A Saddle Made For Two

“Yeah, well, lock up,” he said again.

With a sigh of exasperation, she glared at him. “I said I would.”

“Now.”

He disappeared, and the door swung shut with a thud. Ellie stared at it for a moment before forcing her feet to move. She always locked the door. Especially at night. She locked it to keep out cowboys like him.

“Lock the door,” she mimicked under her breath. She could take care of herself and didn’t need anyone telling her what to do. Peeling back the curtain at the window only enough to peek outside, she saw him standing on the ground less than a foot from her camper, watching the door.

“Just turn the little button,” he prompted from the other side.

“I am!” She let the fabric slip from her fingers and, with an angry snap, turned the lock. “Satisfied?”

“Yep.”

Even through the camper door she could hear his soft laughter, and the warmth of it spread through her. “Dumb cowboy,” she whispered to ward it off.

Chace’s shoulders shook with long-suppressed mirth as he made his way through the dimly lit campgrounds. It felt good to laugh. Damn good. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d found much of anything to more than chuckle over. But the sight of that little lady perched on that shovel, her eyes as big as silver dollars.…He laughed even louder. She’d reminded him of a stick of dynamite, ready to go off at any second.

The humor vanished, and a frown replaced his grin. How the hell had that snake gotten in her camper? It hadn’t been poisonous, but it was no laughing matter. Most women were scared to death when they got within ten feet of a snake. And it was obvious that she traveled alone. Nobody to look out for her.

The thought brought him down faster than snow in an avalanche. If he had to, he’d make sure himself that her camper was secure. Besides varmints like that snake, some rodeoers were a shade on the rowdy side, especially as National Finals drew nearer. Lately he’d noticed some of them erring a little too far on the side of trouble. Another good reason to get out while he had a chance to finish on top.

And that list of reasons grew by the day. Dragging his aching body from bed each morning without someone’s help was still possible, but it wasn’t easy. He’d been kicked, stomped, thrown and just plain busted-up enough to make a decision. This was it, his last year—last chance—to have a double championship by winning the Saddle Bronc title and the All-Around Cowboy title with team roping. He’d been here before, a few years back, a little younger and a lot less hampered by injuries, but he’d missed winning both titles by a narrow margin. Being older and more experienced could give him a slight edge over the younger cowboys. But slight was stretching it. His riding and roping would have to be better than ever with no distractions.

He could do it, and then he’d head home to Texas a big winner. He’d shirked his responsibilities to the family ranch long enough, and he was ready to fix that. Sending his winnings home wasn’t enough anymore. His brother needed help with the place. Chace needed to be there. He wanted to be there.

As he neared his truck and horse trailer, the memory of the little bit of a woman came to mind again. Caramel-colored hair blended with chocolate-drop eyes to create a confection that tempted his sweet tooth. But damn, he was on a diet. No women until he had those gold buckles holding his belt together.

“Hey, Brannigan.”

Squinting, Chace could see his traveling and team roping buddy leaning against the truck with one boot propped against the side of the door. “Ray.”

“That last ride of yours was the best yet,” his friend answered.

When he reached the truck, Chace pulled his bronc saddle out of the back. “Hope the next one’s as good. Thanks for taking care of Redneck.”

“No problem.” Ray moved away from the door. “We gonna get a room, or what?”

Chace peered into the darkness in the direction of the camper he’d just left. “That little barrel racer, the one who beat out Cheryl. What’s her name?”

Ray tipped his hat back. “Ellie Warren. She’s one little bitty package.”

“Good with the barrels, too,” Chace agreed, thinking of her winning ride that night.

“Damn straight.”

Chace didn’t believe she was in any danger, but he did know she’d had a bad scare. It hadn’t escaped him that the lock on her door was a sorry excuse for security. If one of the boys in the crowd near her truck had been tipping the bottle a few too many times…She might be dynamite, but she wasn’t big enough to handle a drunken cowboy.

“Think you can pull the truck into that spot over there?” He pointed to a space barely able to accommodate his stretch-cab pickup.

Ray scratched at a day’s growth of beard and shot him a curious look. “Might be a problem with the trailer.”

“Unhook it. I’ve got to check on something. I’ll make sure the horses are settled when I’m done.” He opened the truck door, tossed in the saddle where it would be safe from the elements and grabbed a piece of baling wire from behind the seat.

“I’ll throw the bedrolls in the back,” Ray offered as he opened the other door and slid behind the steering wheel.

“This won’t take long.”

Less than a minute later, Chace stood at Ellie’s camper door and rapped his knuckles hard on the aluminum. When he didn’t get a response, he pounded with his fist. From inside, he heard movement along with muffled curses that would make any cowboy proud.

“Who’s there?”

“Chace Brannigan.” The door flew open, forcing him to jump back to keep from being smacked with it.

Ellie stood in the opening with her fists planted on her hips and a scowl on her face. “Now what?”

Her choice of sleeping attire caught him by surprise and rendered him speechless. Boys’ cotton pajamas covered with brown bucking broncs on a tan background swallowed up her slight frame. The hem of the arms covered her hands, and the legs pooled at her feet where bare toes peeked beneath the too-long cuffs.

Movement forced his attention up when she crossed her arms. The action revealed a fair amount of smooth, tanned cleavage where the front gaped open, and he couldn’t stop looking.

“What’s the matter? Haven’t you ever seen a pair of pajamas?”

Chace swallowed.

“Well?”

“Not since I was eight years old. Not like…those.” He forced a grin and hoped it didn’t resemble a leer. Raising his gaze to lower the skyrocketing heat that threatened to cause him some embarrassment at any moment, he took in the angry line of compressed lips. Dark eyes flashed a warning, framed by unruly waves of silky hair from the braid she’d unleashed.

“What are you doing here, Brannigan?”

The ice in her voice brought him back to his senses. “The door.”

Her foot tapped beneath the loose pajama fabric. “What about it?”

“Close it and lock it behind me.”

“That’s the most intelligent thing you’ve said.” Her arms dropped to her sides, ending the display of suntanned flesh. Reaching out, she pulled the door shut, slamming it in his face.

He heard the snap of the lock and, “Good night, again, Mr. Brannigan.”

Chuckling, he shook his head. He stuck the wire into the keyhole and wiggled it while he turned the handle.

“What in the name of heaven are you—” the door pulled open to reveal her wide eyes and pale face “—doing?”

“That lock might as well be a piece of tape.” He removed the wire and held it up to show her. “Baling wire. Staple of any cowboy’s life.”

“I know that,” she snapped.