I force my gaze from her. She looks hot in a cowboy hat. I know exactly what my next fantasy will be later tonight.
I pull out onto the road. “It’s not far.”
“Tell me the rules. You have to stay on for eight seconds, right? And if you do, you win?”
“Hardly. The bronc and rider are scored individually. The bronc’s score is based on how smooth and rhythmic his buck is. The rider is scored not only on being able to stay on for eight seconds with one hand, but on syncing his movements to the rhythm of the horse’s buck. Both cowboy and horse can score up to fifty points. For perspective, a ninety-point ride is pretty awesome.”
“And you’re disqualified if you don’t stay on the whole time?”
“If you don’t stay on, it’s a no score. A lot of things can lead to disqualification. I can’t lose a stirrup, drop the rein, or touch myself, the horse, or the rein with my free hand.”
She laughs. “Can’t touch yourself, huh? I’ll bet that’s difficult for you.”
“Oh, and I’m insatiable?”
“What if you get a bum horse and he doesn’t buck?”
“They usually give you a re-ride in that case because the strength and force of the bucking efforts are important. Judges look at how hard the bronc tries to throw off its rider. Points are given every time it changes direction, twists, or spins. A bronc that bucks sideways is harder to ride.”
“I think I got it. It sounds exciting. Do you get bruises every time?”
“Not every time.”
“Are they from falling off?”
“Sometimes.” I point to the bruise under my eye, which has faded to a faint yellow. “Did this to myself when I wasn’t expecting a hard buck, and my knee caught my cheekbone.” I touch my rib. “This was from my fall. It wasn’t graceful at all. After my ride, I loosened my grip and was ready to jump off when he turned on me, and I flew into the fence.”
“Ouch.”
“These are nothing. I’ve been kicked, stepped on, and rolled over. Over the years, I’ve had whiplash, two broken ribs, a sprained wrist, and a dislocated shoulder.”
“Oh my god. All that to feel like you’re in control? Sounds like you’re anything but.”
“I do it because I’m trying to control something that’s uncontrollable. There’s a difference.” I pull into the parking lot. It’s crowded. I drop her at the front and then find a spot.
When I walk up to the entrance, she’s talking with a man. My jaw twitches. I don’t like the way he’s staring at her. I don’t like it one goddamn bit.
She spots me. “There you are. Eric was asking if I wanted to sit with him and his buddies to watch the bull riders.”
“Shame that’s not what we’re here for.” I turn to the guy. “Just watching, huh? Don’t want to get your hands dirty?”
“Don’t want to mess up the face,” he says, standing a little taller. “I get my hands dirty doing plenty of other things.”
I don’t like the way he devours Amber with his eyes. “Well, good for you.” I motion to the entrance. “Ready, Amber?”
“Bye, Eric.”
“Maybe I’ll see you after,” he says.
“Maybe.”
“Quinn,” a familiar voice calls behind me.
My eyes close briefly in annoyance. I’m not in the mood for this. I turn. “Mother.”
She walks toward us on the arm of a gray-haired man who looks old enough to be her father.
Amber sidles up next to me. “That’s your mom?” she whispers.
“Yeah. And I’m just going to apologize now. She can be a real bitch.”
Mom eyes Amber so intrusively that it makes even me uncomfortable. “You look familiar,” she says. “Have we met?”
“Fortunately, no,” Amber says. I try not to laugh. I’m happy she’s not just going to play nice.
“I think we have. I can’t put my finger on it.” Suddenly, her expression flattens like she took a punch to the gut. “Oh my god. You’re a Mitchell.”
Amber’s confidence fades in two seconds flat. “Uh… I’m not—”
“You look just like that thing” —she rolls her eyes in disgust— “Baylor Mitchell. Are you her daughter?”
“No. Definitely not.”
“But you are related. No?”
“Mom, we don’t have time for this. We’re leaving.”
“Is that any way to speak to your mother, son?” Gray-haired Man asks.
I eye him the way Mom just eyed Amber. “Who the hell are you?”
He smirks. “I’m the man you may be calling Daddy one day.”
I shake my head. Because, what the fuck?
“This is Richard Nelson,” Mom says. “As in Nelson Oil Fields.”
“Yeah, I get it. You’re fucking a millionaire. You wouldn’t have it any other way. I hope you’ll be very happy together.”
He extends a hand to Amber. “Seems we’re all acquainted except for you. You are?”
“No one,” she says, shaking his hand anyway.
“That’s not very neighborly.”
“We’re not neighbors,” I say bluntly. “And now we’re late. Come on.” I lead Amber away.
“Your mom’s a gold digger?” she asks.
“My mom is a user.”
“Aren’t we all?”
I stop. “No. We’re not. You and me—we’re nothing like her.”
Inside the gates, I guide Amber into the stands and help her navigate on her crutches to a good spot. Several men tip their hats at her. She smiles at all of them. “Do you have to flirt with everyone?” I ask when she sits.
“I wasn’t flirting.”
“The hell you weren’t.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. It looks like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t.
“Anyway, I have to go. The event starts in twenty minutes. I’m a little late, so I’ll be one of the last entries.”
“Good luck. I don’t suppose I’m supposed to say ‘break a leg,’ as you actually might.”
“No, don’t say that. ‘Cowboy up,’ maybe, but never ‘break a leg’.”
“How about ‘ride ’em, cowboy’?”
I laugh and walk away, but when I glance back at her in the stands, things stop being funny when I see no fewer than two men turning around to talk to her.
I go to the sign-up table, pay my fee, and fill out the waiver. I try to get her out of my head. Why did I bring her here? I spend the next forty-five minutes actively not looking into the stands. I don’t want to screw this up. Plenty of girls have watched me ride, but never any I wanted to. I’ve never wanted to ride for anyone but myself. Until now.
“Number twenty-three!” someone calls.
I secure my hat down on my head, put on my glove, and go to the chute. I got a decent draw from the chip jar. He’s a big one. His name is Clingmans Dome, after the highest point in the Smoky Mountains.
We’re set and ready to go out of the chute when I stupidly glance into the stands. She’s there, surrounded by men. She’s not even watching. Get it to-fucking-gether, I shout in my head.
“Let’s go!” I yell.
I try like hell to make sure I mark out. I’ve been DQd more than once by not having my feet above the point of the bronc’s shoulders when his front feet hit the ground after bucking out of the gate. It’d be damn embarrassing if I did that with Amber watching. If she’s even watching. I don’t dare look now. My life literally depends on my head being in the game for the next eight seconds.
I don’t know what other cowboys do, but I count in my head. The closer I get to eight, the more determined I am to stay on. But on the back of a bronc, sometimes eight seconds can seem like eighty.
He’s a feisty one. I’m twisted every which way. Trying to anticipate which way he’ll turn is difficult, but I’m able to go with it. He bucks high, and my back arches so much that I think I’ll need traction later. Then the buzzer goes off.
I work my hand out and try to time my jump down. Pickup men r
ide their horses alongside the bronc, allowing me an easier dismount. They get Clingmans Dome behind the gate, and I await my score. I dare to look up at Amber, who’s standing up, balancing on one foot and clapping. She smiles at me, and I feel ten feet tall.
My score is revealed. Eighty-six. It won’t win me a buckle, but it’s in my top ten, so I’ll take it.
“Woo-hoo!” Amber screams from her spot.
I tip my hat to her, and she winks. Damn. This is new. I want her in the stands every time I do this. I want her here when I win. When I get bucked off and break something. Even when I DQ. I just want her here. I scan the myriad of men surrounding her and know I’ve gotten myself into one hell of a pickle.
I make my way to her seat and stare down the guy next to her until he moves. “Want to stay and watch the barrel racing? Andie used to do it. It’s pretty exciting.”
“We can if you want, but my foot kind of hurts. I almost forgot about it and started jumping up and down during your ride.”
Pride races through me at the thought of her doing it. What did her admirers think when she was shouting for me? “Let’s get you home so you can rest your ankle.”
I try and clear a path for her so she doesn’t trip over anyone on the way out, but the stands have become crowded. I don’t want to risk her getting further injured. “Give me those,” I say, taking her crutches, then I hoist her up and over a shoulder.
“Quinn! What are you doing?”
She protests mildly, but not so much that I put her down. Soon, she’s gripping my back. In one hand, I’m holding the crutches, and my other hand is on her ass, pinning her to me so she won’t fall.
We clear the crowd, and I put her down. She rights her hair, puts her hat back on, and settles her crutches under her pits. “That was completely unnecessary. But also hot. You went all Tarzan on me.” Her gaze travels to my torso. “Got any new bruises?”
“Not today.”
“Hmm. Shame.” She walks in the direction of the truck.
I trot up behind her. “You wanted me to get hurt?”
“When you put it like that, not really. But… kinda. I mean the black and the blue and the sweat and the hat. The adrenaline rush from watching you. If I were a dude, I’d need a cold shower.”
Fuck. Now I’m the one who needs one.
Chapter Ten
Amber
“You know there’s a solution to this,” Quinn says in the truck on the way back to Devil’s Horn Ranch.
“To what?”
“The sexual tension. I know you feel it too.”
“I know there is. I’m about to go take care of it.” I lean closer and add, “Alone.” I know I’m egging him on further, but it’s so fun.
“Jesus, Amber.”
Just to add insult to injury, I lift my shirt and let the air conditioning blow on my chest. “It’s really hot today. I didn’t know it got so hot down here.”
He tries not to look, but I see him peeking out of the corner of his eye. He blows out a long, frustrated breath.
“Out of curiosity, what was your solution?” I ask.
“We’re obviously compatible that way. The other night was…” He shakes his head as if he can’t come up with the words. “And you’re only here until your ankle heals—ten more days. Why not enjoy each other during that time?”
“Because I don’t—”
“Do repeats. I don’t either. But this is different. You’re leaving. We’ll never have reason to see each other again.”
“I still don’t. Sorry, cowboy.”
“You can’t blame a guy for trying. So what are your plans for the rest of the day?”
“I have a few calls. Other than that, nothing much. It’s kind of boring around here.”
He huffs in exasperation. “Boring? Then you ain’t doing it right, sister.”
We get out of the truck and walk toward the apartments. “Exactly how am I supposed to do it?”
“Get on a horse. Take in the scenery. Explore the property on an ATV. You saw it from the sky, the place is incredible.”
“It might prove difficult, given I’ve never been on a horse or driven an ATV.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“There’s a big difference between city girls and country girls.”
“Was that meant to be a dig? It sure sounded like one.”
“I’m just saying, it’s not all brunches and pedicures down here. We do get our hands dirty.”
“I get my hands dirty. I have a” —I feel stupid saying it, but I do anyway— “garden.”
“Oh, a garden. Well, why didn’t you say so? Forget what I said. You should probably be the one teaching me how to cowboy.”
I poke him with a crutch. “Shut up.”
“Seriously. You’re here. You’ll probably never be on a ranch again. Might as well make the best of it.”
I watch the horses being trained in the arena. Devyn is still there. She’s riding one now. She makes it look so easy. “I’m not sure I could, with my leg and all.”
“So we’ll start with the ATV and leave the horse riding until next week, when your ankle feels better.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I’ve got some work to do. Meet me in the barn in two hours, and we’ll take out some four-wheelers.”
I bite my lip and paste on a pensive look. “Two hours. That ought to be enough time for me to work out the tension.”
“Woman, you’re gonna fucking kill me.” He starts for the stables and turns. “Bring the hat. And for Christ’s sake, leave the linen slacks at home. Jeans are what you wear on a ranch.”
He walks away. I try not to stare but fail miserably. He removes his plaid rodeo shirt, revealing a tight blue T-shirt underneath. I can see the outline of his back muscles. I know what they feel like—all that hardness underneath his soft skin. Except his hands. His hands aren’t soft at all. They’re rough and calloused. Probably from all the bronc riding and whatever he does around the ranch. A shiver runs up my spine as I recall what those hands did to me the other night.
He turns to catch me staring and tips his hat. I pretend to look at Devyn and the horses, but I don’t miss his laughter. Yeah, I’m so busted.
I hobble my way to Maddox’s house, hoping to catch Andie at home. She answers the door with Vivian on her hip. “Hey, Amber. Boy, am I happy to see you. Come on in.”
There’s a baby crying inside. “Is that Casey?”
“They both decided to fuss at the same time. Can you get him for me?”
“Of course.” We go to the living room, and I pick up her nephew. “Hey, little guy. What’s the matter? You miss your mommy?”
Andie plops onto the couch looking exhausted. She places Vivian at her feet, giving her a plastic picture book. Vivian sucks on a corner of it. “What was I thinking wanting to do this?”
“Don’t you watch each other’s kids all the time?”
“I meant full time.” She touches her stomach. “We didn’t want to say anything at the wedding, but Maddox and I are expecting. Viv will have a little brother or sister in seven months.”
“Congratulations!”
“Thanks. We haven’t told anyone yet, so please keep this news to yourself.”
“Who would I tell?”
She raises a brow. “Quinn, for one.”
“Quinn and I don’t tell each other stuff.”
“Hmm. That’s not what he told us at dinner the other night. Said you guys had some heart-to-heart talks when you were waiting to be rescued.”
“That’s different. I thought I might starve to death.”
“Oh, gosh. I didn’t realize it was so bad.”
I retrieve a pacifier off the table and put it into Casey’s mouth. “I may be exaggerating a bit.”
“I saw the truck pull up. You went to the rodeo with him?”
“He’s really good.”
“Maddox and Aaron hate that he does it. Do you know how many cowboys get seriously in
jured each year from bronc riding? Broken backs, shoulder surgeries, even crushed skulls. They’re incredibly athletic but also monumentally stupid, if you ask me.”
I don’t tell her that I find it hot. A complete turn-on. That I had to hold myself back afterward because all I wanted to do was ride him there in the truck like he rode the horse.
Devyn comes through the front door. She sees me with Casey. “You’re good with him.”
“He’s a real cutie.”
“You ever think about having one yourself?” she asks.
“Having one, no. Adopting one someday isn’t out of the question.”
“Oh, right, because you’re adopted. It would be an amazing thing for you to do.”
My Apple watch dings, reminding me of a video appointment with a prospective client. I hand Casey to his mom. “Do either of you have a pair of jeans I can borrow? I wasn’t expecting to be here this long, and all I have are these slacks and yoga pants.”
“Come with me,” Andie says. “I have a ton of jeans I won’t be able to wear for a long time. You’re welcome to borrow any or all of them. Tops too. I know you’ll be here for a few weeks.”
Devyn squeals with excitement. “You’re pregnant?”
“We were going to wait until the second trimester to say anything, but I guess the cat is out of the bag now.”
“I’m so happy for you guys,” Devyn says. “Maddox must be over the moon. I know he wants a lot of kids.”
“He is. I will be too, as soon as this morning sickness is over.” She nods to the stairs. “Come on, Amber. Let’s go get you those clothes.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m on a Zoom call. I’m trying to convince a cybersecurity director from a Silicon Valley tech company to come to New York to interview for an executive VP position that will earn me a commission well into five figures. I should be more into the call, but as he’s talking, I can’t help but look out the window. Quinn is outside, up on the roof of one of the stables. Does the man do anything that’s not dangerous? His shirt is off, he’s wearing a tool belt, and someone is handing him some shingles. I raise the blinds to give me a better view, then I get lost in a fantasy.
“Ms. Black?” my prospective client says. “Amber?”
Texas Roses (The Devil's Horn Ranch Series) Page 6