CLINT'S WILD RIDE

by Linda Winstead Jones

  A man didn't look at a woman like this unless he meant business. Mary said nothing. She didn't move, she barely breathed.

  He leaned down and kissed her, laying his soft lips over hers. She could've backed away from the gentle caress, but she didn't. For a moment Mary held her breath, shocked at the sensations that rippled through her body, surprised by the power in something so simple as a kiss. It had been such a long time…

  Clint was a wonderful kisser, of course. His lips were firm, but not hard. Soft, but not too soft. He moved those lips just enough; not holding anything back, but not pushing too hard. It was a perfect kiss.

  Then again, maybe it was the wine that made her body grow warm and her mind spin. Mary searched for an explanation for her response to the kiss. Maybe it was the wine that made the ache in her body shift.

  Clint didn't push and shove, he didn't lean over her possessively and lay wandering hands on her body. There was no grabbing, no testing of her boundaries. Their lips touched; nothing more. His mouth moved, and after a moment so did hers. It seemed like forever since she'd had a proper kiss. She hadn't realized how hungry she'd been for this touch. The kiss grabbed her down deep, took hold, made her desire more in an unexpected way.

  Yes, she was waking up. Feeling. Wanting. A part of her wanted to draw away and reach for the numbness that had protected her for the past two years. But something stronger craved more. More warmth. More thrilling contact. Her lips searched and tasted, and she gratefully closed her eyes and allowed herself to simply feel.

  Mary felt as if she'd been starving, and this kiss fed her. She was the one to reach out and touch the man who kissed her, to grasp the front of his shirt in one fist so she'd have something solid to hold on to. Solid and real, that was Clint.

  When he took his mouth from hers it was with obvious reluctance. Maybe the kiss had grabbed him, too.

  "I can't believe I'm kissing a clown," she said, her voice a surprisingly husky whisper.

  "Neither can I," Clint said, his voice as raspy as hers. He came back toward her but stopped when his lips were almost on hers. He hesitated.

  "My flaw," he whispered. His hand came to her face, his thumb traced her jaw. "I always fall for the wrong woman."

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  « ^ »

  Clint threw himself into the menial task that sometimes relaxed him: cleaning the barn. Most people hated cleaning out a barn. He not only didn't mind, there was something soothing about the chore.

  He had Wes showing Mary how to apply the greasepaint she'd have to wear. When he'd left the house they'd been situated in the dining room, tools and face paint spread across the long table while they laughed at Mary's initial attempts.

  It had been two days since he'd made the mistake of kissing her, and even though he knew nothing could come of this churning in his gut, he couldn't get what he wanted off his mind.

  He hadn't been teasing when he'd told Mary he always fell for the wrong woman.

  In his younger days he'd made his share of mistakes, being drawn to the flash and finding out too late there wasn't much else but flash. He'd been too quick to fall for a pretty face, as young men were. He'd only had to fall once to learn his lesson.

  Tonya had been the last. She'd been the perfect girlfriend for a while. As beautiful as they come, apparently devoted, supportive and loving and attentive. She wanted everything he did. Or at least she said she did.

  He'd asked her to marry him that night before his last bull ride, and she'd said yes with a squeal and a kiss and a promise of something more to come after the rodeo was over. But they'd never had that night. He'd been thrown and the bull had turned on him. One of the bullfighters and Clint had ended up in the hospital.

  Clint couldn't remember exactly what had happened after the chute had opened and the bull had bucked. Those few seconds were lost to him, and they always would be. He imagined it was just as well. Besides, enough people had described the accident to him. The way he'd been thrown, the way the bull had turned, the unexpected and potentially lethal attack of an angry animal.

  The injury had been so serious he'd ended up lying in that hospital bed thinking about retirement. Why not? He had Tonya, enough money to start the horse farm he wanted and he was alive. He was determined never to sit on a bull's back again. At the time, he'd had more than his fill of the rodeo.

  When he'd told Tonya he was going to give the rodeo up and settle down, she'd tried to talk him out of it. At first anyway. When he'd finally made her understand that he was done with the rodeo, finished, ready to move on to another part of his life, she'd returned his ring and left him lying there physically unable to chase after her. With a few direct words she'd made it clear she didn't want a horse farmer as a husband. She wanted a bull rider, a rodeo star.

  All his plans, and the woman of his dreams had turned out to be nothing more than a buckle bunny.

  In her own way Mary was as wrong for him as Tonya had been. She was here because her job demanded it, and if she had her choice she would stay far away from the kind of life he wanted. She tolerated him, she even kissed as if she wanted him. But she wasn't the kind of woman who would stay.

  The last thing he needed was to fall for a woman who wouldn't stay.

  If he went to his family for advice—which he wouldn't—he knew what they'd say. Shea would advise him to marry the woman who had gotten under his skin, ASAP. Boone would tell him to sleep with Mary and get her out of his system. Until he'd met his wife, Boone was of the mind that all women were basically alike, and any one would do on a given night.

  Dean's advice would be more complicated, and might even make sense. There would probably be a list of pros and cons presented, as well as a few scary scenarios. In the end, big brother would insist that since Clint knew he and Mary were wrong for each other, he needed to keep his distance. Dean was big on responsibility and thinking things through and planning ahead. Yeah, Dean always made more sense.

  But Dean's life, from everything Clint could see, was dull as ditch water. At least Boone managed to have a little fun along the way.

  "Ta-da!"

  Clint turned around, shovel in hand, to see Mary standing in the open doorway of the barn. Wes was right behind her, a wide smile on his face.

  Mary's face was painted in white and red, with touches of black here and there. She wore a red wig, complete with long, braided pigtails, and a smile as wide as Wes's.

  He couldn't help but smile back. "Cute."

  "Thank you."

  "Now all we need is a name."

  "I have a name," Mary protested. "Just in case someone decides to poke around, I'll use my mother's maiden…"

  "Mary Mary Quite Contrary," Clint interrupted.

  "Well, that's kind of insulting," she said, not acting at all insulted. "What's your clown name? Giggles? Slappy? Smiley?"

  "Clint Sinclair," he answered.

  Sensing trouble, Wes slunk away as Mary stepped into the barn. "Why do you get to have a normal name, while I have to be Mary Mary Quite Contrary?"

  "Because I'm a bullfighter and you're a barrel man."

  "I thought you said Brisco had a barrel man."

  "I'm taking care of that."

  She shook her head and those red pigtails went dancing. How could he want her even now? She looked ridiculous. Silly. Not at all the gorgeous woman he knew her to be.

  "I don't want to cost anyone their place," she said.

  "You won't."

  "You can find the old barrel man another job?"

  "Yep."

  She cocked her head and smiled. "Mary Mary? It doesn't seem fair."

  "Life isn't fair," he said as she came closer. "And besides, you are contrary."

  She opened her mouth.

  "Don't try to deny it."

  Mary closed her mouth and smiled again. Hadn't there been a time when he'd thought he'd give anything to see her grin like this? He hadn't known that smile would grab him, deep and hard.

  Know
ing what his family would advise him to do, Clint decided that Boone probably made more sense than the others. That was a first.

  "You're almost ready," he said.

  "Almost? What's left?"

  Mary stopped when she stood a few feet away from him. Neither of them had mentioned the kiss. They'd continued on as if it hadn't happened, trying to pretend that nothing had changed, trying to pretend that this was still a purely professional relationship. Was she even half as wary as he was? She didn't seem like the kind of woman who would flirt and tease. No, she was all business, all the time.

  That kiss had been very unbusinesslike.

  "A friend of mine has a bull," he said calmly. "Not a rodeo bull, but you do need to get up close and personal before we head to Birmingham."

  Did Mary realize that she drew up her chin and stiffened her spine? She gave herself away. Like it or not, she was scared. "When?"

  "This afternoon."

  She nodded, but something in the air had changed. The physical attraction between them was still there, crackling and alive and almost tangible, but Mary's fear made everything feel different.

  "There's still time to back out of this," he said.

  "No," she snapped. "I can't do that."

  "Surely there's another way—"

  "No!"

  He wasn't surprised by her reaction. "Mary Mary Quite Contrary." He reached out to touch her face, to run his thumb through the white greasepaint on her jaw.

  "It's important to me," she said softly, not stepping away from his touch or slapping his hand away, as she would have a week ago.

  He wiped a trace of the greasepaint from her face, trailing his finger to her chin. "I know, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

  "I'm a grown woman, Clint. I can take care of myself."

  Clint was definitely a step up from a coldly delivered Sinclair or a sassy Giggles. And yet, nothing had changed. Mary was in charge and she didn't want any man to protect her. She was as stubborn as any bull.

  "I just have a bad feeling about this."

  He had a bad feeling about everything. Mary's insistence on going to the rodeo as a clown; his growing need to protect her in spite of her objections; his urge to kiss her, right now.

  His hand drifted upward and his thumb wiped away the white greasepaint that covered Mary's lips. They were fine lips, finer than he had realized when he'd first seen her. Those lips were full and well shaped and soft. Silky. Begging to be kissed.

  Surrendering, he leaned down and laid his mouth over hers. Easy, soft, a questioning kiss. She wasn't fuzzy-headed with muscadine wine this time, and she might very well give him a shove and an order to back off.

  She didn't. Mary kissed him back, her eyes drifting closed.

  Clint tugged off the red wig and placed his arms around Mary, pulling her close. Her body fit nicely against his, the way a woman's might. She was stiff for a moment, her body not as immediately welcoming as her mouth had been. But then she relaxed. He felt it, as though a wave of ease washed through her body. Her arms snaked around his waist, her lips parted and softened.

  He flicked the tip of his tongue into her mouth and she moaned, deep in her throat. He wasn't the only one here flirting with surrender.

  Yeah, Boone's advice was definitely the way to go.

  It was Mary who pulled away first, dropping her arms, turning her head and breaking the contact of mouth to mouth. Her makeup was smeared, her lips au naturel and well kissed. When she looked up at him again, she grinned. "You're wearing almost as much greasepaint as I am."

  He raked his thumb across his face, finding traces of makeup here and there.

  "Your nose is red," Mary said, pointing at her own red nose.

  Clint did his best to wipe away the greasepaint, and Mary even reached out a hand to help him, wiping away a speck of white from his cheek.

  "This is not a good idea," she said softly as she found another smear of greasepaint on his chin and wiped it away.

  "I know."

  "It's just … working together all the time, and living in the same house, and … I'm sure it's perfectly natural." She sounded as if she was reasoning with herself, not him.

  "Is it?"

  "That has to be it."

  Yeah, there had to be a reasonable explanation. Special Agent Mary Paris couldn't possibly fall for a rodeo clown who lived out in the boonies. When he looked into the night sky he saw stars, she saw space-age technology. He couldn't believe anyone he knew could ever do the things her serial killer had done. She saw the possibility of darkness in everyone she met.

  In the end, it didn't matter how much he wanted her. There would be no surrender. They didn't have a chance.

  * * *

  The farm they'd driven to was less than half an hour away and in many ways was similar to Clint's place. Rolling fields, old trees, low mountains in the background. But there were cows everywhere here, and the farmhouse was older. It was white and sturdy-looking, very Southern, but not as impressive as Clint's house.

  His friend, the owner of this gentle farm, had left them to their own devices. It was just Clint, Mary, a barrel and a bull named Sweetness.

  This was her own plan, Mary thought as she watched Clint saunter over to Sweetness. She was not going to have second thoughts at this late date because the bull was bigger than she'd expected, because she didn't like the way he looked at her or because Clint Sinclair was a great kisser. None of that was relevant.

  Clint actually reached out and touched the bull, who was not particularly happy to be with them. The animal snorted and kicked one hoof in the dust. Mary jumped. Clint did not.

  "Always remember," he said in a soothing voice, "that the bull is an unpredictable animal. They're dangerous. Deadly, even. And they won't think twice about stomping you into the ground and breaking every bone in your body."

  "You're not going to scare me into giving up," Mary retorted.

  "Whether you give up or not," Clint said without turning to look at her, "you should be scared. Only an idiot would get close to a bull and not be scared."

  "You don't look scared," she countered.

  "I've been doing this for years," he said with a wink and a half smile. "I might not look scared, but I'm definitely anxious." With his hand on the bull's head, he stared at her. "Get on over here."

  She couldn't very well say no! This was her reason for being here, and if she said no now, Clint would blackball her from the rodeo. She'd end up playing Rodeo Queen, big hair, red cowboy boots and all.

  Moving cautiously, she headed for Clint and Sweetness. The bull laid its eyes on her suspiciously. Could a bull look suspicious? Of course it could.

  "Every now and then you have to punch the bull on the nose to get his attention away from a cowboy," Clint said softly.

  "You're kidding."

  "Nope."

  Mary studied Sweetness with a narrowed, critical eye. Clint said the bull was an unpredictable animal. Of course, he was right. That was especially true of a beast as large and obviously ornery as this one. "Why on earth would you punch a bull on the nose?"

  "Your job is to distract the bull so the cowboy can get up off the ground and to safety. A cowboy is much too vulnerable, lying in the dirt after he's been thrown."

  "So you make sure the bull is coming at you, not the cowboy."

  Clint nodded. "Since you'll be in the barrel, you'll have to get the bull's attention by waving something that will catch its eye and making lots of noise. You try to draw the bull away from the rider, get it to charge you."

  Her mouth went dry. Surely there was a smart comeback for that, but at the moment her mind was blank. "No problem," she said, almost choking on the words.

  Sweetness snorted and Mary took a quick step back.

  Jumping fences and riding horses until her butt went numb was a piece of cake next to this.

  Clint looked at her as if he could see right through her, and he wasn't buying her display of bravery. "Sit on the fence," he said. "Or on
the other side, if you feel better there."

  Mary retreated to the fence and sat on the top. She really would feel safer standing on the other side of the fence, but she didn't want Clint to know that.

  Clint turned his back on the bull and headed for the barrel. With an agility she had come to expect from him, he jumped onto the top of the barrel, his feet braced on either side of the rim.

  "This is the safest place to be when you're in the arena."

  "On top of the barrel?" she asked, trying for a flippant tone.

  In a flash, Clint dropped down and disappeared into the tall white barrel, before standing so that he was exposed from the chest up. "Like everything else, you have to be quick. You have to get the bull's attention, and when he charges you drop down. The bull will most likely hit the barrel and you'll roll. You'll get tossed around, bruised, jostled like you can't imagine."

  "Sounds like a great job."

  "Mary…"

  "Sorry."

  Clint spent the next half hour goading Sweetness, but the bull was having none of it. Except for a gentle nudge against the barrel, Sweetness lived up to his name.

  Finally Clint gave up and walked to the fence. "Your turn," he said, offering a hand and urging Mary from her seat.

  "My turn to do what?"

  He led her to the barrel. Climbing in was a chore, and she didn't accomplish it without help from Clint. He wasn't happy about that, even when she explained that she only had a problem because she wasn't as tall as he was. When she was in the barrel, getting out was a problem.

  Clint was not pleased.

  "I'll work on it," she said. "We still have a few days."

  A few days. She had been so sure she could learn everything she needed to know in a week or less! Her schooling in the rodeo arts had been more complicated than she'd imagined and more physically demanding than she could have dreamed.

  Clint assisted her out of the barrel and onto the ground, where her feet once again met good, solid dirt. "I'll practice getting in and out of the barrel," she said again. "I only have to get in once, right? I don't really have to stand on top like you did. Right?"