One Rodeo Season

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.