Wild Wyoming Nights

by Joanne Rock

  “Depends.” He glanced over at her. “Do you need stitches?”

  “Absolutely not.” She debated showing him the cut on her right arm to convince him it wasn’t a big deal. Instead, she laid it on the door’s armrest. “I refuse to be stuck with needles just to humor you.”

  He nodded. “Then we’re going somewhere quiet to have lunch. Food will help you recover.”

  Defensiveness prickled. “I’m a physical trainer, Carson. I’m very familiar with health, nutrition and recovery days—”

  “Sorry.” He reached across the truck and covered her hand with his. “I know you’re well trained. It’s just that I’m only now starting to recover myself from when Dax said you were cut up. The first thing I thought of was that your ex somehow found you.”

  The admission eased some of her defensiveness.

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” She flipped her hand over and squeezed his, her skin tingling where they touched. “I’m not used to anyone worrying about me.” She tipped her head back against the leather bucket seat.

  Yesterday the connection she’d felt to him had been all sizzle and steam, hot attraction coming to life after her libido had been on a long vacation. Today, in light of his moving her into his house and worrying about her ex-boyfriend, she couldn’t deny feeling protected. And yes, cared for.

  “Worry isn’t something I’m used to doing.” He surprised her with a wry grin, and then let go of her hand to put both of his on the wheel. “Hell, ask anyone in my family and they’ll tell you I’ve never wasted a minute thinking about tomorrow.”

  When they reached the main county road, he didn’t turn toward Cheyenne, making her wonder what he had in mind. But she was more curious about what he’d said.

  “That reminds me of something you said yesterday. I got the idea your twin brother is the born rancher, and you wanted a future in rodeo.”

  His grin faded. “I’ve been the reckless twin my whole life. Cody ran the ranch. I tempted fate on the back of a bull. It was a role I was comfortable with.”

  She straightened in her seat, not believing her ears. “You were a bull rider? And you give me a hard time about stunt work?”

  The truck slowed down for a hay wagon spitting grassy bits at their windshield.

  “I give you a hard time because I recognize how demanding your work must be. I know it takes guts and maybe—excuse me for saying so—a certain amount of crazy to risk your neck day in and day out.” He cast a sidelong glance her way.

  Emma mulled that over as he turned off the main road.

  “I’m not sure if I’m more offended that you think I’m a reckless nutjob, or if I’m more surprised that you think you are.” She tried to identify where they might be going, but the road held no clues. Tall grass grew on either side of the truck. Yarrow and hyssop flowers bent in the perpetual breeze.

  The pungent scent of the yarrow filtered in through Carson’s half-open window.

  “I meant no offense.” He sounded sincere as they drove under a sign for Black Creek Ranch. She recognized the name of the place. The film company had wanted to shoot here originally, but Carson’s brother had denied the request. “But it takes a unique personality to put your neck on the line every day.”

  Unlike the Creek Spill, the Black Creek Ranch was quiet as they neared the main house. Three tractors worked in a distant field, and a couple of ranch hands whistled to three dogs that went chasing after them toward the stables. But there were no concession tents for roaming cast members. No camera crews setting up shots. No stunt riders working with horses.

  “I don’t consider stunt work risking my neck.” She glanced over at him as he parked near a large pine gazebo with a handful of picnic tables underneath. “I think of it as a way to prove to myself, every day, that I’m tougher than what life doles out to me.”

  He switched off the engine and turned to face her. “I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that your reasons for what you do are a whole lot better than why I kept bull riding.”

  She waited, the fresh air still blowing through the window, riffling Carson’s dark hair. Seeing him in his gray T-shirt with the ranch logo, she couldn’t help thinking about how he’d looked the night before, stripping off his clothes by the pool.

  “Why did you?” she asked, wondering how she was going to stop herself from kissing him again.

  She might have rebounded from the damage inflicted by her last relationship, but that didn’t mean she was ready for a new one. Even though Carson couldn’t be more different from her ex, she simply didn’t have the emotional resources for...whatever it was Carson made her feel.

  Still, her heart picked up speed as he turned his blue eyes on her. He didn’t seem in any hurry to get out of the truck. Then again, it wasn’t even noon yet, so she wasn’t particularly hungry for lunch.

  A different kind of hunger stirred, though, making her restless. Warning her that she played with fire by being alone with this man, who could make or break her fledgling stunt career.

  “We all did it for a while. My brothers and me. We started the sport because our father told us it was a good way to learn respect for an animal.” He dragged in a deep breath. “Looking back, I’m sure it was connected to our mother’s death. She died trying to separate a bull from the cattle, and I think my dad wanted us to grow up aware of the dangers.”

  By throwing his boys on the back of a bucking bull? Emma’s vision of his father shifted as she tried to envision the kind of man that would do that to his kids. “I’m so sorry you lost your mother.”

  She understood better than he knew, having lost her father at a young age. But she didn’t want to lose the thread of what they were talking about. She touched his knee with the hand of her uninjured arm, the gesture of comfort bringing with it a heated awareness. Birds chirped outside the truck, the soft rustle of leaves blowing a testament to how quiet it was here.

  “Thank you. We all dealt with it differently. Dad retreated into himself, not paying much attention to us for—a long time afterward.” Carson’s gaze dropped to where her hand still touched him. Then, gently, he picked up her palm and laid it between his. “I kept riding bulls for years after my brothers stopped because it felt like a way to even an unspoken score between my father and me. A way to prove I could take whatever he dished out.”

  She watched Carson lift her captive fingers to his lips. It was easier to let herself be distracted by the brush of his mouth along her knuckles than to feel the ache of empathy for a young man seeking a father’s approval.

  “What made you decide to stop?” she asked, breathless from the tender kiss.

  Slowly, he lowered her hand to rest in his on the leather console between them.

  “After one too many surgeries to repair fractures or torn muscles, my father showed up at the hospital with an ultimatum. Quit bull riding or quit the family.” He shook his head, a wry expression twisting his lips. “Guess he’d been banking on all of his sons walking away long before then. And he made it clear I was being selfish to put rodeo before the ranch.”

  Emma wondered about the surgeries and repairs. How much pain had he endured to prove a point to a stubborn man? She gave his hand a squeeze. “Did you remind your father it was his idea in the first place?”

  Carson laughed. “No, ma’am. One surgery a week was enough for me. Risking Dad’s wrath didn’t even cross my mind.”

  She knew he wasn’t completely serious. But she suspected there was a grain of truth in what he said. His father cast a long shadow over his life.

  “And now? Are you glad you walked away from it?” She wondered if he was happy.

  A strange thing to wonder, perhaps, about a man who had so much wealth and power. But then her mother had worked in the home of the rich and famous Ventura family for many years, and she’d shared with Emma plenty of incidents that suggested power and privilege did not make them
happy people.

  Carson tipped his head to one side, studying her as he thought about the question. “I don’t miss the thrills and the roar of a crowd nearly as much as I thought I would. Ranching may not be as exciting, but it’s a whole lot more satisfying.” He lifted a dark eyebrow, casting a sidelong look her way. “Although, this week has been plenty exciting, now that I think about it.”

  The heat in his gaze sent her pulse into overdrive, warning her she ought to open the passenger door and get some fresh air before the spark between them caught into full-fledged flame.

  He still held her hand, though. Or maybe she was holding his. The touch seemed so mutual, so necessary, she couldn’t be sure. Her whole body warmed just looking at him, the moment wrapping around her with sensual promise.

  Words eluded her. Until a tiny, frightened piece of her psyche piped up.

  “I don’t think I can afford any more excitement in my life, Carson.” The words felt disjointed, like a ventriloquist worked her mouth to make the statement happen. But they were wise. Smart. Even she could see that as her skin smoldered from wanting his touch. She forced herself to let go of him. To open the passenger-side door. “Not now. Maybe not ever.”

  Six

  Carson understood that Emma needed time.

  She’d made that clear two days ago, after she’d cut her arm practicing a stunt. He’d backed off then, recognizing that she was going through a lot between the stress of her ex being released from prison and her effort to improve her riding skills for the horseback scene.

  Today, he stood well behind the film crew as Emma performed the race stunt flawlessly for a third time in a row. As she took direction from the stunt coordinator before running through the action for a fourth time, Carson saw a new confidence in her while she stood beside her horse. An ease that hadn’t been there the first day they’d met, when she’d been scared of losing her stunt job.

  He knew that the time was right to pursue her.

  Emma wore period costume for the scene. She had on a long white skirt with a matching high-necked blouse, and a wig on to give her a dark braid that spilled halfway down her back. Leather boots and a leather vest with a gun belt completed her outfit. Apparently, her character was some kind of highborn frontier wife forced to fend for herself and her children after her husband’s death. The guns weren’t loaded in the scene—the only thing Carson had personally asked the crew about that day since he tried to stay out of the way for the most part.

  But safety on the set was still his number one concern. And with Emma’s most challenging scene over after today, he thought they’d both breathe easier. There would never be a better time to take her out. To convince her to spend the rest of her time in Cheyenne pursuing the heat that hit him like a flash fire when he was around her.

  Ever since that day in his truck, he’d been avoiding her whenever they weren’t working on her riding skills, trying his damnedest to respect her wishes. Now? He saw no more need to give her space.

  She was safe. Well-rested. The cut on her arm was healing. Security kept watch for her ex, but so far there’d been no sign of unusual activity on the ranch. Tomorrow was her day off. So tonight, he planned to take her out to celebrate her successful completion of this challenge. He wanted to talk to her. Touch her. Know more about her.

  The need for her ate away at him even when he wasn’t around her, and he had to think she felt the same way based on how she shivered when he touched her in passing. How he caught her gaze following him when she thought he wasn’t watching.

  “Looks good, doesn’t it?” The feminine voice at his elbow startled him, making him realize how all-consuming his thoughts of Emma had become.

  He turned to see his sister Maisie wrestling her thick dark hair into a short ponytail. This past winter she’d had a razor-sharp bob, but it had grown out. Maisie never wore makeup unless she had a reason to dress up, and then it always surprised him how his toughest sister could turn into a bombshell. Today, though, she was dressed in her usual ripped jeans, worn boots and a T-shirt for a long-ago rodeo.

  “What looks good?” he asked, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck where a tension with Emma’s name on it had been riding him for days.

  Maisie straightened. Rolled her eyes. “The scene. Isn’t that what you’re watching? Or is there some unsuspecting female out there about to come under the sway of the full-blown Carson McNeill charm?”

  She turned her gaze out toward the fourth take of the race scene.

  “I’m just making sure everyone stays safe.” It was true, damn it. “Dad and Cody will have my head if the ranch ends up in the news because someone got hurt out here.”

  “Save the BS lines for someone who will buy them.” Maisie didn’t even bother looking his way, her attention trained on the horses. “Only women can distract my brothers to that degree. Although I will admit a stuntwoman isn’t exactly your regular type.”

  The tension in his shoulders moved to his head. “I have no regular type.”

  “That’s not true.” She turned toward him, a smug grin on her face. “Cody only dates women he wants to marry. You only date the kind you won’t.”

  “Ludicrous theory.” He returned his focus to Emma, not wanting to miss her when she finished for the day.

  “Except it’s true,” Maisie continued, managing to gloat in a matter-of-fact tone. “Which has given Cody the most boring dating career on record—going from one serious girlfriend to Jillian. Marriage is only a matter of time there.”

  Carson said nothing, although he acknowledged the truth of Maisie’s words. Cody was seriously involved with Jillian Ross, the film scout who was now carrying his child.

  “And you don’t pursue women, but they all flock to you just the same.” She folded her arms and glanced his way. “Which means, if you’re actively scoping out someone and getting all prickly about it, you’re breaking your pattern. And it tells me this woman is different.”

  “You’re fishing, and you’re wrong,” he told her flatly. Then, needing to change topics, he brought up a far more pressing issue. “Any word on your mom? Has Scarlett asked Paige about the note yet?”

  Over by the camera crew, he heard the stunt coordinator call for the cast members to run the race scene one more time.

  Beside him, Maisie nodded, letting herself be distracted by the new question. “Mom’s doctors might let her come home tomorrow if she continues to do well. Knowing we need to tell Dad soon about the letter, Scarlett and I sat down with her yesterday to show her the note and see what she knows about it.”

  “And?” He tensed, wondering why no one had phoned him. As the point person for the family’s contact with the investigator, he expected to be kept in the loop. “The PI needs to know what she said if we want him to find out the truth.”

  “We learned nothing concrete,” Maisie assured him. “Mom turned ten shades of white and called for a nurse.”

  Carson swore softly.

  “I know. We felt terrible for pushing her, but between you and me, I’d guess there was some truth to the accusation in the note, or it wouldn’t have upset her so much.”

  “If you bring it up again, make sure you stress to her that we love her and don’t care about her past. We just need to know who might want to use the information to hurt the family.” Carson might have issues with his father, and some with his twin, but he would do anything to protect his family. “I have the feeling we’ll hear more from the blackmailer soon enough.”

  “I hate the idea that it could be someone we’re hosting.” Maisie hugged her arms around herself. “You remember whoever wrote that note didn’t want the filming to happen here in the first place, so they must have something to do with Winning the West.”

  “Did you warn Scarlett to be careful around that actor?” Carson had put Logan King at the top of the list of people to investigate since his youngest sibl
ing had a history with the guy.

  “I did, but I don’t think she listened. I saw them together yesterday.”

  “His past is shady.” Carson knew that much from the PI. “Except for a younger sister who went into the foster system and got adopted, his family members are all in jail or dead.”

  He couldn’t let Scarlett get hurt. He had enough reasons to regret letting the movie crew onto his property. The safety risks. The slowdown in ranch production. Ticking off Cody and his father, which—despite what they might think—hadn’t been his primary objective in offering use of the ranch.

  But as Carson peered back out over the meadow where Emma was riding hell-for-leather on the back of her gray mare, he acknowledged there was still one reason the he wouldn’t trade the decision for anything.

  * * *

  When Emma finally finished the last take on her horseback riding scene, she was ready to run a victory lap.

  She’d stayed on Mariana’s back successfully despite the speed of the gallop and the other horses crowding her. She hadn’t flipped over the mare’s head any of the times the horse had to make a quick stop and turn, which was the other tricky part of the stunt.

  With the thrill of triumph still in her veins, Emma slid to the ground and patted Mariana’s neck as she looked over to the place where Carson had stood watching her for most of the filming.

  Disappointment stung when she didn’t spot him. It surprised her how much she was looking forward to sharing this moment with him. It was his success as much as hers, considering how hard he’d trained with her these last few days to keep her safe.

  She told herself it didn’t matter. She’d asked him for more space after that day in the truck when she’d been ready to come out of her skin from wanting him. So she could hardly hold it against him now that he’d done as she’d asked.

  Handing off Mariana’s reins to one of the handlers, Emma went to the wardrobe tent, where she changed out of her period garb, retrieved her phone and purse, and turned in her skirt and blouse to the costume mistress. She’d worn simple khaki shorts and a white tank underneath, so changing was fast. Before she went back outside, she decided to check her messages. There were a couple of other cast members running in and out, but Emma had a quiet corner behind a rolling rack to herself.