He lifted his face and for a long second, he held her gaze until he darted a glance to the right and to the left. “I think we’re safe.” His warm breath brushed her cheek.
“Safe?” He could speak for himself because the rolling sensations rushing through her couldn’t be considered safe. In fact, he’d knocked her senseless.
“Again, sorry, ma’am. Some fans get a little out of control, if you know what I mean. It’s hard to argue with a woman who wants her ti—I mean, breast signed.” He pressed his hat back onto his head, hiding his thick, dark hair that made her ache to run her fingers through it.
Then she summed it up. Black Stetson. Black hair. So this was the cowboy the chicks were going crazy over? The same man who’d just made her toes curl and her heart race…
The man who’d been touching another woman’s breast moments ago.
Anger spiked in her.
“Excuse me, but I don’t know you and I’m certainly not one of your buckle bunnies to be…to be…well…manhandled in such a way.” She took a step back, her shoulder hitting the wall of the stable. She had every reason to be annoyed with the stranger, but it wasn’t rage that spiraled through her body making her panties wet. Her face flushed at the realization that she was turned on. By a stranger. One that resembled Luke Bryan. She’d almost wondered if Wade was playing a trick on her. Sure, if her manager had one single humorous bone in his body, but he didn’t.
One corner of his mouth lifted. Did he find this amusing? “You have a little something here.” He tapped his chin. She swiped at her face, but he shook his head, working his bottom lip. “No, let me help.” With a wide, callused finger, he brushed her skin, leaving a trace of heat behind. “There, the powdered sugar is gone.” He licked the tip of his finger and her legs wobbled.
Holy shit. Who was this cowboy?
“You ready? You’re about on,” a man said from somewhere—anywhere. Jessa didn’t care. He could have been the President and she wouldn’t have known any different. She couldn’t drag her gaze off tall, dark, and handsome standing in her personal space.
“I’m coming,” Cowboy called, keeping his ice-blue gaze connected with hers. “Duty calls. I hope you’ll forgive me for the lost cake. The birds are certainly happy.” He winked then turned, leaving her leaning against the wall, quivering like a newborn foal.
Looking down at her ruined funnel cake and crushed cup, she realized she’d just been used as a ruse…and it was the best kiss she’d had in too long to count. Heck, she didn’t even think to get an autograph. An image of him touching her breast sent tremors straight for every secret place on her body.
Meandering from her hiding spot, she dropped the cup and plate into the metal trash can with a disappointed sigh. Almost forgetting part of her disguise, she quickly put her sunglasses back on. Looking around, no one was the wiser.
Stepping out into the crowd, she followed the flow then took a position at the fence as the barrel racing finished up. The final scores were being announced. The local celebrity bull riders would be up next. Several names were called and a cowboy from Nirvana was among the riders, but she didn’t catch his name. She’d heard about the cowboys and the Nirvana Ranch. The men had made quite a name for themselves while making the ranch one of the most popular retreats in Wyoming, if not the country.
Feeling a nudge on her arm, she held her breath and looked up to find a cowboy nestled up next to her. Disenchantment slithered through her as she had hoped to see Blue Eyes again. This cowboy had dark eyes and a nice smile, but didn’t conjure heated sensations between her thighs. He dipped his hat and she gave him a civil smile in return, then turned her attention back to the arena.
Jessa liked being here and not being recognized, which meant she could hang out and enjoy life like she did prior to her song, Let’s Be Friends, hit number one on the country music charts. She missed doing normal things like going out for ice cream, going to the movies, or shopping. And getting kissed behind a barn. She giggled, but quickly swallowed the sound when she received a few curious glances in her direction. To stay incognito, she couldn’t draw attention to herself.
She used to go to the rodeo with her dad and brothers. She wished they could be here today with her, but Wade had booked her appearance at the last minute, and her siblings had a ranch to run. Her heart ached for her childhood home. She hadn’t visited in two years and she felt guilty about that, but she always had something pressing to do.
Pushing aside the thought, she wanted to enjoy herself here in her element that made her happy. Although she came across as girly-girl, she’d grown up working with horses, cattle, and bulls. She’d been right there beside her brothers and dad from the time she could remember, feeding livestock, brushing down horses, and learning the tools of the trade of running a cattle ranch. If she hadn’t had the talent of singing, she would have certainly followed in the steps of her father, not that she was complaining. From the time she’d worn pigtails, she loved singing at church and social gatherings, never knowing that one day she’d be on stage.
The rest was history.
While the barrels were being rolled through an open gate, bulls were being loaded into the holding pen. Jessa scanned the row of bulls and tightened her hold on the top rail of the fence. Some were already snorting and pawing the dirt. Anticipation shimmied down her spine at what was to come. They were massive, muscular, unpredictable creatures, and she respected anyone brave enough to climb onto the back of a beast. Not everyone was courageous enough to take the eight-second ride.
The crowd grew thicker around her, blocking her in and pressing her against the fence. Good thing her claustrophobia wasn’t as bad outdoors or she’d be having a panic attack about now. She squirmed and the cowboy to her left flashed a smooth smile as if he didn’t mind one bit that she was cuddled close. Yeah, he was handsome, but she wasn’t looking and he didn’t have ice-blue eyes. She was too busy in her career, keeping her head above water.
Turning her gaze back to the pen, she noticed more cowboys were gathering at the holding pens, preparing to ride. Her gaze automatically stopped at one who was leaning on his elbow against the fence. It was him! The blue-eyed cowboy!
She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until her lungs stung. Inhaling sharply, she stared intently at the stranger who’d gotten more response from her than her ex-boyfriend had when he was naked. Sweat beaded between her breasts and a familiar feeling settled between her legs as she stared.
Blue-eyes wasn’t shooting the shit like the other cowboys. He seemed focused and intense. There was something about the tall man that set him apart from the rest, beside the fact that she knew what his lips tasted like. Maybe it was because he was at least three inches taller than most of them. Or was it his long, lanky physique? Or the determination she saw in his prominent jaw?
His black Stetson was pulled low shadowing his face so she couldn’t make out his facial features, but she didn’t need to see to know they were as attention-getting as the rest of him. Clad in ass-hugging denim and leather chaps, blue plaid button down, with his rope hung over his broad shoulder, he was the perfect vision of a cowboy. Her mouth watered. She remembered how good his lips felt and the scent of leather lingered on her skin from his touch.
Someone waved him over to climb atop his bull.
He pushed off the fence and scrubbed his jaw, readjusting his hat. No sign of uneasiness or worry was in his expression. His shoulders were back and his chin was slightly tilted. She watched him swagger toward the pen as the first bull darted out of the chute. It ended before Jessa even knew what happened because her gaze was locked on Blue-eyes who climbed the holding chute. He moved confidently, showing off his skills. He lightly patted the bull’s back as if to test for reaction. The bull snorted loudly, shook his head back and forth, and pawed at the dirt. The cowboy’s jaw tightened. Was he questioning why he’d decided to do this? Would he change his mind? No, she could tell he was a man who never backed down from a challenge.
The cowboy standing next to her spat a large wad of chew into the dirt and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “He’s been out of the scene too long. Pretty boy won’t make the cut, I tell you. That bull’s gonna send him for a dirt bath and a trip to hell. Just like the last.”
She wasn’t sure who the man was talking to, but she leaned closer. “Who is that exactly?”
The man gave her a side-glance. “That’s Jace Jackson. Back in his twenties he was the best damn rider I’d seen until he was dumped and suffered an injury to his leg and back. Then he disappeared. They talked him into coming back for charity. Pfft. Ain’t worth it, I say. Looks like he drew the rankest bull. No way in hell he has a chance staying saddled.”
Jace Jackson. Jace Jackson? She rolled the name around in her head. How did she know him? Ignoring the vulgar exchange between the men surrounding her, she concentrated on the one cowboy who had her undivided attention. She suddenly felt sympathetic for him, didn’t want to see him wounded. The mad bull seemed angry, and had gotten a reputation for rearranging a good amount of cowboy faces. It’d be a shame if anything happened to any part of Blue-eyes.
*****
Straddling the bull, Suicide, Jace stayed focused on his routine, not allowing the act of the bull banging his head against the rail to detour his thoughts.
Although he hadn’t been on the back of a bull in years, it was like riding a bike. It was second nature to him. He held the bull’s rope tightly, easing himself deeper into position and leaning over its massive shoulders to gain more control. The beast snorted loudly and pawed the dirt, sending up a dust cloud. A shiver of anticipation raced through Jace as he prepared to hold on for dear life or be dumped onto his ass. A thought of his last ride shot through his head. He’d been at the top of his career when he’d been knocked to the ground, his bones broken by a bull much like Suicide. Jace blew the memory away, gritting his teeth. Either way, the charity would still get its money, yet he wasn’t sure how he’d allowed Chase to convince him into this shit.
Jace wasn’t sure he was ready to face the fire of the hooves after ten years of retirement.
Really, he knew why he’d agreed. This was his second chance—his last chance—to prove that he could stay on for eight seconds. He wanted to walk away proudly, not on a stretcher incapable of moving, something he didn’t get years ago.
“Got that, Suicide? I’m walking away after I take my win,” he whispered.
The bull snorted.
Nothing could prepare a rider entirely for climbing on the back of a three-quarter ton beast that was about as predictable as a rattlesnake. Bull-riding compared to nothing else. It ranked up there with the highest of high—the ultimate height of senses. His nerves were on edge and his spine tingled. His toes curled in his worn boots. His ass clenched. It was good to feel…really feel, again.
Before he left the rodeo, he was like any other bull rider, searching for a bigger and better eight-second adrenaline rush. Just being here, legs straddling Suicide’s back, made Jace sweat. A rider couldn’t have an ego in this position, and yet he couldn’t allow his fear to give the bull bigger balls.
He closed off his senses to every sound around him as he concentrated on his even breathing and the feel of the bull’s heavy breaths on the back of his thighs. Jace could hear his own heartbeat thumping, the sound of his blood pumping through his veins. The smell of dirt, sweat, and manure swirled around his nostrils making his stomach twist, threatening to send up the lunch he’d eaten.
Looking up into the bright blue sky, he said a silent prayer, then raised his right arm. The click of the gate unlocking triggered every muscle to tighten. He gave his nod to the chute man.
Suicide shot out of the chute like a reckless hurricane, bucking madly and coming down hard onto his front hooves and arching. Jace leaned into the bull’s wide shoulders as he held on for the wild, unpredictable ride. Suicide took off for center of the pen, pounding the dirt, kicking up a tornado. Each thrashing and recoiling of the bull’s large body whipped Jace around, testing his strength and endurance. The animal jerked to the left, then quickly to the right, and Jace followed each frenzied lurching motion and spin, and rough dive forward. The fear of hitting the dirt and being gored was the inspiration that kept him steady on Suicide’s back. He squeezed his thighs and relaxed his shoulders some, making his flinging body more flexible against the demanding attempts of the bull to send him flying.
Not this time.
The bull snorted as he continued his battering acrobats. He was a trained animal coming up with every bold effort to buck his rider off. Concentrating on Suicide’s head helped Jace get an idea what the bull would do next and which direction he’d take. He sunk his fist deep into the beefy, tight shoulders as they continued the rodeo dance, human and bull both stubborn and refusing to give up and give in. Suicide stomped and bucked his back legs up high, thrashing the air, coming down hard, only to take a fast lunge forward sending Jace slipping sideways, but he caught himself.
Good try, but still not happening.
The buzzer finally sounded just as the bull bounced again, refusing to give the cowboy the win. Suicide lowered his horns and rolled his head before jerking up to the right sending Jace to the left. He felt his grip loosen as his body bounced up and came down hard. The bull proved why he was named Suicide.
As man and bull whirled around the pen, there were blurred glimpses of a bullfighter struggling to gain the attention of Suicide who, when finally noticed they weren’t alone, stopped, snorted loudly, pawed the ground, and started for the bullfighter who raced for the fence. The bull whizzed on by with Jace still holding on tightly. The jumping, beating, and charging continued, the bull keeping him hostage.
Several more bullfighters joined the first, waving their arms and dodging the pissed off bull. Jace understood the longer he was on the bull’s back, the more chance he wouldn’t get off without injury. His bones were jarred and his ribs ached, but he knew it could get worse. He was lucky to be alive.
Repositioning his fist on the rope, Jace waited for the first opportunity to abandon his perch. Suicide was growing tired too and his thrashing slowed some, or maybe he was luring Jace to make an impulsive decision.
They rounded the arena. Cheers from the crowd made it through Jace’s tunnel hearing.
Loosening his hold, he took a long draw of breath and went for broke, slamming hard on his side into the dirt. He could hear one of the bullfighter’s yelling, “Watch out! He’s coming!” as Jace scrambled to his feet. Suicide’s heavy snorts and pounding hooves vibrated the ground like a pack of wild horses. The fence was close. Ten feet. Five feet. Then two feet until Jace grabbed hold of the rail, swinging himself up, barely missing the sharp horns of Suicide as he sprinted by.
A bullfighter grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him to safety. “Shit, Jackson. That was close.”
Blinding, burning pain clutched his ribcage. Ah, shit! He’d broken a rib.
CHAPTER TWO
The medic left the room at the fairgrounds medical facility after tightly wrapping Jace’s midriff and knee in bandages with a recommendation that he get an x-ray at the hospital. He’d been promised pain meds, but before the medic could get them another rider came in with a head injury. The ice wasn’t working. He tossed the bag to the side.
Shifting on the hard cot, Jace winced in pain.
“I didn’t say go and almost get yourself killed, buddy.” Chase stepped up and grinned.
Squinting as another ragged pain shot through his ribcage, he shook his head. “I made the buzzer, and bruised ribs ain’t so bad. Thankfully they’re not bro
ken.”
“How do you know?”
“Been here, done this a hundred times.” His head hurt like a bitch and his side ached and burned, but he was as proud as a cat that caught a juicy rat. He’d stayed on the sum’bitch for eight freaking long seconds. He might not be as young as he once was, or as agile, but he’d proven that he still had it—at least most of it. He felt like he’d been gifted a brand-new ego. “I have all my limbs and my teeth. That’s what matters.”
“I’m sure the chicks would still like you if you didn’t. Ladies like scars.”
“I have enough of those from my rodeo days. I don’t need any more conversation starters.” He tried sitting up, but felt like a wide fist rammed into his ribs. Even with the wrap around his body it still hurt. “Can I get the hell out of here?”
Chase shrugged. “You’re supposed to get pain meds. You’ll need them because I don’t plan to deal with your bitching all the way back to the ranch.”
“I think I’m shit out of luck on getting anything.”
“I’ll go check. In the meantime, don’t move.”
Jace settled back onto the cot, thankful when Chase finally came back and handed over a small, clear cup containing two white tabs. “What are these?” He rolled them around the cup.
“It’ll help you, at least that’s what the medic said.”
He knocked them back and tossed the cup into the trash can. “Can we get out of here now?”
“I was told that you needed to stay put. They have someone coming in and going over some information with you. Just precautionary things.”
“Ah, hell.” He settled deeper into the cot and stared at the wall.
“I have to call Kaycee and the only place I have service is outside. Will you be okay?”
“Just peachy,” he muttered.
Once he was alone and resting, he noticed that the metal beams in the ceiling began to swirl. The pain in his side still smarted though. He wondered how long it’d take for the meds to work completely. He could handle a lot of discomfort, but every time he moved an inch he felt like he was being gutted. Damn Suicide.
Cowboys Forgive (Cowboys of Nirvana Book 8) Page 2