Every time she was with him he went out of his way to touch her hand or stroke her hair or catch her up for a hug. It was as though the two of them were starting over fresh, without guilt or shame or even any expectations today. By tacit agreement, neither spoke of the past. Or the future. What they had now was the moment.
When he'd asked her to go with him to the rodeo, she'd been afraid it would stir up bad memories. It had been precisely because she'd been afraid that she'd accepted. For too many years she'd let fear rule her life. Fear of disappointing her parents again. Fear that she wouldn't measure up to Wiley's image of the perfect wife. Being afraid had made her prissy and boring and … just plain dull.
Her lips curved as he nudged his hard thigh closer to hers. "View's different from up here," he said.
She shifted her gaze from the ring where the last of the barrel racers had just finished. "Better different or worse different?"
"Close up, a whole lot better." His grin flashed. "Smells nicer, too." He leaned closer to inhale her scent. "Makes a man want to beg." He nuzzled her ear until she shivered, then drew back, looking a little cocky. "Can't look up the ladies' skirts from here, though."
She gave him a punch on his biceps. It was like hitting rock, and her knuckles sang. "Watch it, buster. I'm the jealous sort, you know."
His eyes crinkled. "Seems to me I remember your head turnin' a time or two when a good lookin' cowboy walked by."
"What can I say? I can't resist a tight pair of buns in a tight pair of jeans." She leaned closer, rubbing her arm against his. "Do you know what I want to do then?"
The look he gave her was pure heat. "Careful, darlin', this is a public place."
"I want to take a great big bite out of one of those buns."
He made a strangled noise in his throat. "Tonight, in that sissy bed of yours, you can bite me all you want, sweetheart. Wouldn't mind a lick or two, either, were you to be so inclined again."
Now it was her turn to choke. The last time he'd stayed over, she'd given in to the fantasy she'd had at the Mallory and explored him with her hands and her tongue. His reaction then had been both vascular and personal.
Heat suffused her as the public address system crackled to life again. "All right, folks," the announcer boomed, "this next event is a battle of horse and rider to see who's boss. For those of you new to rodeo, we have us two judges up here in the booth, and they're going to be rating both the animal and the contestant on a scale of one to twenty-five. Perfect score is one hundred, which, folks, is not real easy to come by." He went on to explain that points were given for the cowboy's use of the blunted rowels of his spurs and the amount of fight he can generate in his mount.
"So the harder the horse fights to buck you off, the better it is," she guessed aloud.
Luke nodded. "That's about the way of it, yeah. Since he's bigger and stronger and a whole lot faster, the trick is figuring which way he's goin' to twist a split second before he does it."
"Have you ever gotten a perfect score?" she asked as he took another bite of his hot dog.
"Twice," he admitted after swallowing. "First time was Christmas and a half-dozen birthdays rolled into one. Second time was just Christmas."
She reached up to wipe a speck of mustard from his lower lip, and he nipped her finger with his strong white teeth before sucking on the pad. "Behave yourself," she ordered as his eyes turned dark.
"Now that's not gonna be easy, darlin', considering the way you and baby fill out that shirt." The naked desire in his eyes sent little shivers running over her skin. Every time they were together she fell more in love. For his part, he never mentioned the word, but several times, when she'd turned quickly enough to catch him off guard, he'd been looking at her in a way that made her think he wanted more than a temporary affair.
"Number forty-two's gonna start this out for us today, folks,"
Though leaner than Luke had been at eighteen, the man climbing the rails of the chute had the same swaggering moves and cocky grin as he slung his legs over the top rail, then glanced up at the announcer's booth.
"Cody Gresham comes to us from Stockton, California, the third Gresham brother to compete in this event. This is his first year on the circuit, by the way, so give him an encouraging hand, won't you?"
The crowd responded, whooping and whistling when the young man waved his hat and grinned.
"Kid's not gonna make it much past a second or two," Luke predicted.
Eyes shaded by the straw hat with the pink ostrich plume he'd bought her on the way in, Madelyn studied the lanky young man with the number forty-two pinned to his shirt while the handlers struggled to calm a reddish-brown horse with a black mane and tail.
"He looks pretty confident to me," she reflected aloud.
"See the way he's jokin' with the guys hanging around the chute?" Luke said.
She nodded. "Whatever he's saying it must be funny."
"Point is, he should be pullin' inside, instead of playin' to the crowd."
She turned to look at him. Beneath the brim of his hat, his face was surprisingly relaxed, even boyish. "Is that what you did—pull inside?"
"After I got tired of spitting out arena dirt and nursing bruises, yeah."
She remembered that moment vividly, she realized now. Right up until the minute he'd slipped his arm from around her shoulders in order to ready himself for his ride, he'd been incredibly loving, his grin a lazy slash against his deep tan and his eyes filled with devilment. The instant he strapped on his chaps, however, he'd been as cool as ice, his jaw hard and his eyes narrowed.
There'd been a wildness in his eyes then that had fascinated her even more than it frightened her. It was the same wildness she'd seen in the eye of the horse in that frozen instant when Luke had lowered himself into the rigging. Both would resist taming. Both would fight to the death before surrendering. And yet, only one would win. It was that same fierce drive to win she suspected he brought to the practice of medicine.
The chute opened then, and the horse shot out as though jet-propelled, all four legs a good two feet off the ground. Screaming in fury, he twisted and spun, desperate to rid himself of the unfamiliar weight.
Arm reaching for sky, head down, the rider struggled to hang on. The crowd roared encouragement as he raked the bronc with his spurs. On the edge of her seat, Madelyn clutched Luke's arm and used her own body language to help the young rider.
"Kid just lost his seat," Luke predicted an instant before the cowboy went sailing over the bay's head. A collective groan went up as the contestant hit the dirt hard, then rolled, trying to escape the flashing hooves. He almost made it and then, at the last minute, one hoof clipped his shoulder. He collapsed in a heap like a rag doll.
Digging her nails into Luke's forearm, Madelyn bit her lip as a silence spread out in a ragged wave. Paramedics raced toward the downed cowboy. It was only when Luke's hand covered hers that she realized she was biting her lip.
"My guess would be a broken clavicle. Coupla weeks and he'll be ridin' again—and most likely makin' the same mistake."
She exhaled slowly as the cowboy waved the white-clad medics away before struggling to his feet on his own. Holding his arm tight against his belly, he limped toward the side of the ring.
"Macho idiot," she muttered as a cheer went up.
"Man doesn't have a choice if he doesn't want to be tagged a wimp for the rest of his career."
"Oh, for heaven's sake," she began, only to have Luke duck under the brim of her hat to give her an imperious kiss. She lost her ability to breathe, then couldn't seem to breathe enough. She loved the way he was always touching her or kissing her.
"You have a soft heart, sweetheart," he said with a grin as the announcer assured the crowd that Gresham was suffering nothing more serious than a "busted collarbone."
She burst out laughing at the smug look he slanted her. "Is that what you did—sit up and swagger off when you were hurt so badly that last time?"
His jaw went h
ard and a shadow crossed his face before his grin flashed, the one that said it was no big deal. "Nah, I just lay there and bawled."
She didn't believe that for a minute. She also knew he'd never admit how terrified he must have been at the thought of never walking again. She shivered a little.
"You okay?" he asked, his hand on hers.
She smiled. "I'm very okay," she said. "In fact, I'm having a wonderful time."
"Folks," the announcer said, "this pretty bay mare up next comes all the way from Mehan Brothers Ranch in Durango, Colorado. Goes by the name of Misty, which is a right pretty name, but T have it on good authority from Buck Mehan himself she's just about the meanest little lady he's ever seen—and you folks who are personally acquainted with Buck know he's a real expert on females of all persuasions."
Laughter rippled. Luke tugged his hat a little lower, hiding a grin, she realized.
"Ridin' Misty today is last year's grand champion, Derek Rainwater."
A cheer went up, followed by a buzz of anticipation. Madelyn gave Luke a curious look. "Is he talking about your friend Buck?"
Luke nodded. "About a year after I left the circuit, he lost a leg when his mount fell on him."
"Is he the one who got you the tickets?"
"Yep. Had to promise to have a drink with him later to get 'em, though—unless you have a problem with that."
She considered, then shook her head. "I liked Buck—even if he did try to seduce me on the dance floor."
* * *
Buck met them at the main gate about a half hour after the last event ended, ambling toward them with a slightly unsteady gait that aroused Madelyn's protective instincts. His weathered face creased into wide grin as he approached, his gaze taking in the possessive arm Luke had slung over her shoulders.
"Now that's a right satisfyin' sight, you two together again." His voice reflected thirty years of a pack-a-day habit, but his brown eyes twinkled with genuine delight as he held out his hand.
Luke slid his arm from her shoulders and stepped forward, putting his body between her and his old friend. Instead of shaking Buck's hand, however, he dropped the man with a quick left jab to the jaw. It happened so fast she didn't even have time to gasp. One minute the grizzled cowhand was standing with his feet planted wide, the next he was sprawled on his backside, a dazed look on his face.
"That's for puttin' the make on my lady, you horny SOB," Luke drawled as Buck tested his jaw for cracks.
"Heckfire, son, that was more'n twenty years ago and I was half-drunk."
"Maybe, but I'll drop you again if you so much as twitch in her direction," Luke warned as he extended a hand to help the older man to his feet.
Buck staggered a little before finding his balance. Luke's expression didn't change, but Madelyn saw him shift to the balls of his feet, just in case Buck started to topple.
"No offense, ma'am," Buck said, sweeping off the straw hat that had stayed glued to his head, even as it had snapped back hard.
"None taken." She smiled ruefully. "I never would have mentioned it if I'd known he'd take it personally."
Buck's grin was slow coming and a little off kilter. "Tell you the truth, ma'am, it was worth a sore jaw to see hoss here all fired up again. Last time him and me were together, he was flat on his back and half-dead from all the cutting they'd done on him to put that stiff backbone together again."
Seeing Luke's expression darken, Madelyn offered Buck a bright smile. "Thanks so much for the tickets, Buck."
"Why, you're more than welcome, ma'am." Mischief kindled in his eyes as he flicked a glance Luke's way. "Soon as boss here mentioned you two were spending time together, it just seemed fittin' somehow, bein's how you met and all."
At her side again Luke slipped a protective arm around her waist. "You got some idea where you want to have that drink I owe you?"
* * *
Smitty's could have been located on any corner in any small town in Texas. The air smelled of stale cigarette smoke, spilled beer and enough sexual heat to kindle a decent-size brushfire. The young flame-haired waitress had a wiggle in her walk and a tiny pearl stud in one nostril. She also knew exactly how far to bend over to ensure a good tip.
"Two more of them long necks for me and boss here, and another club soda for little Mama here," Buck ordered before stuffing a five into the rolled-up hem of her skin-tight cutoffs.
"Coming right up, handsome," she purred before flicking Luke a look that offered more than a cold one. Gut tight, he refused with a look of his own that had her tossing her head before she sauntered off.
Buck watched her weave her way through the tables toward the bar, a wistful look on his face.
"Time was, I'd be all over that sweet gal by now," he said, then drew himself up short. "Beg pardon, ma'am."
Madelyn's smile forgave him. "How come you're not married, Buck?"
"Nearly was once, but I got cold feet at the last minute and took off on her. Found out later she married a schoolteacher and raised up four young'uns." He rubbed his jaw, a telling look on his face. "Never had the heart to try again."
"It's never too late," Madelyn said.
The band started up again, and couples leaped up to crowd the small dance floor. Buck hitched his chair closer to the table. "When's your baby due?"
Her eyes softened. Luke loved the way her eyes tipped up at the corners when she was happy. If he had his way, those eyes would always smile. "In four weeks and three days—if he's on time."
"So it's a little cowboy not a cowgirl?"
"Yes." Her smile widened.
As Buck talked about his two nieces and nephews back home in Durango, Luke twirled the bottom of the empty bottle on the shiny table, fighting the jolt of apprehension he invariably felt whenever she mentioned the baby. Even though Karen had given her a glowing report just yesterday, he couldn't seem to shake the niggling fear that something wasn't right.
Conscience was part of it, the guilty kind that had him jerking awake in a sweat, wondering if he'd wanted her so much his judgment was skewed. Once he'd been so scared he'd actually driven to his office to stare for a good hour at the latest ultrasound photo Karen had sent over, along with a copy of her examination notes.
"Ain't that right, hoss?"
Luke blinked, then looked up to find both Buck and Madelyn staring at him. "Uh, you want to run that by me again?"
Buck's eyes had a teasing glint, and Luke's gut tightened. "I was just telling Miss Maddy about the time in Albuquerque when Cody Gresham got choked on a piece of gristle and you opened up his gullet with a pen knife so's he could breathe." Buck rubbed two fingers over the bruise riding his jaw, his eyes dark with memory. "How old was Cody then? Ten?"
"Nine." Luke started to tip back the bottle, then remembered it was empty and put it down again. "I was a first-year medical student and still hated the sight of blood," he added for Madelyn's benefit. Just so she'd know he wasn't the hero Buck was trying to make him out to be. "Keeled over in a dead faint when the EMTs finally got there."
"That's a fact," Buck confirmed as he leaned back in his chair and hooked his thumbs in his pockets. "But first he turned a real pretty shade of green."
Maddy giggled, and Luke's heart did a slow roll. She was wearing her hair down, and he was sure he could smell the roses-and-rainwater scent that invariably clung to the thick silk. "My hero," she said, her eyes shining.
Luke smiled back because she expected it, but he knew better. The waitress arrived then, and at the same time his beeper went off. "Do you have a pay phone?" he asked as she shot him a startled look.
"By the rest rooms. To the left of the bar and toward the rear."
He nodded his thanks before scraping back his chair. "Remember what I said, Mehan," he warned before bending to brand Maddy with a kiss that sizzled clear to the toes of his boots.
When he drew away, she blinked up at him, her face the prettiest shade of pink and her eyes glazed. "Save my place," he told her before diving into the crowd.
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Madelyn watched him disappear into the crowd, her heart fluttering. She felt young and eager—and special. "Honey, you sure are one lucky gal," the waitress said. The exaggerated sigh she gave was just enough to have Buck's gaze glued to her breasts.
Madelyn fought a grin as the grizzled old cowboy fumbled in his pocket for another five. Content, the waitress collected the empties and left. "Whooee, that lady sure can … walk."
Madelyn burst out laughing. Buck grinned before taking a long swallow. When he set down the bottle again, his expression had sobered. "I was sure sorry about what happened with your first little one," he said, his voice gruff. "Must have been pretty rough on you."
"Yes, it was." She took a sip of her own drink, her gaze on the dancers.
"Guess you know Luke grieved hard for a long time. Worried his friends he might actually do something stupid, he was that tied up with hating himself."
She frowned, her attention on Buck's seamed face now. "He didn't … do anything, did he?"
"No, but he came close one night in Laredo. It was closing night of the Stampede and we'd been tossing back a few in a biker bar Luke knew about. Neither of us was tracking real good, which is why I figure we didn't notice the four locals following us out. Normally we would have given as good as we got, but they was on us before we had a chance. Took damn near everything but our clothes. Me, I was just glad to have all my parts in place, but Luke, he wasn't about to let 'em have his wallet. Fought like a wildcat, he did, but he was outnumbered."
Buck paused to cast a nervous glance over his shoulder before continuing. "Both his eyes was all but swole shut and he had a busted hand. Me, I was content to lay there and moan, but he was set on going back inside after those ba—dudes. Maybe I'm not real bright, but I figured he'd end up dead, so I stopped him."
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