by Em Petrova
Maybe this cowboy had some substance.
But it didn’t matter—her father wouldn’t like him around his “little girl.” That made her rebellious streak rise up, something that hadn’t happened since she was a teenager.
“I’m not trying to sell you a membership. I’m just saying, you’re good. You could easily move into the touring pro division and make big money.”
He shook his head, the action manly as hell. “Not interested. I stay with my family.”
“Too bad,” she said even as she admired his determination and ties to his family. “You have a chance at going against the toughest contenders in the world. You know the best bulls are in the PBR, right?”
Now that got his attention. There weren’t many bull riders who didn’t chase fame—but Ryder didn’t seem to be one of them. However, there wasn’t a bull rider on the planet who didn’t strive to ride the most dangerous, bad-ass bull that ever lived.
“There’s my father. You should talk to him.” She raised her lemonade in the direction of her dad.
“Thanks, but maybe later. I’m late meeting my brothers and sister. Ridge’s event is coming up and I can’t miss the circle.”
She’d seen the Calhoun circle on the reality show. When all the siblings drew together to bow their heads and devote their rides to their father, who’d died the previous year. It had touched Joy, seeing that. And being an only child made her long for such camaraderie. She’d always wanted sisters and brothers. Hell, she’d learned about sex from another bull rider’s son and been assisted by another rider’s wife when she’d gotten her first period.
Suddenly, she felt very alone.
Ryder looked into her eyes and wrapped his long, callused fingers around her wrist. He removed the lemonade from her hand and lifted her knuckles to his lips. The prickle of his beard met her sensitive skin first, and she sucked in a sharp gasp. Then his warm breath stroked her knuckles, followed by warm, soft lips.
She fought to keep her eyes from rolling back in her head. She caught herself before she swayed.
With a crooked smile that this time she found anything but average, Ryder said, “It was nice meeting you, Princess. Here’s your lemonade.”
It took her two tries to get the cup back into her hand and five solid heartbeats to peel her gaze off his retreating ass.
* * * * *
West dug his elbow into Ryder’s ribs.
Ryder flinched. “Damn, bro, why’d you do that? I’m still sore from that fall.” During practice, he’d gotten a whippy bull and was dumped within five seconds. If his ride today was the same, he wasn’t earning anything but embarrassment—and in front of Thunder Humphries and his stunning daughter.
Her gray-eyed stare was implanted in his head, and he hadn’t stopped thinking about her since kissing her knuckles.
“You didn’t say the words, Ryder. Say them.” West’s demand made Ryder look around at his family standing in their circle, looking at him.
“For you, Dad,” he recited.
“You’re distracted. Where’s your head, Ryder?” Buck asked from opposite him. Channing stood beside him and his partner, Asher, was on his left.
They’d brought Asher into their circle shortly after learning of his hardship with his wife who’d been huffing paint thinner and had finally filed for divorce, leaving him with two little hellion girls. Said girls danced in the middle of the circle wearing cowgirl boots and matching tutus.
Ryder stared at Buck. “My head’s right here. I’m in this. Wait till you see my score up on that board.”
Buck gave a hard nod. “Good.”
This wasn’t about earning enough money to buy the family ranch back from their asshole cousin anymore. But each of them had a strong drive to win their events. And Ryder had a spark of a dream in his head—for himself this time. He wanted his own place.
He was sick of going home to the family ranch house and sharing a bathroom with his grown-ass brothers and sister. West stealing all the hot water and Wynonna’s long auburn hairs in the drain didn’t make up for Ma’s good cooking. He’d take Ramen noodles and his own space.
Besides, if he got out of the house, he’d be farther from the production crew.
The circle split apart. “Good luck, everyone,” he said, meaning it.
The minute he stepped away from his family, though, his thoughts returned to Joy. Any other name couldn’t fit a woman like her. She’d laughed several times in his presence, which had made his heart jump every time. She brought a smile to his own face just thinking about her.
Medium height with a nice round ass and long, wavy hair that skimmed those perfect globes. Her skin had tasted like honey and smelled better. He ran his tongue over his lower lip and imagined kissing her plump, amazing mouth.
Damn, her lips were what lipstick models aspired to have. Full and pouty, her upper lip curved just right. Made for long make-out sessions.
That she knew him from the reality show bothered him some. He hadn’t seen all the episodes from last season—had no desire to watch himself on TV. When he did occasionally collapse into a chair with a beer, he watched sports or endured one of his mother’s game shows.
And Joy had seen him ride. Now that raised his spirits a bit. He was proud of his control on the back of a bull, and the fact that she’d recommended he go further with his career stroked his pride.
As he and his family made their way to the arena where Ridge would be competing in saddle broncs soon, he couldn’t help but look around for the curvy little vixen who wouldn’t leave his thoughts.
“Who you Jell-O-necking for?” Lane asked him.
“Nobody. Just seeing how big the crowd is.”
“Not buying it.” Lane didn’t press, though, just leaned against the wall separating the crowd from the arena and crossed his ankles and arms.
Adrianna pushed in beside Ryder, and he scooted over to give her enough room. She centered the camera on Lane, which was fine by him. He returned to scouring the crowd for the sweet little tan cowgirl hat and the beautiful woman wearing it.
The rodeo clowns ran into the ring for a short show, and the crowd got fired up. Ryder caught sight of Ridge standing with the other bronc riders. It was easy to see he was preparing himself for the adrenaline rush, which was half the battle. Let that get out of control, and he wouldn’t keep his head on task and his ass in the saddle.
Ryder snagged his attention and gave him a chin-nod of support. Ridge returned it.
Then Ryder looked around to find a pair of beautiful gray eyes on him.
Joy stood off to his left with a group of his competitors. Damn, he didn’t like seeing that one bit.
Before he could act on his urge to go to her side, the clown act came out of the arena and the announcer’s voice boomed. As he gave a short history of bronc riding, Ryder only kept half an ear on it.
Joy’s attention was dragged away, and she turned to speak to one of the guys her father must be coaching. Ryder took in the way they stood together. Did she like this young’un? Hell, he couldn’t be more than twenty. Of course, she might not be either.
She’d seemed more mature when he’d spoken with her, though. She knew her stuff when it came to bulls, that was certain.
A tap on his shoulder made him turn, and he found two napkins being thrust at him by some young ladies. He smiled and took them along with a pen, using his thigh as a surface to scribble his name. When he twisted to return the autographs to the fans, one girl grabbed him by the face and laid a kiss on him.
She was soft and tasted of lip gloss. Some hoots sounded from one of his brothers, and then Ryder pushed her away.
“Thanks, cowboy,” she said with a saucy smile.
He’d been hit on plenty in his time—taken up many offers, too. But his face heated, and he couldn’t immediately glance at Joy. Once he got the nerve, he found her with her back to him.
He had no idea why it bothered him so much, but the desire to tell her he didn’t even know that woman
was strong. As the first bronc stole out of the chute, tossing its rider like a rag doll into the dirt, Ryder mentally urged Joy to pivot a little more so he could make eye contact.
When the second and third riders were through, she still hadn’t given him the time of day.
And he realized he’d found trouble—because for once he’d crossed paths with a woman that he cared had a good opinion of him. And not because of what her father could do to help his career.
Chapter Two
“Joy, your father sent me to talk to you about fixing this.”
She glanced up from the baby goat she was hand-feeding apple slices to, refocusing her attention on her father’s newest recruit. He’d been on the ranch all of two hours and seemed to have snapped his bull rope.
Straightening, she gave a shake of her head. “Can’t fix that. You don’t want a second-rate rope for your job, Cody. But I’ve got more. Follow me.”
When she moved away from the goat pen, the kid she’d been feeding bawled in protest. Cody’s long legs kept pace with her, but he looked over his shoulder at the crying baby. “Seems like you charm everything you come near.”
Great. We’ve got a sweet-talker. Her father was paid well to put up several bull riders at a time on the ranch, and at one moment or another, they each decided Joy was fair game for a romance.
She was sticking to her guns, though—she didn’t do cowboys. Only once in the past few years had she let down her guard—with Ryder Calhoun—but then he’d proven he was as much of a jackass as the others. A playboy who lavished in women’s attention.
She lengthened her strides until Cody had to speed up to remain beside her.
“How long have you been helping your father train bull riders?” he asked.
“After his shoulder injury and he quit the PBR, I took over the ranch while he recovered. With that rotator cuff ripped as it was, his entire body was thrown off balance. He had months of rehab. Then, because he had no use of his shoulder, his whole body was off-balance. That’s when he got the inner ear problem because his system tried to compensate. It wasn’t until about two years ago that he was well enough to just sit around and get bored and ornery, so I suggested he start training guys to ride.”
Cody bobbed his head. “I read all about his injury and recovery afterward. A tough road for a man who’s so active.”
She slowed a bit. Maybe she was being too hard on the cowboys she came in contact with. They weren’t all so bad—this one understood the past situation, at least.
Her hands were sticky from the apple and she wiped them on her jeans before reaching for one of the bull ropes hanging in the barn. Before she could get it down, though, Cody reached over her. She caught a whiff of a man who’d been in the sun too long and stepped away.
For some reason a vision of Ryder jumped into her head. He’d smelled good—a fresh, soapy smell that had revved her up.
I bet that woman liked the way he smelled too.
When he’d kissed that girl, Joy’s stomach had knotted, which had only ticked her off more because why did she care anyway?
“Wow, this rope is better than any I’ve seen,” Cody said, inspecting the handle.
Joy smiled. “The handle’s guaranteed not to twist. It’s all in the weaving of the fibers.” She uncoiled it and measured it against his height. “I think this one will do. You have long arms.”
She waited for him to mention other long appendages and when nothing followed, she relaxed. Whether she’d adopted her father’s opinion of cowboys or finally formed her own, she expected every one of them to be a cocky jerk. Cody and she would get along fine, it seemed.
Half an hour later, she and her father had him on the metal bull, going through the same motions again and again, the repetition teaching him to react the same when he felt the animal move a certain way.
After two hours, they all broke for lemonade. And her father clapped Cody on the back. “I think you’re ready for Prescott, son.”
Joy’s eyebrows shot up. Prescott, Arizona was one of the bigger venues for all rodeo events. Cody would be up against some big names, including Ryder Calhoun.
Her father touched her shoulder as he passed her on the way back to the house. “Pack your best boots, Joy. Prescott awaits.”
* * * * *
“Ryder, c’mere!”
He’d normally keep walking when a female poked her head out of a hotel room and called to him, but he recognized Channing’s voice. Then a high-pitched squeal that could only be Asher’s daughter. Channing often took care of them while their father was busy rodeo’ing, and she always had her hands full.
He saw her looking disheveled, her long blonde hair hanging in what appeared to be dreadlocks. Upon approach, he realized the girls had braided her hair. Sparkly barrettes dangled from the ends.
“Will you please keep an eye on these little shits—I mean angels—while I go to the vending area?”
He eyed the darkness of the hotel room beyond her as if it were a cave of bats. “I can go for you. What do you want?”
“That’s the thing—with this morning sickness, I don’t know if I need antacid or to fulfill my salt craving.” She threw a harried look over her shoulder. “Please, just sit with them for a few minutes? I could really use a break.”
“All right, but they’re not getting near my hair.”
She laughed and plucked the barrettes out of the ends and then finger-combed the mess. It didn’t help much but she didn’t seem fussed. She practically shoved him into the room and sprinted down the hall. The door banged shut, and Ryder faced the two little dark-haired, dark-eyed imps standing before him.
“Hiya, cowboy,” Maddie said, sounding older than her four years.
“Would you like to sit for a spell and have some sweet tea?” Montana drawled.
He fought a smile and settled on the chair they offered. They’d dragged along a tea set from home, and he was given a small pink cup with a sticker on the side. “Why thank you, ladies. It’s mighty genteel of you.”
“What’s genteel?” Maddie asked.
“Is that like an eel?” Montana added.
“It means you are very polite and respectable,” he answered, taking a pretend sip of the tea.
Montana, the older of the two, gave a mock curtsy that bent her all the way to the floor. “Would you like some cake?”
He patted his stomach. “Not today, miss. I’ve got a big ride coming up.”
For the first time in ages, his stomach had butterflies when he thought about this performance. Prescott was a big venue with big award money. If he took some home, he’d have a nice start on a down-payment for a construction loan. He had visions of a simple house on the top part of the ranch with a wide front porch where he could sit and stare out at the land he loved so much.
But the money wasn’t the only thing that had him nervous. He’d heard through the pipeline that Thunder Humphries was in Prescott. Which meant Joy was too.
For a week he’d been rehearsing what he’d say to her, but none of it stuck in his brain. When he saw her again, he’d probably blurt a bunch of unintelligible crap that would make her think he was an idiot.
Again, he wondered why it mattered what she thought of him. He didn’t care what any of the people who watched him ride bulls or on TV thought. Somehow, though, he had to let Joy know that he hadn’t invited that kiss from the fan.
He hadn’t liked how she’d turned away and refused to look his way again.
Another pink cup was thrust under his nose, and he tipped it up before he realized it really held liquid. Some syrupy red stuff ran down his chin and onto his white shirt.
“Dammit, I don’t have time to change.”
The girls exchanged a look, their big brown eyes wide with censorship. “He says bad words too. Just like Channing.”
“Sorry, ladies. Don’t repeat that.”
“That’s what Channing says too.”
He’d burst out laughing if he wasn’t so annoyed that his
white shirt looked as if he’d had a run-in with an ax murderer. And he needed to get to the Calhoun circle in ten minutes.
He went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. The only towels in there lay in sopping heaps on the countertop. He took a length of toilet tissue and dabbed at the mess.
Maybe the patches he wore hid the stain well enough.
Who was he kidding? The cameras would zoom in on the stain and he’d have an interview about it later.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Two little girls twittered, “Shit!” from the doorway and collapsed in giggles.
A knock on the hotel door had him running to open it. Channing looked more than a little exhausted, and Ryder made note to mention to Wynonna that she needed to take over the Franklin hellions and give Channing a break. Asher had them 24/7 and no doubt he relished his rides just because Channing took over and he didn’t have to worry about his daughters.
Channing’s hands were full of junk food and a roll of antacids. The girls jumped at her to get the goodies she’d brought for them.
“I don’t think they need more sugar,” Ryder said to her on the way out.
Her gaze dipped over his shirt. “I don’t think you do either.”
He tipped his hat and practically dashed down the hall, feeling bad about leaving her in that situation. But when he got to the back hallways of the arena and took his place in the circle, a brand new sensation washed over him.
Of being watched.
And it wasn’t the cameras. Although one was trained on his chest, recording his sticky humiliation.
“Where’re your lucky chaps, Ryder?” Buck asked.
“With my other gear. I’m glad I didn’t have them on when the Franklin girls attacked with their pink ‘tea.’ Whatever it is.” He pointed at his shirt front, and Asher gave a shake of his head.
“Sorry, man. They’re a handful.”
“Yeah, Wynonna, Channing could use some help.”