate wide. Frowning, he turned his horse back behind the herd. Dirt darted from one side of the small herd to the other, barking and urging the calves on. When the last calf slipped inside the corral, Carol swung the gate closed and latched it into place.

Pete mumbled a begrudging, “Thanks,” and turned his horse for the barn. At the hitching rail, he reined his horse to a stop and dismounted. But as soon as his right boot hit the ground, taking his full weight, his knee buckled and he crumpled. Howling in pain, he wrapped his arms around his leg and rolled to his side, curling his body protectively around the injured knee.

He felt a tentative hand on his shoulder, then the warmth of Carol’s body as she knelt behind him. “Pete? What’s wrong?”

He heard the concern in her voice, but had to clamp his teeth together to fight back the dizziness, the pain. “My knee,” he managed to grate out.

With her hand braced on his shoulder, she stretched across him and smoothed her other hand down his thigh, her touch so gentle it brought tears to his eyes. But in spite of her care not to hurt him, when her hand swept across his swollen knee, he couldn’t suppress the moan that swelled up inside him. He released his hold on his knee and rolled to his back, flinging his arms wide. She quickly moved out of his way and stood, staring down at him, her eyes wide with horror. His chest heaving, he squeezed his eyes shut and clawed his fingers at the hard-packed dirt, searching for something to anchor himself to, something to grab a hold of to lift himself above the pain. Something to hide behind, so Carol wouldn’t witness his weakness.

Knowing it was useless, he opened his eyes to find her still standing above him, her fingers pressed against trembling lips, tears glistening in her eyes.

Humiliated by his weakness, he tried to make light of it. “Gee, Carol,” he said, trying to force a smile past the pain. “I didn’t think you cared.”

At the teasing remark, she yanked her hands to her sides and glared down at him. “We need to get you to the house,” she snapped. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah.” He set his jaw and hauled himself to a sitting position. “I think so.” Keeping his movements slow and careful, he drew up his good leg until his boot was fitted tightly against his buttocks. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead at the effort. Blowing out a long, shaky breath, he rested a minute, then stretched out a hand. “I might need some help.”

She hesitated a moment, then thrust out her hand. He took it and wrapped his fingers tightly around hers.

“On the count of three,” he instructed. “One…two…three!” He heaved and Carol pulled, and with a growl he rose from the ground. Not wanting to put any weight on his bad leg, he staggered, off balance, and Carol quickly slipped beneath his arm and braced herself against his right side, supporting him.

“Give me a minute,” he gasped, sweat pouring down his face. He dipped his chin and closed his eyes, gulping in air. After a moment he lifted his head and looked across at the house. Five hundred feet stretched like a mile.

“Come on,” she urged, obviously sensing his hesitancy. “You can do it.” Wrapping her arm around his waist, she took a tentative step, then another, drawing him along with her.

By the time they reached the back door, sweat plastered Pete’s shirt to his back and chest and dripped from his nose and chin. With a quick glance at his pale, pain-wrenched face, Carol opened the back door, braced her hip against it, then carefully guided him through the opening. Once inside, she pressed him on toward the master bedroom.

When they reached the side of the bed, Pete twisted around and fell across the tangled covers with a groan, slinging an arm over his eyes.

Carol immediately dropped to her knees and tugged off his boots, knowing that he would need to remove his jeans before his knee swelled any more. Setting the boots aside, she rose and reached for his belt buckle…but jerked her hands back as she realized the intimacy that would require. She stole a glance at him and was relieved to see that his arm still covered his eyes, and he was unaware of her hesitancy. Frowning, she slapped a hand against the side of his uninjured leg. “Come on, Pete. Drop your pants.”

He lifted his arm to peer at her. “’Scuse me?”

She waved an impatient hand at him. “You haven’t got anything that I haven’t seen before, so drop ’em.”

In spite of the pain, Pete managed a weak grin as he reached for his belt buckle. “Maybe not anything different, but definitely more of it.”

She rolled her eyes and grabbed the waist of his jeans. “Braggart,” she muttered.

His grin broadened into a full-blown smile. “No brag, ma’am. Just fact.” He lifted his hips as she carefully worked the denim down over them, then sucked in air through his teeth when her hand grazed his manhood. She froze at the contact, her gaze snapping to his.

Pete watched the color rise on her cheeks, the panic in her eyes…and remembered a time when such an intimacy would have darkened those green eyes with passion, not panic. “Don’t worry,” he said wryly. “My knee’s hurtin’ so bad, you couldn’t get a rise out of me even if you worked at it.”

Her cheeks flaming, she jerked the jeans down his legs, making him yelp as the rough denim scraped over his swollen knee.

She spun away, folding his pants over her arm. “I need to feed my horses,” she said tersely, tossing the jeans over a chair. “Do you need anything before I leave?”

That she couldn’t look at him, or wouldn’t, irritated Pete. “A phone. I need to call Clayton and tell him to head home.”

She whirled, her eyes wide. “But you can’t! He hasn’t had a chance to talk to Rena yet.”

He scowled and shifted a pillow beneath his knee, gritting his teeth against the pain that even that slight movement caused him. “So what? You said yourself that he was wasting his time chasing after her.”

At the reminder, she caught her lip between her teeth and dropped her gaze, lifting a shoulder. “Yes, I did, but still…”

“Look, Carol,” he said in frustration and grabbed for the sheet. “It isn’t as if I want to call him home, but I can’t take care of his ranch for him if I’m laid up in bed.”

Slowly she lifted her gaze. “You could if I helped you.”

He froze, his fingers fisted in the sheet. “Help me?”

“Yes,” she said, and took a reluctant step closer. “You could tell me what needs doing, and I could do it. Just until the swelling goes down,” she added quickly. “A couple of days off that knee, and you should be able to take over again.”

Still scowling, Pete tried to whip the sheet over his propped-up leg, but it snagged on his toes and hung there.

Carol plucked the sheet free and pulled it up over him, letting it drop to settle at his waist. The ease with which she accomplished the task irritated him, but her reluctance to draw near him or touch him irritated him even more.

“We could do it, couldn’t we, Pete?” she asked hopefully. “It would give Clayton the time he needs to work things out with Rena.”

He stared at her, amazed, after what she’d said earlier, that she’d willingly to do anything to help Clayton win back his wife. “Well, yeah, but that’s easy for me to say since I won’t be doing anything but lying here in bed and giving orders.”

“I don’t mind the extra work. Really I don’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She stooped to pick up his boots and set them out of the way, then headed for the door. “I’ll feed my horses, then I’ll come back and you can give me a list of chores for tomorrow.”

“Will you hand me my pain pills before you go?” He pointed at his duffel bag. “They’re in the side pocket.”

She fetched his pills and a glass of water from the bathroom. Keeping a safe distance, she set both on the bedside table within his reach, then headed for the door. “I won’t be gone long. About an hour or so.”

“Check and see if there’s water in the trough for those calves I penned. Oh, and Carol!” he called after her. “You might ought to throw down a couple of bales of hay for them.”

Carol methodically worked her way through her chores at the barn, putting out hay and oats for her horses and filling their water buckets.

But her mind wasn’t on her work.

It was centered on Pete.

How was she going to avoid him, when she’d have to see him every day in order to get a list of chores?

Frowning, she climbed the ladder to the loft. She wouldn’t be able to avoid him. Not entirely. Not now. Not after she’d offered to help him take care of the ranch. She dragged a bale of hay to the loft doors that opened over the corral, her frown deepening.

“Dang fool,” she muttered, cursing herself as she yanked a pair of wire cutters from her back pocket. “Why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut? Why did you have to offer to help him?” Slipping the tool between the thin wire wrapped tightly around the bale, she snapped the handles together, snipping the wire in two.