The Bull Rider's Plan

by Jeannie Watt

  “No spit.” She held out her hand and he opened his, taking her fingers and giving them a brief shake.

  Letting go was one of the hardest things he’d done in years.

  Chapter Ten

  Emma adjusted the sunglasses on her nose and propped a knee against the dashboard as she settled lower in her seat. The highway was bumpy—too bumpy to allow her to knit—so she gave up and stared at the road. Two days and one rodeo after Wes had smacked Jess in the bar, and they’d fallen into a routine that, while not exactly comfortable, was doable, and it saved her from having to go home.

  She liked being on the road, meeting up with friends she hadn’t seen in ages at the rodeos, seeing the country. Since reality would soon rear its ugly head and she’d have to return home and start making a living, she was determined to enjoy her freedom for as long as she could—and for that reason she was grateful to Jess for coming up with the stringent rules.

  And abiding by them.

  He’d ridden once since they’d made their pact and had done better than before. Or course, after three bad rides in a row, even a semi-decent ride looked good. LeClair was well ahead of him in the standings, as was Benny Two Feathers, and Wes was rising in the ranks. Emma wasn’t vengeful, but she had enjoyed watching Wes take a hard spill into a steaming pile of bull dung after his last ride. Somehow, it seemed appropriate.

  Jess left the freeway fifty miles from Oakdale and pulled into a truck stop. While he fueled up, Em went inside to see about buying some junk food. They stopped cooking together after the showdown in the camper, neither of them feeling ready to spend that much time in the small space where they’d kissed. Twice. The camper was dangerous territory when it came to controlling impulses.

  Emma was surviving on energy bars, and concession stand and gas station food. She wasn’t certain what Jess was doing, but she hoped he was getting enough protein. Bull riders needed protein so that their bodies recovered from the beatings they took, but she wasn’t his mom or his significant other, so she didn’t ask him about it. He was well able to take care of himself.

  She passed Jess going into the convenience store as she was coming out, bag of fried chicken in hand. He passed the keys over to her, their gazes meeting briefly before he continued on his way. They did a lot of silent communicating, which was better than the verbal kind, which somehow tended to get out of hand. Silence worked. He could prep for his rides and she could pretend that she was good with the way things were—and that touching him, even in the brief seconds it took to get his keys, didn’t affect her. She was simply skittish after they’d kissed...come close to making love. If she hadn’t backed off, they would have ended up in his bunk, and she still wondered what that would have been like. What kind of lover was Jess?

  If he made love like he kissed...well, it would be an awesome experience.

  Not that she was going to find out.

  After what had happened with Darion, she wouldn’t risk losing someone else close to her. After people made love, things changed. Judging from her current situation, even when people didn’t make love, things could change.

  Em got into the truck, set her drink in the holder and put the bag of chicken next to the gearshift, then leaned her head against the window. As Jess had said, things were never going to be the same between them, and she regretted that. However, that didn’t mean they couldn’t be close to the same again. They just needed time.

  Emma sighed. What they needed was time and distance, but since they’d agreed to keep on keeping on, distance would have to wait. She’d rather ride with Jess, feeling edgy and uncertain, than go home and do battle before she was ready.

  Besides...she had a growing suspicion that if she and Jess parted ways now, before working things out, that was that. She may never spend significant time with him again. She wasn’t ready to cut him out of her life, so she had to tread carefully.

  The door opened and Emma gave Jess a pleasant, if somewhat distant, smile—the same smile she gave to patrons of the diner that she didn’t know well. And that was a sad reality but part of the pact—an unspoken part.

  “Ready to ride?”

  “The big question is, are you?” The stock contractor for that night’s rodeo was known for having some of the toughest bulls in the region.

  “Yeah,” he said simply. “I am.”

  It was good to hear him sound so confident. Doubts had to be plaguing him after his run of less than stellar rides. Emma pulled out her phone. “What’s the name of your draw?”

  “Pick Me Up.”

  She tapped the name into her phone and chose one of the many videos that popped up, watched it, then chose another.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you’d better watch your face.” The bull had a habit of rearing steeply.

  “Noted. Ty had the crap smashed out of his face just before he moved onto Skye’s ranch.”

  “I remember seeing him around town sporting an awesome black eye and stitches.” Emma shifted in her seat. They were talking again, falling into old habits. She cleared her throat, then pointedly put down her phone and pulled her sunglasses off the top of her head, placing them back onto her nose. She sensed Jess studying her out of the corner of his eye, but pretended not to notice.

  Fifty miles and they’d be there. Jess would ride, she would watch. They’d get back into the truck and do it again. She’d feel tense and bothered and do her best to knit and ignore him. She’d forbid herself to think about kissing him, about how his big, work-roughened hands would feel skimming over her bare skin. The frustration continued.

  Why didn’t she go home?

  Because she wasn’t ready, and the fact that she was here, battling her hormones, pretending not to be overwhelmingly attracted to the guy sitting two feet away from her spoke volumes as to how unready she was.

  A sigh escaped her lips and she froze, hoping that Jess hadn’t heard it. Of course, that was hoping for too much.

  “You okay?”

  “Thinking about Selma.”

  For a brief moment, she thought that had been answer enough and she could go on brooding about her life and fighting to keep from sighing aloud. But no.

  “What is the deal there, Em?” He shot her a quick look. “Why is she so hot to get you married off?”

  “We agreed that we were only going to talk about superficial stuff,” she murmured.

  “Was that what we agreed upon?”

  She couldn’t see his eyes behind his dark glasses, but she had a feeling that his expression wasn’t as politely distant as his words.

  “I thought so.”

  “Huh.” He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.

  Don’t. Just...don’t.

  Emma couldn’t help herself. She took the bait. “We agreed that we wouldn’t delve into personal matters.”

  “I thought that meant personal between you and me.”

  Red flags fluttered. “No.”

  “We’re trying to be friends, right? Wasn’t that the purpose of the rules?”

  “Your point?” Emma muttered.

  “Last I heard, friends talked and not only about superficial stuff. Or do you only want to be acquaintances? Because if so, I don’t know if I can successfully turn back the clock.”

  “Maybe you could try, because I feel better when we keep things...less personal.”

  “Right.” His mouth tightened. Em knew because she was watching him out of the corner of her eye.

  It sucked that she honestly couldn’t think of him the same as she had before. She’d lost Darion by letting things get romantic and it appeared that the same thing had happened with Jess—the one guy who understood so much about her life.

  “Do you think about Len?” She asked the question softly, knowing that she was doing exactly what she’d
just complained about—getting personal.

  “Every day.”

  She gave a silent nod. Same with her. She missed her brother, and after living the life he’d lived, taking risks, riding broncs, it seemed so wrong that he’d been taken out by a stupid car wreck.

  “It opened up a big hole in my life. Things will never be the same.”

  Amen to that. And maybe that was life—things changing. No matter how badly a person didn’t want them to.

  “Don’t smack me for asking,” Jess said, instantly putting Em on edge, “but did Len’s death have something to do with you hooking up with Darion?”

  “If you don’t want to be smacked, don’t ask personal questions.”

  “I’ll risk the smack.”

  He wasn’t going to give it up. Not easily anyway. “Of course it did.”

  She turned and looked out the side window at the passing scenery. In her defense, she did love the guy...just not in the way she’d convinced herself she did. She’d painted a happy mental picture of the two of them settling into a mellow life together—told herself that it was enough. That wild attractions burnt out. And she could still see benefits to that kind of a relationship she’d developed with Darion—but not enough to ultimately overcome the feeling that she needed more than mellow. Darion would have been a great father. A great partner—in the friend sense.

  She needed more.

  She glanced over at Jess and her heart did an odd flutter beat.

  Oh, yeah—he could definitely offer more, but she didn’t need to lose a friend in the process. Regardless of how things had changed, they would eventually drift back toward normal. Jess would find a girlfriend—not Lara—and she would be a little sad, but accept it as the way life was, and things would be good again.

  “A penny for them,” Jess said, breaking the stiff silence.

  Emma snorted. “Don’t tempt me. I’m low on funds.”

  “And not about to share.”

  “We made a pact.” Which he seemed hell-bent on breaking.

  “That we did.” They approached a small town, a handful of buildings hugging the highway, and Jess slowed the truck as they passed through. “But we can still talk.”

  Emma frowned as he slowly turned her way, the intensity of his expression, even with the dark glasses on, making her breath catch a little. “Eyes on the road,” she muttered.

  “And if I don’t?”

  She hit her palm with her fist.

  Jess smiled at her, the I-don’t-want-to-be-amused-but-I-am smile she hadn’t seen since they’d stirred up all this trouble between them. Emma did her best not to react, but failed. Her insides tumbled. She needed a distraction. The truth would do.

  “Darion helped me through rough times after Len passed.” She bit the inside of her cheek as she thought back to first the numbness, then the tear-choked days that followed the funeral and finally the process of slowly putting her life back together with one vital piece missing. Her former study partner, Darion, had been there through all of it. She, who hated to depend on anyone, thanks to Selma’s strict stand-on-your-own-two-feet—unless she was involved—upbringing, had come to depend on her friend. They’d grown closer. So close that she mistook her feelings for love—the romantic kind, not the friend kind. He’d made the same mistake and they’d come to their senses together, which had been a blessing.

  And then he disappeared from her life. Not a blessing. Instead it left yet another hole that she was fighting to fill.

  She was not going to fill it with Jess. Wasn’t going to risk it.

  They had three more weeks on the road. Then she would go home and he would continue to the last rodeos before the finals alone. Three weeks to hold strong, and to build another kind of strength—the Selma-resisting kind—before going home and taking control of her life.

  Jess reached out to lightly touch her knee, instantly getting her attention. “Yeah. I know. No touching. That was supposed to be reassuring and brotherly.”

  Maybe that had been the intent but it felt like being touched by a guy she wanted to have touch her. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice when she swallowed drily.

  “We’ll get through this, Em. I’ll get my mojo back and we’ll end the trip on a high note.”

  “You think?”

  “Going to do my best to see that it happens that way.”

  She directed her attention forward again, watching the white lines disappear in front of the truck. “Yeah. Me, too.”

  * * *

  JESS’S RIDE THAT night was better, but he couldn’t say that he had his mojo back. Not when he came in third and was beat by Wes yet again. Wes, who never came close to keeping up with him in previous years.

  Wes, whom he’d still like to stomp into the ground, more because of Emma than because of the cheap shot with the cue ball...although he could do some stomping on those grounds alone.

  His plan of testing the waters before going pro was not working out the way he’d anticipated—on many levels.

  He caught sight of Em making her way toward the truck ahead of him as the crowd left the stands and cars began pulling out of the parking lot. They were driving that night, heading across the state yet again for a rodeo that started at noon the next day. His event was last, but he wanted to get there in time to warm up. Not that he hadn’t ever stepped out of a truck and headed straight to the alley minutes before he was on deck, but that wasn’t his preferred method of operation.

  When he caught up with Emma, she gave him a commiserating smile. She knew that even though he’d made the buzzer, he wasn’t happy about it. “Next time,” she said, giving him a sisterly clap on the upper arm. Every now and again she did that, probably in her quest to convince herself that if they treated each other like friends, that’s all they would be. It wasn’t working for him, and he’d wager it wasn’t working that well for her either. She was jumpy around him in a way she’d never been before—as if she didn’t trust him. Or herself.

  She had cause.

  “Yeah.” He unbuckled the belt of his chaps, tossed them, along with his rope, vest and helmet, into the camper and locked the door. Em was already in the driver’s seat, ready to start the engine. She often drove after he rode, but tonight he would have preferred to do it rather than focus on the disturbing trend of mediocrity in his rides.

  But he put aside those wishes and instead got into the passenger seat, getting as comfortable as he could propped in the corner, his head against the window, arms crossed over his middle.

  “Stop at Whitehall?” Several hundred miles away.

  “If you have it in you.”

  She adjusted the side mirror instead of answering, then pulled out of their space and joined the line of trucks leaving the field. As soon as she was on the highway, Jess closed his eyes, thinking about plans gone wrong.

  They weren’t wrong. They just weren’t working out on schedule. He had to believe that after quitting his job and making the plunge. The irony was that in years past, he’d been a force to be reckoned with, but now, after deciding to go for the prize, he wasn’t riding as well as before.

  Age? Or nerves?

  Circumstances.

  Tyler was ten minutes younger than him and doing spectacularly in the pros. Nerves? The only thing that made him nervous was not being financially stable. Em? She made him feel edgy, but not nervous.

  Edgy, distracted, frustrated...afraid.

  What was he afraid of?

  Maybe he was afraid of screwing things up, making it a certainty that he never saw her again. More than that, he wanted her to feel relaxed around him. To know that she could count on him. That he was there for her if she needed him.

  It didn’t help that he wanted all of those of things, and he also wanted her in his bed.

  He snorted at the thought an
d then raised an eyelid to see Em shifting her attention back to the road. “Funny dream,” he murmured, closing his eye again.

  “Already?”

  “I’m a fast dreamer.” He shifted in his seat, folded his arms a little more tightly over his chest. His shoulders were sore and one of his elbows had recently been hyperextended, but all in all, he was feeling pretty good—probably because his rides hadn’t been good.

  But this was his last bad ride—make that mediocre ride. From here on out it was championship material. And if not...then maybe he had to consider hanging up his dream. Working in construction for the rest of his life.

  The thought didn’t sit well. Now that he’d committed to his plan, he intended to see it out, even if it meant facing the fact that he was too old to do what he’d put off for too long.

  * * *

  JESS FELL ASLEEP for real about twenty minutes into the drive and Emma allowed herself the luxury of the occasional glance his way. He looked so good when he slept—not that he ever looked bad—she felt the need to indulge herself and admire him when he wasn’t aware.

  The trouble was, he usually was aware. His peripheral vision rivaled hers and more than once he’d caught her midstare. Her cheeks grew warm as she thought about it. A couple of months ago, it would have meant nothing to have been caught studying Jess. If he’d called her on it, she would have been able to articulate a reason for staring. His hair seemed different. He had a spot on his shirt. Stuff like that. But now, even if that was the reason she was staring, she felt shifty getting caught.

  Because she was too darned aware of him as a man now. To make matters worse, every now and again, she caught him looking at her before she’d look away, pretend not to notice.

  He was following their pact—for the most part—but he wasn’t totally on board. If she made a move toward him, he would reciprocate. She knew it as certainly as she knew that her middle name was Rose. She was making things hard on him by staying, but he’d encouraged her to do so. Because he was a good guy? Or because...