by Savanna Fox
When Ty’s score of 83 went up, he was the leader.
He held that position until the final rider came out and nailed an 83.5, and Kim sighed with disappointment. It would have been the perfect end to the day if Ty’d come out on top.
* * *
Kim had visited her share of bars, but she’d never been in one like this. That wasn’t surprising given that it was called The Rusty Spur. Yes, she, along with George and Lily, had decided to join Marielle and complete their day of cowboy research with a trip to a country and western bar. Kim was curious whether Marielle’s bold plan would work. She’d seen her friend in action before, and was a little in awe of her vivaciousness and confidence. Sometimes a girl had to live vicariously.
They were definitely not in downtown Vancouver. The décor featured rustic wooden tables, barstools modeled after saddles, and western photos on every inch of wall space that wasn’t occupied by posters, slogans, T-shirts, leather horsey stuff, and a couple of broken guitars.
And yes, there was music. At one end of the room, two guys and two girls clad in western wear played a twangy country number with one of the women crooning the lyrics. Kim had never been into country music, but this was kind of catchy.
The floor in front of the stage was crowded with smiling, laughing dancers, most in jeans and boots, many of them hoisting beer bottles as they moved in time to the beat. The crowd ranged from late teen through to white hair, and everyone mixed together like age didn’t matter.
The music finished and the female singer announced, “We’re dry and we need us a beer. Y’all hang around and we’ll be back onstage soon.”
As the dancers cleared the floor, Kim saw that there were a couple of pool tables across the room. A man bent over one, his back to her. Well, his butt to her. That was one pretty amazing butt, firm and strong as it stretched against washed-out blue denim. He shifted his weight, apparently studying the lay of the balls on the table. She hoped he took his time deciding what kind of shot he wanted to make. “The scenery’s not bad in here.”
“Seriously?” Lily said. “It looks like something out of a bad Western.”
“You’re not looking in the right direction,” Marielle said. “Oh yeah, Kim, that scenery is very fine.”
“What are you—” George started, and then, “I see what you mean.”
Four
Ty Ronan’s back felt prickly, which threw off his concentration. When he aimed for a tough bank shot, the ball was a good inch short of the pocket, nicely set up for his opponent to sink it. “Oh hell,” he said good-naturedly as he straightened.
Blake Longfeather said, “Hah,” and bent to the table. Blake was a rodeo buddy from way back, still a full-time pro, unlike Ty, who’d cut way down on rodeo since he bought the new Ronan Ranch three years ago. Now, whenever they competed at the same rodeo, they got together for a couple of beers and a game or two of pool.
Blake slid Ty’s ball neatly into the pocket, then moved around the table, figuring how best to sink the one remaining ball. It was a tough shot, but he was a good player.
Guessing this game was over, Ty stretched his back, achy from the bone-jarring ride on Dirt Devil. Luck of the draw had been with him. He’d pulled a truly rank mare and he was happy with his ride. He’d make it into the finals tomorrow, for both events he’d competed in.
He still felt that prickly sensation, like someone was watching him. Lifting his beer bottle, he turned. Four women clustered by the door staring at him and Blake.
One, a lush, dark-skinned babe in figure-hugging western clothing, looked almost like she belonged in The Rusty Spur. Almost. Her hat was brand-new and perched at the wrong angle atop masses of wavy dark brown hair. A wannabe cowgirl or a buckle bunny, one of those rodeo groupies who wanted to get it on with a cowboy?
Two others, a pretty blonde and a striking redhead in tailored capris and pretty tops, looked like professional women from the city who’d strayed off course and ended up in the wrong place.
As for the fourth . . . He didn’t have a clue what to think about her, except that she took his breath away. Like when Dirt Devil jammed her forefeet into the ground and corkscrewed her hindquarters toward the sky.
The woman was sexy; the arousal tugging at his groin told him that. Sexier than the one with all the curves, even though this one was tiny and less curvy. She was Asian, probably Chinese, and she looked—he shook his head, baffled and turned on—well, she defied labels, that was for sure. She was kind of exotic and kind of punky, in a cute way, with short, spiky black hair streaked in the same turquoise as the stone in one of his favorite rodeo buckle belts.
The streaks matched one of the colors in the unusual top she wore over a skinny black skirt. The top looked silky and floaty; the design, as well as the blue pattern made him think of wings. She reminded him of a dragonfly, like she might lift off and fly around the room.
Sexy and intriguing, but not his type of woman. No way. None of the four were. He wanted a woman who’d fit in at the ranch, get along with his parents, enjoy raising kids and animals, and help him heal horses. His mom was right when she said it was time he got serious about a woman. He just hadn’t found the right one.
Hell, he hadn’t had much time to look in the three years since he’d quit the full-time rodeo circuit and bought Ronan Ranch. There’d been so much work in getting the ranch on its feet, with his dad’s purebred Angus cattle, his mom’s llamas, alpacas, and angora goats, his own horse training business.
And why was he thinking about a wife now, looking at these four attractive but out of place females, and particularly the sexy dragonfly one who was the most out of place of all?
Behind him, he heard the snick of Blake’s cue against a ball, the smooth slide of the ball, a resonant clunk as it fell into the pocket, and a satisfied, “My game. Pay up.” Then, “What are you starin’ at, man?” And then, as Blake came up beside him, “Ah now, would you look at them. Figure someone’s GPS sent them on a wild-goose chase?”
“I would, except for the one in the hat. Buckle bunny?”
“Bunnies usually know how to wear a hat.”
“True.” In their younger days, he and Blake used to welcome the female attention, but that lifestyle got old. That was why Ty, who lived not too far away, had suggested this bar, a haunt for locals. A cowboy could have a few beers with a buddy, undisturbed, then walk across the road to the Wagon Wheel Motel.
The gal in the hat herded the other three toward the pool table and flashed a vivid smile. “We saw you ride this afternoon. You were awesome.” She focused on Blake. “Blake Longfeather, right?”
Oh yeah, she was a bunny, and she’d set her sights on Ty’s buddy.
“At your service, ladies.” Blake made a kind of bow. “And this is my pal—”
Before he could introduce Ty, the dragonfly one blurted, “Ty Ronan.”
“You were at the rodeo?” Ty stared at her in disbelief. “You don’t look like the rodeo type.” And man, she was even cuter and sexier up close, with those pixie features and big, sparkly dark eyes fringed with black lashes. Behind his fly, his cock pulsed and thickened.
“Oh, I’m not.” A sudden grin flashed, lighting her face. “Or I wasn’t, until this afternoon. I had no idea how exciting it could be.”
When she said the word “exciting,” something zinged in his blood. Yeah, lust, but something more. It was like that adrenaline-rush moment in the chute when he perched atop a thousand pounds of unpredictable, energy-charged horseflesh, locked his hand in the handhold, then took a steadying breath, leaned back, and nodded to open the gate. Anticipation, challenge, joy, a touch of fear.
“Can we buy you a drink?” the one in the hat asked. “A celebratory drink?”
“Neither of us ranked first, ma’am,” Blake drawled in his low, husky voice, a touch of humor threading it. The fact that he hadn’t just said, “No thanks,” told Ty he was interested in the brunette.
As Ty was in the Asian woman. She knew his name. Toda
y she’d watched him; tonight she’d recognized him. She had to be into him too. Right?
“No, but we met you, and that’s cause for celebration,” the ringleader responded cheekily. “Besides, you both rode really well.”
“At least we stayed on our broncs.” Blake turned to Ty. “Though I still say I should’ve scored higher than you.” The tiny lift of his brows asked Ty if he was into having a drink with these women.
Tonight, Ty wasn’t looking for a wife, so why not spend some time with a sexy female? He’d burned out on buckle bunnies long ago, but dragonfly girl was different. It had been a while since he’d felt that tug of attraction, and he had a feeling it might be mutual. Giving his friend the slightest of nods, he told him, “You were on a carousel horse. Pathetic thing couldn’t buck its way out of a paper bag.” Blake had given the best ride he could, but his horse was having an off day.
“Yeah, you got the luck today,” Blake said. “Dirt Devil’s rank.”
“Rank is good?” the dragonfly one asked.
Ty gave her his best smile, and her eyes widened slightly. “Rank’s what we hope for. The score’s made up of two parts, one for the horse and one for the rider. Best rider in the world—not that Longfeather’s anywhere near that,” he added with a teasing glance at his friend, “can’t score high if his horse doesn’t do its part.”
Her eyes were dark, almost black, and sparkled with interest. He hoped that interest had to do with him. “The horse gets a higher score if it bucks a lot, and twists around?”
“Yeah, and—”
“Why don’t we have this conversation over a drink?” the ringleader said impatiently.
The blonde spoke for the first time, a slight smile touching the corners of her mouth. “We would be delighted to buy you a drink, gentlemen, but feel free to say no if you have other plans.”
The redhead nodded. “And congratulations on how well you both rode. It was really impressive.”
“Flattery,” Ty said, slanting a glance at Blake.
“Way to a man’s heart,” Blake responded.
“You’ve been friends for a while,” dragonfly woman said, and it wasn’t a question.
“Friends?” Ty gazed at the other man. “Me and him? What’s your name again, cowboy?”
They all laughed, then Ty noticed a group leaving a big table. “There.” He strode over to claim it and they all followed. Ty made sure, when he took one end of the table, that dragonfly girl was beside him. The blonde sat on his other side. Blake, at the opposite end of the table, had cowboy hat girl and the redhead on either side.
A pretty young waitress in jeans, red cowboy boots, and a tight red tee with the bar’s logo came over. “Hey there, I’m Judy. What can I get y’all?”
“Beers all around?” Blake asked.
Ty was going to suggest they get a pitcher, but dragonfly girl asked Judy, “What kind of lagers and ales do you have?”
The waitress started to list them, and dragonfly girl said, “Dead Frog? Cool name. And does honey lager mean it’s made with honey?”
“You got it. It’s good.”
“I’ll try it.”
So she liked to experiment. Was he—a rodeo cowboy—an experiment? Did he care? He was more curious whether her mouth would taste like honey after drinking the beer—and whether he’d find out. The thought had him shifting to ease the pressure behind his fly.
“Granville Island amber ale,” the redhead said.
“George, I didn’t know you drank beer,” the blonde said.
“Woody introduced me to it.”
George and Woody? Unusual names. He guessed the guy was her fiancé. She had a ring on her engagement finger: little diamonds surrounding a big, sparkly goldish-colored stone. The blonde had a wedding ring that was a band of small diamonds. The two brunettes both wore rings, but not on the “I’m taken” finger.
Dragonfly girl had small, slender hands, delicate and feminine. Her short fingernails were the same color as the streaks in her hair. He tried to imagine one of those blue-tipped hands gripping reins, and stifled a grin. Then he imagined one of them stroking across his thigh, heading upward, fanning out over the front of his rapidly swelling fly. This time, it was a sound of arousal he held back.
The blonde ordered a martini. He would’ve predicted beer for the one in the hat, but she said, “Something fruity. Sweet, but not too sweet. Any suggestions?”
“You like strawberries?” Judy asked. “The little wild ones?”
“I don’t know the wild ones, but I like strawberries.”
Ty knew the wild ones. They were one of the best things in the world, coming close behind horses and sex. Though maybe horses and sex should rank in the other order. No, that depended on the sex. Some was spectacular; some just mediocre. It had been a while—maybe six months?—since he’d had either kind. That was way too long a dry spell. What would sex be like with dragonfly girl? Would he find out tonight?
He realized the waitress had turned to him and was asking what he wanted. And she didn’t mean sex. Or maybe she did, from the glint in her blue eyes. She was pretty, curvy, might be his type. But he didn’t feel that tug of sexual chemistry like he did with the woman sitting beside him. He gave Judy an easy smile. “Can I have a Moosehead?”
“Sugar,” she drawled, “you can have any little thing you want.”
Yup, she meant sex.
When the waitress left, they all stared at each other for an awkward moment. “You have the advantage, ladies,” Ty said. “You know our names.”
“I’m Marielle,” the hat girl said, “and she’s George.” She pointed to the redhead. “Georgia, really, but everyone calls her George. She’s Lily”—she indicated the blonde—“and that’s Kim.”
Kim. It suited her.
“You go to the rodeo often?” Ty asked, figuring it would be rude to say he took them for rodeo virgins.
Kim chuckled, perfect white teeth flashing in a lightly tanned face. “Do we look like it?”
What she looked like was kissable. He smiled at her. “I was being polite. Did you enjoy it?”
“Way more than I expected to. I’m not a country girl—”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he drawled, tongue in cheek, winning another laugh.
“And I can’t ever imagine being one, I’m a city girl to the core, but—” She broke off as Judy arrived with a tray of drinks.
The waitress served them expertly then asked Marielle how she liked her drink. The brunette raved, then the waitress turned to Kim. “What do you think of your Dead Frog?”
She lifted her beer, the glass looking like it didn’t belong in a delicate, turquoise-tipped hand. Unlike his cock, which was quite willing to feel her grip. She inhaled, then sipped, her lips moving like she was rolling the beer around in her mouth.
He wanted to part those lips with his tongue, steal a kiss.
“Nice,” she said approvingly. “Balanced. Not too bitter, not too sweet. I can taste that hint of honey.”
Lager with honey, flavored by her own sweet mouth. Oh yeah, he could go for that. He’d kiss her deep and long, and show her that he tasted as good as lager and could make her a hell of a lot happier.
Testing, he moved his leg under the table, so his knee touched hers.
She jerked and her long lashes flicked down then up—God, she had big, pretty, sparkly eyes—but she didn’t move her leg away.
Judy spoke to Ty. “Y’all let me know if you want something more than beer.”
“No, that’ll do me just fine. Thanks anyhow, Judy.”
“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” she said cheerfully, and headed over to the next table.
Marielle said, “Have to admire a girl who goes after what she wants.”
“Ty has some experience with those,” Blake said.
“Like you don’t,” he rejoined.
Across the room, the band trooped back onstage and took up their instruments, launching into a Taylor Swift number.
“W
here were we?” Ty nudged Kim’s leg under the table. “You can’t imagine being a country girl, but you enjoyed the rodeo?”
“Right.” Her eyes went slightly out of focus, like she was seeing images inside her head. “There was something so physical and . . . raw about it. It’s exciting and dramatic. And scary.” A shiver twitched her shoulders, and her wingy top fluttered.
So she liked physical and raw. He could give her that. He ached to give her that.
“It’s all of that,” Lily said. “I’m a doctor, and I’m trying to understand why a—pardon me for phrasing it this way, Ty and Blake—why a reasonably sane man would do it.”
Kim nodded vigorously. “I wondered that too.”
Ty exchanged glances with his buddy, who shrugged. How could you explain rodeo to women from a totally different world?
He was still pondering that when George—a crazy nickname for a feminine woman with sweet curves, curly red hair, and amber eyes that matched her engagement ring—spoke up. “I thought people were crazy to play hockey until my fiancé enlightened me.”
Ty put her fiancé’s unusual name together with the mention of hockey, and there was only one conclusion. “Woody Hanrahan? The Vancouver Beavers’ captain?”
She gave a proud smile. “Yes. You watch hockey?”
“Mostly just the finals.” That sparked a memory. “Hell, you were the one on the JumboTron when the Beavers took the Stanley Cup.” She and Hanrahan had yelled “I love you” to each other, and the giant screen had captured it.
“Wasn’t that fantastic?” Marielle gushed.
Ty wasn’t a romantic, but the moment had made him smile. “It was nice.” He took a long swallow of Moosehead. “Anyhow, nothing against hockey, but I’m not much on spectator sports.” He liked to do rather than watch—and doing was exactly what he wanted with Kim.