by Jamie Craig
With a great ass.
And brown puppy dog eyes.
And an aw-shucks smile that made her stomach do its best shake, rattle, and roll impression.
She wiped her palms on her jeans. She would not shake the man's hand and have him grimace in disgust because she dripped all over him. She intended to be calm and collected and totally not one of those annoying girls who ended every sentence with a giggle.
Rebecca didn't giggle. She was mature for her age; everybody said so. She was...
Oh, crap, he's turning around.
She stood a half-step behind Lonnie as he shook hands with the newest rider in the show. Spencer Cole was lean and muscular, and up close, taller than she expected. She liked tall. Rebecca stood five-ten in bare feet, and she hated looking down at her latest crush. With his boots, he was probably six-three, and the tight denim hugging his long legs made it very, very, very hard not to let her gaze stray downward.
"And this is my cousin, Rebecca,” Lonnie said. She smiled as he stepped to the side to face Spencer directly. “She's here in kind of an official capacity."
Rebecca lifted the camera hanging around her neck. “Semi-official. Which means I take whatever pictures I want and then my dad decides if any of them are good enough for his paper."
"Oh?” He flashed his aw-shucks smile at her now and politely extended his hand. His lazy drawl was at complete odds with the intense young man she saw in the arena. “You didn't get any of me, did you?"
She bit her tongue to keep from blurting out that he was featured in over half of the roll. “A few. I would've gotten more if your event didn't come so late in the show."
"That's because it's the crowd pleaser. The fans are all here to see the bulls. Isn't that right, Caleb?” he asked, his voice raised.
"Shut the fuck up,” the other cowboy snapped as he limped by.
"Jealousy doesn't look good on you, Caleb,” Spencer called after him before turning his attention back to Rebecca. “Excuse his language. Hope you got a few of my good side."
"From what I've seen, you don't have a bad side.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Rebecca wanted to lasso them back. Could she sound any more like an idiot? Fighting the faint stain creeping into her cheeks, she stuck her hands into her back pockets to hide the shaking and added, “Then again, I didn't see you flat on your ass like so many of the others. The way I see it, that's the only bad side a bull rider can have."
His smile was as slow as his drawl, and it made his brown eyes shine. “I had a good ride tonight. Jumpin’ Jack is a tough bull to draw, but I've been on him before, and he gave me a good ride then, too. I was just going to scare up some dinner. Do you want to come with me?"
"I don't think that's a great idea,” Lonnie interjected.
Rebecca wanted to tell him to shut up, but she didn't say a word before Spencer smiled soothingly. “I'm not going to let anything happen to her, Lonnie. You have my word."
"Not to mention, a girl needs to eat.” With a fresh boldness that surprised even her, she moved up to Spencer's side, lifting her chin and daring Lonnie to drag her back. “It's just something to eat, Lon. And maybe an interview to go with my pictures. Tell Dad it's for the good of the paper."
"Now, Becky, come on. You know your dad wants me to bring you home at a reasonable hour tonight."
"I'll make sure she gets home,” Spencer said, his hand going to the small of her back. She jumped at the contact, but Spencer didn't seem to notice. “Come on, let's get over there before the concession stands close."
Lonnie tried to stop them once again, but Spencer ignored him, gently guiding Rebecca around him and toward the dwindling line of people at the stands.
"I'm sorry about that. Lonnie's got this crazy idea that I need a big brother, which means he's bound and determined to make my life miserable, no matter what the cost."
"Ah, he's all right. He just wants to look out for you. It's my understanding cowboys don't have the best reputations with big brother types."
She cast him a glance out of the corner of her eye, unable to stop her sly smile. “Those are usually the ones with the best stories."
"I wouldn't know anything about that. I always behave myself.” He returned her sly smile. “Well, mostly."
Any sense of intelligent conversation fled her mind then. Rebecca only knew how flippy her stomach was and how pretty his eyes were. How was she going to eat anything in front of him? He was going to catch her staring, or worse, she'd say something completely humiliating, and then she'd have to slink away with her tail between her legs. This could not end well, except...he'd asked her to eat with him. Her. Rebecca Rankin. Not any of the buckle bunnies hanging around, hoping to get one of the cowboys to look at them.
It didn't matter how this ended. It only mattered that it had started in the first place.
She stood with him at the end of the short line, watching him smile and joke with others who passed them by. When they reached the window, her stomach unexpectedly growled.
"Told you a girl needs to eat,” she joked when he glanced at her. To the woman at the counter, she said, “Cheeseburger, fries, and a Diet Coke."
"Same.” Spencer's nostrils flared. “That popcorn smells good. I'll take one of those, too.” He glanced at her. “Do you like cotton candy? Well, if not, I'll eat it by myself."
Cindy, the woman who ran the concession stand every year, snapped her gum. “Is that all? Nine dollars."
Spencer pulled his wallet out before she moved and handed Cindy a ten. “Thanks, darlin'."
Rebecca glanced around at the thinning crowd. “You want me to go snag a table for us while you wait for the food?"
Spencer nodded and she tore herself from his side to find the nearest empty table. A cool breeze danced across her neck, and she watched two girls, a little younger than herself, point at Spencer and giggle. He seemed entirely oblivious to the effect he had on the people around him as he leaned against the side of the concession stand, his hat pulled low on his forehead.
Cindy served him the food on two paper plates with a brown paper bag for the cans of pop, and his box of popcorn. He paused at the table of condiments, squirting ketchup onto both plates before adding a heaping pile of onions and relish.
"I am famished,” Spencer announced as he settled at the table. “I don't usually eat before a ride, and I missed lunch today."
The smell of the food made her salivate, and Rebecca tore apart her burger in order to load it up. “And you don't get sick of having rodeo food all the time?"
"Nah. But on the nights I can't stand the sight of another cheeseburger, I've got food back at the camper. A little kitchen, too. And Stella, Sam's wife...” He gestured with hand. “Sam's in charge of the bulls. Anyway, she's always got food after an event."
So how come you're sitting here, having a burger with me? She didn't voice the question. She wouldn't have traded watching him sink his teeth into his dinner for anything, not even the new car her father kept promising he'd get her.
"You guys got lucky today.” Rebecca dunked a thick fry into her ketchup. “I heard Shotgun Willie was out of commission with a bum ankle. If he'd been in the draw, things might have turned out differently for you."
Spencer offered her a lopsided grin. “Shotgun Willie? I'm not scared of that old bastard. He's a tough draw, no doubt, but I've been up on worse.” He leaned forward, an excited light in his eyes. “Now, there's a bull on the circuit, Red's Kitten. He's not here this year, but he's going to be up in Laramie next week. Nobody's ridden him in six years. If I draw him, I'll get eight seconds."
Her brows shot up. She knew of the bull. The previous summer, another cowboy had missed having his arm shattered when Red's Kitten had tossed and almost trampled him. It had been front page news in her town. Granted, her town was barely a speck on the map, but still, the story had left its mark.
"What makes you so sure you can take him? I mean, you're good and all, but come on. Six years? You have a secret the
rest of us don't know about?"
Spencer popped the last bite of his burger into his mouth, and then licked the tips of his fingers. “Oh, it's just a healthy dose of natural talent, a bit of optimism, and a pinch of what my mama would call fool-headed stubbornness.” He tapped the tip of his hat back, allowing her a clearer glimpse of his eyes. “You saw me ride tonight, and it sounds like you know about the circuit. Do you think I have a chance on the Kitten?"
She'd known his eyes were brown. She didn't know there were tiny amber flecks around his pupils that caught the fading light and made his eyes shine. For a second, Rebecca forgot all about his question in favor of drinking in the details, only tearing her attention away when he focused more closely on her than his food.
"I think you're the best rider I've ever seen. So yeah, if you put your mind to it, I'd say you have a chance.” She smiled. “I'd even say you had a good one."
His grin widened, and she thought maybe his mouth was pulled into a perpetual smile, like he didn't have a care in the world, or a reason to frown. “That's very kind of you.” Half of the floodlights overhead blinked off, and Spencer looked up. “I think that's their way of telling us it's time to clear out of the arena. The night's still young. You don't want me to take you home, do you?"
His question made her ears burn and her heart pound against her ribcage. Want to? Hell no. “There's not a whole lot else to do in town. Trust me. I know. I've been trapped here my whole life."
Spencer stood up and circled the table to offer her his hand. “Well, it sounds like we'll have to make our own fun. What do you say?"
Rebecca didn't even stop to consider saying no. She was eighteen now, and this was the opportunity of a lifetime. “Lead the way.” Stuffing their trash into one of the bags, she tossed it into the nearby can before looping her fingers loosely through his and standing up. “You going to take your popcorn with us?"
"And the cotton candy,” Spencer said, snagging the bag with his free hand.
He led her out the side gate that opened to a large field. The town used it for soccer games or pickup football games, but now campers, horse trailers, and even tents packed it full. It looked like the party had simply moved two hundred feet from the arena to the campground. They wound deeper and deeper into the vehicles until he finally came to a stop outside a pickup that had seen better days hitched to a small camp trailer that might have been older than she was.
"Home sweet home,” he said, pulling the door open with a flourish.
Rebecca had to duck her head in order to step inside, but she was too caught up in the excitement to care about the low ceiling, or the narrow aisle separating the tiny kitchenette from the bench/couch running down the opposite side of the trailer, or the dim light casting the rear of the space in shadows. After a moment of hesitation, she sat down on the padded bench, pulling one leg up and out of his way as Spencer closed the door behind him.
"So how do you like your first year on the circuit?” Conversation. Normal conversation was good. Normal conversation meant she didn't have time to focus on his gorgeous eyes, or how good he looked in his jeans, or the way she sat there, acting like he was just like any other guy she had ever known when he really, really wasn't.
Focus on the conversation. Don't stare at his ass.
"Oh, this isn't my first year. I'm doing more events now because I can actually afford the thousand dollar entry fee, but I started traveling with my Uncle Travis when I was fifteen, and started riding when I was seventeen."
He opened the cupboard above the tiny sink and pulled out a deck of cards, kept together with a rubber band. A bottle of tequila, a shaker of salt, and a lime from the narrow fridge followed.
"Know how to play cards?"
She tried not to stare at the tequila. Lonnie would tan her hide if he found out she'd snuck away to go drinking with Spencer Cole. She had never had anything stronger than beer. Did Spencer realize she was only eighteen? Well, she wasn't going to be the one to tell him. She wouldn't risk getting kicked out.
Rebecca smiled. “Depends on the game."
He sat down beside her, leaving enough room between them for the cards, and balanced the bottle and salt on the windowsill above their shoulders. Leaning across the narrow space, he pulled a shot glass from the drawer.
"Five-card stud. Rules are simple. No cards wild, and the loser takes a shot."
"Sounds good to me.” She held out her hand. “I get to deal."
Spencer shuffled the deck, the cards fluttering quickly between his fingers. “You don't trust me?"
"I like to call it, evening the odds."
"Smart girl,” he said, sliding the deck across the cushion.
Their fingers glanced across each other as she took the deck away. Squaring the cards in her hand, Rebecca quickly dealt the first four cards—an eight to Spencer, a king to her, another eight to him, and then a three to her. Her cards weren't even the same color, let alone the same suit.
"Crap,” she muttered.
"You could still get lucky.” She set a jack in front of him and a two on top of her three. “Look, all you need is a king, then you've got me beat.” She didn't get her king, but she did get another three. Unfortunately, a pair of threes did not beat three of a kind. He winked at her. “Maybe we should have called deuces wild, huh?"
Rebecca scooped up the cards. “So first shot is mine, I guess.” She began shuffling the deck to hide the trembling in her fingers. “Is this where I admit to never having tequila before?"
"Not once? I guess I better show you the right way to do it.” He took a small pocketknife from his jeans and cut the lime into wedges, careful not to get juice all over the cards. He offered her the first wedge, the rind just an inch from her mouth. “Bite into this."
Rebecca obediently opened her mouth and bit into the green skin, holding it firmly with her teeth. A little of the juice dribble down her chin. She wiped it away quickly as he opened the bottle and filled the shot glass.
"You watching?"
She nodded and he took her hand, raising her wrist to his mouth. Rebecca stiffened as his tongue darted out and swiped across her pounding pulse, wetting the skin. Spencer sprinkled salt on the damp patch, and licked her again. The first time had taken her by surprise, but the second time he touched her with his tongue, a jolt shot through her body, making her fingers and toes curl. As soon as he pulled away from her, he downed the tequila, then leaned over and captured the lime with his teeth.
Watching and listening to him suck at the pulp made Rebecca's mouth water. She was pretty sure this wasn't the traditional way of drinking tequila, but hell if she would stop him from putting his mouth anywhere near her body. He'd been so close when he'd taken the lime she'd smelled the aftershave and drying sweat on his skin. How much more would she smell the next time he did it?
Her heart suddenly took off at a gallop.
Crap. She had to do this now. She had to lick Spencer Cole.
Her gaze strayed to his wrist. He was tanned and sinewy, light brown hairs disappearing beneath his cuff. Her mouth watered again.
"You're going to have to roll your sleeve up if I'm going to do this right."
Spencer set the lime aside and unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling both sleeves up his arms, exposing muscled forearms. He set his cowboy hat aside, revealing damp hair, smashed close to his head. Losing the hat made him look younger. His grinning mouth closed around the rind of a fresh wedge of lime.
Taking a deep breath, Rebecca poured out another shot of tequila and set both aside to pick up the salt shaker. She took his hand and turned it palm up, exposing the smoother skin of his wrist, before leaning down, watching him through her lashes. Spencer didn't look away as she dragged her tongue over his pulse point. He didn't look away when she sprinkled salt on the wet skin. And he didn't look away when she licked it off.
Her body felt like it was on fire. She needed the tequila just to calm her racing nerves.
Picking up the shot glass, she held it to her
mouth and tipped her head back as she'd seen him do. The tequila scalded where it hit the back of her mouth, and her eyes watered. Rebecca clutched the front of his shirt and yanked Spencer toward her, desperate for the lime. It had to help. It couldn't make things worse. She barely even felt him as she sucked the fruit past her lips.
The juice took a bit of an edge off the tequila, but not much. She gasped for breath, the lime falling from her lips unheeded, and tried to fan her hot face with her hands. Spencer watched her with dancing eyes, more amused than concerned by her flushed cheeks.
"It's got a bit of a kick, doesn't it? The first time I did that, it knocked me flat on my ass. You'll be taking shots like an old hand in no time. Deal?"
She gestured helplessly toward the cards. “You do it. Maybe I'll have better luck with you."
Spencer gathered up the pile of cards with a single motion of his hand. His fingers moved quickly as he straightened the deck and shuffled it. For a moment, the only sounds in the camper were the swish of the cards and the blood pounding in her ears. The tequila had gone straight to her head, already skewing her depth perception a little.
"Nine of hearts. Seven of clubs. Ace of hearts. Jack of diamonds.” Spencer dealt out all ten cards, announcing the number and suit with each one he overturned. “And my pair of aces beat your pair of nines.” He looked up and grinned. “Your turn again, Becca."
She blinked. “What did you just call me?"
He lifted his brow. “Becca, Rebecca. You don't like it?"
"No, I do,” she rushed. “It's just, nobody calls me that. Everybody calls me Becky, which I hate, but nobody seems to care. Small town thinking, you know. We get stuck in our ways, and we don't know how to change, and I'm totally babbling now, aren't I?” She blushed, though that could have been from the tequila or her embarrassment. “Right. My turn. What is it I have to do again?"
Spencer poured her a shot, and then pointed to a spot higher on his arm, close to his elbow. “Lick here."