Last of the Red-Hot Cowboys

by Tina Leonard

  Humdrum.

  He’d had more excitement in his life since Ava had come to town than he could handle. So he was at a crossroads: He could fall into the trap that Judy had so neatly laid, or he could close his doors and his heart and keep from losing his mind.

  There was no in-between.

  Ava walked into his office, closed the door behind her. Locked it.

  “Hello,” he said, his spirits picking up just looking at her. She had on a pink tank top and a white flouncy skirt, and the hot pink boots she’d gotten to match Judy’s. Or which Judy had probably given to her—hell, to all her team, if he knew Judy.

  “Steel’s taking me to Montana. Saint and Declan asked him to drive me up to the rodeo. They’ve gotten permission for me to take a barrel spot.”

  He studied her. “Why are you telling me?”

  “Thought you’d want to know.”

  He did. He wanted to know everything about her. “Where’d you go this morning?”

  “I didn’t want the girls to know I’d spent the night in your bed. I pretended like I’d slept on the sofa.”

  So she was hiding their relationship. “Why?”

  “Because you like it that way.” She shrugged. “All of Hell doesn’t have to be in my business.”

  For some reason, he hated that. He wanted the whole world to know she was his.

  Except she wasn’t—because he’d wanted it that way. “So when do you leave?”

  “Tonight.”

  He nodded, wishing he wasn’t so locked into his plans and his routine, and the past. He thought about their deployments, and how all he and Declan and Saint had wanted to do was come home, open the training center, and sit in their black cracked leather booth at Redfeathers. That had been the dream that had kept them alive, kept their spirits up. Coming back to Hell.

  It no longer seemed like enough, but he didn’t know what to do about it. He really couldn’t train her to do what she wanted to do—not while he felt the way he did about her. It would one hundred percent kill him dead to see her in a ring with enormous bulls that had been chosen to be the rankest, toughest around. He knew—he helped Rory with the bulls. This soft, petite woman belonged anywhere but in a ring with bulls, even if she did have the heart to protect cowboys.

  “Okay,” Trace said slowly. “Thanks for letting me know. Good luck in Montana. Tell my brothers they suck the big one.” He looked at the pile of papers on his desk. “Really suck.”

  They did truly suck. How dare they decide to send his girl to Montana? Why didn’t they choose one of theirs? Cameron and Harper—take your pick—either of them had more bullfighting ability than this little lady did.

  Actually, you know that’s not true. You’ve just never wanted to see it because you’re afraid something will happen to her. Just like you had to bring Prince home—would have ripped your heart out to leave him behind. It was the one good thing you could bring home. Just like everything else you could save or protect, you tried to make her your mission.

  Except she didn’t want you protecting her. And you couldn’t handle that.

  It’s pretty much speak now or forever STFU.

  He was caught on Ava’s gaze. God, he was going to miss her. Once she figured out she could bullfight, was in fact probably really talented at it, he’d never see her again. She’d travel the country, hired because she was good and a novelty for having broken through the male ranks.

  Shit. He was so lost.

  * * *

  Ava could feel the war going on inside Trace. Even if she hadn’t been able to read his expression, tension knotted his shoulders. He tried to appear relaxed, but she knew him well enough by now to know he wasn’t.

  This was not the same man who’d made love to her last night. He looked miserable.

  “You deserve this chance,” he said, leaning back in the old leather desk chair. “When you find out you’re really good at this, and whatever you put your mind to, there’ll be no stopping you.”

  That would have been sweet, except it sounded like he was surrendering, giving up. She understood, because neither of them had wanted this. What was this, anyway?

  He didn’t want her falling in love with him.

  Which was too damn bad, because she already had.

  But it was nice of him to admit the truth: that she could learn bullfighting. She’d just needed someone to show her the ropes, which he could have done, but didn’t want to.

  It was a man’s world, after all, and Trace was all about drawing lines between men and women.

  She loved him in spite of his stubbornness. He believed in her, and maybe it had just taken his friends forcing him to admit that she could do it.

  “Why didn’t you want to train me?”

  He looked hung. “Because it would kill me if you got hurt.”

  “That’s not a good reason. Women are in the military now. Anyone can get hurt, Trace. Even you.” She walked over, checked the bandage on his arm. “You’ll notice you were the only one at the fight, besides Judy, who came up with an injury. And all she got hurt was her pride.”

  He took her fingers from his arm, kissed them. “The irony hadn’t escaped me.” She smiled. “You’re sexy when you’re humble.”

  “I am never humble. Humble is for nice guys.”

  He kissed her fingertips, not in a sexual way, just sweetly and romantically. “Rationally, I know you’re all wrong for me,” Ava said.

  “Rationally, I agree like hell.”

  “You’re stubborn. Not even like a mule, someplace way past that.”

  He nodded. “One of my better qualities.”

  “And you’re a chauvinist.”

  “I can’t deny that, either. It’s served me well.”

  “Frustratingly single-minded and not inclined to give an inch.”

  “All true,” he said, “which is why I’ve never figured out why you like me.”

  She shook her head, pulled her fingers away. “I never said that.”

  “But it’s true.”

  Ava shrugged. “I also like chocolate, but I know too much of it isn’t good for me.”

  “Have you had too much of me?”

  No, absolutely not. No way. Hadn’t had enough, in fact. Wanted to put herself on a Trace diet. How could she have too much of a sexy, long and lean cowboy who made her heart race and who made her laugh, forced her to work harder than she’d ever worked in her life? Proving herself to Trace, letting him know that she could survive in Hell, had given her a newfound strength and toughness. “Probably not too much.”

  “So we’re good?”

  She nodded. “We’re good.”

  “You know, Ava, you don’t belong in Hell.” He caught her fingers again, pressed them against his mouth. “Your star is too bright for us.”

  “Okay, now you’re just back to being a rat,” Ava said. “Don’t you dare blow me off like that.”

  “It’s true,” he said quietly. “I wish it wasn’t.”

  “You mean I’m not like Dee. She stayed. But I’m too good for Hell.” Ava began to simmer at what she knew was a big, fat cop-out. “You’re lazy, Trace Carter. And afraid.”

  “Afraid?”

  “Of falling in love.”

  He looked at her. “Aren’t you?”

  She thought about that for a moment. “Yes, damn you, I am. But I have. There, I said it.” She glared at him. “I have. But I’m leaving, so you don’t have to deal with it.”

  Trace looked totally stunned by her admission of love. Which hurt—a lot. He obviously hadn’t thought about a deeper relationship with her, because that didn’t fit his plans, his life, or his precious bachelorhood.

  She turned to leave.

  He tugged her back. “Hey, don’t go off mad.”

  “I’m not mad. Except at myself.”

  “That’s no way to be. You dump this heavy stuff on a guy, then pull a Houdini. It’s enough to give a man whiplash.”

  She tugged her hand away. “Don’t pity me.”
/>
  “The last thing I’d ever do is pity you. You scare me way too much for that.”

  It was embarrassing. Humiliating. “You’re such a skunk.”

  “A lovable skunk.”

  “Apparently so.” She turned to leave again.

  “Ava, about last night—”

  She waited, her heart hovering inside her.

  “I just wasn’t looking for you. Not now. You’re like an angel that dropped out of nowhere when I was least expecting it. Sometimes I don’t believe you’re real.”

  “That’s stupid. And skunklike.” She sniffled, refused to cry. “This is real,” she said, putting her hand over his zipper, where she’d noticed he had a major bump in his Wranglers the entire time they’d been talking.

  Not, obviously, that he’d planned to do anything about it.

  “It’s real,” he agreed, “but I know how you feel about being a casual thing. And I would never, ever want you to be unhappy.”

  “Casual’s all you’ve got to offer.”

  He nodded. “That’s right, angel.”

  She moved her finger down his zipper, watched his eyes change. Unbelted his rodeo buckle, drew down the zipper with a rasp. Released him from the black boxers, keeping her eyes on him. Pulled off her pink tank top and bra, laid them on the stack of papers, heard his sharp intake of breath. Straddled him, kissing him, sitting on his shaft, refusing to take him in, teasing him with her wetness.

  “Christ, Ava, you’re—” He cupped her breasts as she kissed away his words, refusing to allow him to say anything. There was nothing to be said. He simply wouldn’t give her anything, and she wanted everything. She held his face between her palms, taking his tongue inside her mouth, then licked his lips, nibbling at them. All the while rubbing herself along his length.

  This wasn’t casual, and he knew it, the big chicken. When she felt his heat expanding, so hot it felt like he might explode, she slid him inside her, taking him deep inside. His hands tightened on her breasts, squeezing her nipples oh-so-gently until she felt herself getting close to release, too. Still, she kissed him, never letting him go as she rode him, teasing him, getting him close, then withdrawing.

  She felt like the whole world was going to crash inside her, and was relieved when he slid his roughened hands down her waist to her smooth buttocks.

  “I can’t believe you’re not wearing panties.”

  “I didn’t realize panties were necessary when saying goodbye.”

  He stared into her eyes. “They’re not.”

  He sucked each of her nipples in turn, then returned to her lips, searching them, letting her kiss him the way she wanted to—God, she wished his mouth was hers to kiss forever—and suddenly, his hands crushed her bare bottom, moving her up and down, harder and faster than she could have managed on her own. A cry escaped her, and she felt herself swept up toward a place she’d only ever found with Trace, shattering into a million pieces. He thrust up inside her with a groan. “Ava,” he said, his tone broken, the strength of his climax startling her.

  Still he held her, moving her on him, surprising her by drawing a nipple into his mouth and sucking on it, grazing it with his teeth. Pleasure rocked her again, filling her, driving her over the edge. She hung on, falling as pleasure burst inside her. But the most amazing thing was how completely safe she felt in his arms.

  Safe, and somehow like she really was the angel he thought she was.

  * * *

  Trace held Ava against him, still inside her as he reclined in the chair. They’d crossed some new line that could never be uncrossed. She’d entered his soul, and he sure as hell didn’t want to let her go. How could he? She’d stood there all soft and vulnerable, acting tough, telling him he was a rat and a skunk, but that she loved him in spite of all that.

  Then lifting that white skirt and settling herself on him, with a dewy heat that blew his mind, and making love to him in her hot pink cowgirl boots. How could he ever turn this woman away?

  He’d be crazy to do it.

  He stroked a hand down her soft back, inched inside her skirt waistband. No, he couldn’t let her go. Not easily. She’d sashayed in here bare-assed and destroyed him. He didn’t want to let her leave.

  She’d called him on that, too.

  Yet, the only way to keep her was to let her go. He knew that, and his buddies knew that, which was why they were knocking themselves out to try to help them both. Ava could go to Montana, and they’d start her off small on the circuit. Hell would be a thing of the past.

  She’d never look back. Hell would be in her rearview mirror.

  “Ava,” he said, not allowing himself to press kisses along her neck. If he had his way, he’d make love to her all afternoon. He’d bend her over his desk, then take her on top of it. There were a thousand ways he wanted to make love to her, but in the long run, that was only going to be good for one of them. And he’d already learned his lesson from that mistake. “Ava, baby, we have to go.”

  She felt so good on his chest. He pushed her to a sitting position. Winced when he felt himself getting hard inside her, deliberately moved her off of him to a standing position. He straightened her skirt—God, that had been the sexiest thing; five more minutes and he was going to kiss every inch of that sweet tight fanny—handed over her bra and shirt. “We’ve got to hit the road. You can leave your horse and trailer here. I’ll take good care of Mack, I promise.”

  She finished dressing as he zipped himself up. It was a bit of a struggle because nothing seemed to fit right in his jeans—not with Ava standing there looking all adorably sexy—but he tightened his belt with determination.

  “Are you taking me to Montana?”

  “No.” He put on his hat. “I’m taking you to meet a friend of mine. The best bullfighter trainer in the whole U.S. You’ll like Shorty. When he’s done training you, you’ll be a rock-solid bullfighter.”

  She stared at him, her eyes huge and trusting. It killed him. “Do you mean it?”

  “Absolutely. You’ll love his place in Colorado. There’s nothing quite like it. Declan, Saint, and I have all spent time there.” He took a deep breath. “I could train you, but Shorty will get you where you want to go.”

  The gratitude in her eyes tore his heart out.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you so much, Trace.”

  She wound her arms around his neck, hugging him, her breasts pushing gently against his chest. Trace closed his eyes, imprinting the moment on his memory.

  It was going to have to last him, probably forever.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Mayor Judy looked like she would throw a thunderbolt at him if she could, when Trace told her what he’d done.

  “What do you mean, you took my best Belle to Colorado?” She glared at him. “That was my parade princess you just ran off!”

  Trace shrugged. “That was the bullfighter you wanted that I took to Colorado. It’s exactly what you wanted, Judy.”

  She glanced at Steel for support. The sheriff lifted his big palms in surrender. Don’t look at me.

  Redfeathers was quiet, because everyone was staring at them. This was the first stop Trace had made upon returning from Colorado, once he saw Judy’s big-ass truck outside the pool hall and restaurant.

  “What I wanted was for you to train Ava. Not Shorty.”

  “Shorty will get you exactly what you wanted. A winner.”

  “No, what happened,” Judy said, her voice low and annoyed, “is that you chickened out, Trace Carter. You could have trained her, but you didn’t want to be around if she got hurt. You couldn’t bear seeing that.”

  “True enough,” he said, feeling pretty cheerful about what he’d done. “Not to mention that the cowboys who rely on the best, most skilled bullfighters to have their backs will appreciate the training she gets at Shorty’s. Nobody’s better.”

  “It had nothing to do with the cowboys. You didn’t want to see her get seriously hurt. What you wanted and what she wanted were two di
fferent things, so you took the easy way out.”

  He shrugged, sipped his beer. “I’ve always said I’m no hero.”

  Judy looked at him. “So you took my girl to Colorado. Now I have two girls. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

  “Bring on another rider.” He looked at her. “Didn’t you just go interview a bunch of new girls for the team?”

  Her lashes swept down, cloaking her eyes.

  “Or maybe you were doing something else,” Trace said. “Like hunting up wedding consultants.”

  Judy’s gaze could have frozen ice. “Well, if you know that, then you must be pretty proud of yourself. You avoided the trap, and sent off the only woman you’ve ever really cared about.”

  The blow was so low Trace had to take another sip of beer. Steel’s eyes met his in commiseration. Trace eyed Judy, surprised that she hadn’t bothered to deny what she’d been up to. “So was that what this was all along? Trap Trace?”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m far too busy for that.” Judy sniffed. “I’m going to open a bridal boutique.”

  “Why? There are no women here to speak of. Just you, and Dr. Ann, and Hattie, and a few others.” He looked at her, truly curious. “Doesn’t sound like one of your more profitable schemes.”

  She scoffed. “Go away. You annoy me.”

  “I want us to kiss and make up first.”

  “Not likely. You have no understanding of women at all. And you ruined my team! Sent off my princess!” She looked truly unhappy. “Trace, you really went all out to destroy my dreams.”

  She left the booth, swept out of Redfeathers. Trace looked at Steel. “I think she’s freaking upset.”

  Steel shook his head. “I told you, can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em, sure as hell don’t want to try.”

  Trace looked down at the hash Stephen put in front of him and Steel, his appetite shot—thanks to Judy—and certainly not coming back for hash. “Part of me thought she’d be happy that she was going to get a real bullfighter out of this. That she was going to be the woman who broke into one of the most serious no-females jobs around.”

  “Yeah.” Steel dug into the hash with reluctance. “Judy just had a lot of faith in you. You’ve got her off guard by crawfishing on her.”