His Sexy Smile

by Jessica Mills

  I signed the last of the papers and posters held out by tiny hands, mostly little girls, and smiled as I waved and walked back to Renegade. Hopping on, I took him back into the pen and dismounted once again. It was time to see to him, making sure he felt okay and was coming down from all the excitement so he could rest.

  Our routine was always the same since the circuit built the show arena the same way everywhere we went. I’d trot him into the pen, hop off, feed him some treats, and let him rest for a few minutes before I took him to get showered off, brushed, and led to the stable.

  Renegade was a little more excited than usual that night, though, and it took a little longer to calm him down. When I finally got him to stand still long enough to take off his gear, he seemed to drain, and I knew I had to get him showered and brushed quickly.

  The poor boy rode hard, and for the first time, we’d broken fourteen seconds. I was absolutely buzzing over it, but I had to make sure Renegade was given the most attention since it was as much him as it was me telling him what to do. He was the finest horse I’d ever ridden, and he deserved to know it.

  Once he was clean and brushed, I led him to the paddock where most of the other horses were already set up for the night. I was getting out a bit late, but there were a few competitors hanging around.

  It wasn’t unusual for me to get out late. I wasn’t the type that would leave without making sure the fans of mine that wanted to meet me got to. It meant I hung around a little longer and got Renegade put away a little later.

  It worked out for me though, on multiple fronts aside from just general adulation soaking. It meant Macy had enough time to wrap up her work and we could decide if we wanted to join the circus at whatever bar or party they were going to, or if we wanted to grab a bite to eat and get to the hotel early. We stuck together on the road as much as possible when we weren’t on-site, partially for safety, but mostly because she was my favorite person.

  “You want to head to The Pit Stop with me, hon?” Georgia said from her stall across from mine. She was wiping her hands with a towel and had a bundle of clean clothes tucked under her arm.

  There was a trailer set aside from the paddocks for the girls to get a shower in after competing if we wanted. It was one of the great ideas Macy had, helping us attract some of the better riders that otherwise would skip our admittedly smaller competitions. Amenities went a long way, and being able to get a shower and get changed before even leaving the grounds was a big plus. No one wanted to get in their car hot, wet, and smelling like a barn.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I’m going to wait for Macy, catch a ride with her. You know she won’t go if someone doesn’t force her to.”

  “I know that’s the truth. She’d be in her office all night planning the next stop.” She laughed.

  It was true. Macy was extremely serious about her job, which made her good at it, but she also had a tendency to sink too far in it if someone didn’t get her moving. That someone was me. If I had to rip the cell phone out of her hands just to get her to take ten minutes to sleep, I would.

  After I made sure Renegade was happy and comfortable, I headed to the shower trailer and got clean, changing into a pair of tight jeans with rhinestones down the leg and an even tighter blouse. When I was in the arena, I had to dress like a lady, but when I was on my own, I liked to dress in a way that made me feel good about myself.

  I knew I had some extra curves, but I made them look good, dammit. I also had no patience for someone who thought that women who were good at the rough and tumble world of the rodeo either needed to look like a Puritan Barbie or like leather older than saddle.

  I met Macy out in the parking lot by her car and she gave me a hug. The promoter wandered by a little later with my cash payout for the evening, and Macy and I jumped in the car, warding off the unseasonable chill. April might have arrived, and with it, spring, but someone had forgotten to tell Wyoming.

  I was still on my high from the record time when we arrived at the bar a half hour later. Technically The Pit Stop wasn’t even in Bevelbrook, and when we crossed the county line, it was just another block or so away.

  We pulled off the side of the road, parking behind a line of cars outside the packed bar. The parking lot had been full well before we got there. I was still wearing my signature red cowboy boots as we made our way to the bar, but Macy had switched to heels. They were clicking and clacking on the pavement so loud I wondered if they could hear us inside.

  We were greeted by a loud wave of sound when we opened the doors and people recognized me. After a bunch of handshakes and congratulatory pats a little farther down my back than totally necessary, we made it to the bar and took two seats so selflessly given up by what looked like local ranchers. They tipped their caps at us in the way that tended to make some women swoon, and I could nearly feel the sexual tension between Macy and the shorter one right off the bat. He was stocky and rugged looking—and one hundred percent Macy’s type.

  “Two beers please,” I said to the bartender as she made her way to us. “Something good, please.”

  “You bet,” she said and walked away. When she came back, she had two frothy dark ales that looked wildly out of place in a bar full of cowboys drinking Miller and Bud.

  “Ooh, this looks good,” Macy said, not bothering to inspect it much more before taking a big swig. For all her attempts to look fancy and girly, she couldn’t hide her upbringing, and when she set the mug down, she relaxedly wiped the foam mustache off with the back of her arm.

  “Oh, damn,” she said, looking down at it and reaching for a napkin. “Forgot I wasn’t wearing my flannel.”

  “You always do,” I said, taking a swig of my own. As soon as I set it down, a local guy came up and asked for a picture, which I graciously allowed. That was followed by what seemed to be a flood of people lining up to do the same.

  I didn’t understand it, and I didn’t think I ever would. Little kids, I got. Little kids loved performers and athletes, and I considered myself both. They were awestruck by the horses and the pageantry and the speed. I knew because I was one of those little girls when I was young.

  But adults knew better. They knew I was just some woman, running barrel races in a traveling rodeo in their tiny town. My prize money for the night could have bought them all a beer, but not a whole lot more. Yet, still they came, phones in hand to take a selfie with Leah Lightning.

  I tried to get sips in between the smattering of remaining picture seekers when I spotted a man stepping into the bar and looking around. He was tall and dark and handsome and all the clichés ticked off but in reality.

  I flushed even looking at him, like I was seeing an actor playing Prince Charming at Disneyland. He couldn’t actually look like that. Not with the strong square chin with day-old stubble, black cowboy hat that looked like it cost more than my entire outfit, and a body that I could tell was chiseled even though the only skin I could see was a few inches of muscular forearm where he had rolled up his sleeves. A shiny belt buckle, one that looked oddly familiar, completed his look.

  I was about to turn to Macy to get her to see if I was hallucinating, that maybe I fell off Renegade and got kicked in the head and dreamed the whole evening. Then he turned to me and we locked eyes. His cold, haunting blue eyes. I couldn’t have spoken if someone had moved my jaw for me, but I nodded back to him when he removed his hat and tipped it at me. Then he made his way over to the bar and got the attention of the bartender.

  He didn’t have to work very hard. She had seen him coming too.

  Suddenly, the trance was broken by Macy waving her hand in front of my face.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I asked if you wanted another beer and you went all spacy on me,” she said. “Like an alien zapped your brain out and left your body just sitting here.”

  “Well, that’s specific,” I said.

  “We saw that in that movie, remember? The woman with no brain?”

  I tried hard to figure o
ut what she was talking about and then it hit me. Several weeks before, we had taken a day to pamper ourselves in Tulsa, getting a big suite in a fancy hotel, lounging in bubble baths, drinking wine, and watching terrible, terrible horror movies. Macy had this USB stick she could plug into just about any TV and could stream anything in the world off it, but her choices were almost always either baking shows, sitcoms from the eighties before she was even born, or what looked like horror movies made on the budget of a high school play.

  “Right, the alien movie,” I said, pointing at her. “Got it.”

  “Here you go,” the bartender said, dropping off another beer at the table and setting out some napkins.

  “What?” Macy said as I gave her a look. “You didn’t respond, so I ordered it anyway. And some fries.”

  “Fries are a good call, actually,” I said. “I don’t think I ate tonight.”

  “You mean you didn’t fill up on eye candy?” she said teasingly.

  “What?”

  “I saw you eyeballing the black hat stranger down there at the end of the bar like he walked in with a sign that said ‘Leah, I’m yours,’” she said.

  “What? No. He’s just hot. I can look at a hot guy if I want.”

  “You should go talk to him,” Macy said, and my eyes widened, then closed to a slit as I stared at her. “Don’t look at me like the alien lady. You should go introduce yourself.”

  “Why in the world would I do that?” I asked.

  “To get laid?” Macy said matter-of-factly.

  “Macy!” I said.

  “Look, if you don’t go say something to him, maybe I will.” She giggled. “And you have no idea what kind of shenanigans I am going to suggest. Go talk to him.”

  Chapter 5

  Colt

  Leah Lightning always seemed to have a throng of people around her. I made eye contact with her when I walked in, and there seemed to be that initial interest there, but she was rather busy with locals looking for pictures or to chat with her.

  She was most certainly a hot commodity and part of me thought I should just have a beer, be content with making eye contact and tipping my hat, and roll on out to the ranch. Those thousand miles weren’t going to drive themselves.

  But I kept in my seat, watching her with the locals that all seemed to have seen her before. None of them acted all that shy about walking up and talking to her, indicating that not only had they seen her at the rodeo but my guess was that she had also hung out at The Pit Stop on more than one occasion too. People who looked like every day normal folk were breezily chatting with her, then taking a selfie and walking away. That was the important part. They were coming to her, chatting, then leaving so the next person could do the same.

  I recognized a few other people from the rodeo in the bar, but no one else caught my eye as someone I felt like I wanted to talk to. It was really only the beguiling blonde at the bar, sipping a dark beer and being warm and friendly, welcoming and bright with every person that came up to her.

  Once or twice, I thought she looked over at me, but I tried not to stare at her. I didn’t want her to think I was a creep. But the way she handled those people, it reminded me of someone I couldn’t quite put my finger on, and it made me want to watch her even more.

  As the crowd began to thin a little, our eyes locked again. She was instantly bombarded by another set of fans and went right back into warm and friendly mode again. That happened a couple of times, and each time we met eyes, there was a spark there that kept me in my seat and away from leaving for the truck.

  Finally, the crowd thinned enough that I figured I had to either join them and take a shot or leave. I stood to walk over. She seemed to finally not be overwhelmed by strangers, and I noticed her beer was empty. I raised my hand to get the bartender’s attention and asked for two more beers, which she poured happily and handed over.

  “You’re not headed out, are you?” she asked with a small pout.

  “Nah,” I said. “I have someone to talk to first.”

  Her face dropped a little and she leaned against the bar. “Oh, Leah.”

  I smiled and took the beers, making my way around the C-shaped bar to where she sat. I was in luck. No one was waiting to speak to her when I got there. I set the beer down right in front of her, and she looked down at it and then at me, one eyebrow curling up.

  “This for me?” she asked.

  “I took a guess based on what it looked like you were drinking,” I said. “I hope it’s right.”

  She licked her top lip in a way that made something clench in my stomach and then looked at the woman seated beside her.

  “This is my friend, Macy,” she said. “Are you going to buy her a beer too?”

  I turned to Macy, a perfectly fine-looking woman who had the misfortune of sitting next to Leah and was, therefore, being completely overshadowed by her. I tipped my cap to her and she rolled her eyes.

  “Can I get you a beer as well, miss?” I asked.

  “No, it’s fine,” she said. “I moved on to martinis. However, I do believe I need to go… over there for a minute. I have to talk to, umm, Kyle.”

  “Kyle?” Leah asked her in a tone that suggested that was a weird thing to do.

  “Yes, Leah, I have to go talk to Kyle,” Macy said back in what I was sure she thought were convincing, but unassuming to me, tones. “I will go do that while you talk to this gentleman here, who didn’t introduce himself.”

  “Colt,” I said. “Colt Montgomery. I am so sorry.”

  “Colt. You stay here and talk to Colt. I will be back in a few minutes.” She stood, martini in hand, and did a little curtsey to me. “Please keep my seat warm for me, Mr. Montgomery. I’ll be back in a little while.”

  “Will do, miss,” I said, tipping my hat again. “Do you mind?” I asked Leah.

  She shrugged and waved her hand over the empty stool. “Be my guest.”

  I sat down beside her and offered my glass out to her. She clinked them together. We each took a sip, neither one of us taking our eyes off of each other.

  “So, as I said, my name is Colt Montgomery,” I said.

  “I’m Leah Mason,” she said, holding out her hand. I took it and squeezed gently. “It’s nice to meet you, Colt Montgomery.”

  “Do you mind if I just call you Lightning?” I asked, and she blushed and looked away for a second before returning her hypnotic green eyes back to mine. “If you don’t mind me saying so, you are one hell of a rider.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I try to be. It’s all I’ve ever really wanted to be.”

  “Is that so? Do you do any other competitions? Any of the major circuits?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I haven’t quite worked up the nerve for that yet. I had a few personal goals to reach before I tried to reach a bit further.”

  “Like?” I asked.

  “Like fourteen seconds,” she said, and her mouth spread into a wide smile.

  I couldn’t help but imagine how soft those lips were and what they would feel like pressed against mine. In an effort to not put myself too far down that path, I looked away, down to my drink for a moment, and took a big sip.

  “Well, you certainly did that tonight,” I said.

  “I did,” she said. “I am rather proud of it.”

  “As you should be,” I said. “That’s world champion level speed.”

  “I know,” she said. “This might be my only rodeo, but it ain’t my first.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply—” I began, worried I upset her.

  She shook her head, the smile still staying on her face and her hand reaching over and touching my forearm. Where she touched seemed like it was suddenly on fire.

  “No, absolutely not,” she said. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it. No worries. Do you live out this way?” She seemed eager to change the subject.

  “No, I live a thousand miles from here, actually,” I said, grinning and taking another sip. “Montana.”

>   “Then why the hell are you all the way down here?” she asked, laughing. “What in the world are you doing at a rodeo in Bevelbrook of all places?”

  “Well, I did a little riding myself,” I said.

  “I figured,” she said. “That buckle you have on.”

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s what you think it is.” I grinned.

  Her face opened up into a bright surprise and color flushed her cheeks. “That’s a World Champion buckle. There’s only a handful of those given out any given year by the different circuits.”

  “I have a couple more at home,” I said cheekily. “Most of them are displayed, but a couple of them are still wrapped in plastic.”

  “Hang on,” she said, putting one finger up and pulling out her phone. She typed into it for a few moments and then looked up at me in surprise. “Oh my god, that’s amazing. But seriously, why the hell Bevelbrook?”

  “I retired from the rodeo a while back,” I said. “Went back home to the ranch my family owns and runs. It’s where I grew up. One of my brothers runs a Dude Ranch on the property and I helped him out with it for a run and decided that I wanted to do a bit of traveling before I came back again. So, I collected a bunch of schedules of different rodeos and mapped them all out and went on a few months of sightseeing and mentoring.”

  “And you picked our rodeo for that?” she said, looking thoroughly confused.

  “No, actually,” I said. “I just happened to hear about this circuit a couple of times while I was down in Texas and Oklahoma and found out you guys were going to be making a stop on my way back to the ranch by happenstance. Just saw one of the signs and pulled off.”

  “How wild,” she said. “And you are heading back to Montana for good after here?”

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so. My brothers and I, we get along well, but we get along much better when I fly in and out. I tend to overstay my welcome and have to get moving again. Besides, I like the road. I actually ended up here because I took a detour just to make the trip different. It was pure luck I happened on this circuit.”