One Rodeo Season

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.