That had to count for something.
“This doesn’t mean I owe you a thing.”
He smirked. “Are you always this stubborn, Evans?”
“I’m not stubborn.” Another lie. She ignored the incredulous look on his face and turned back to the trailer. “And my name’s Lacy.”
* * *
LACY. OF COURSE she was Lacy. Underneath that pricklier-than-hell exterior, she was probably soft and gentle.
There might be a part of her that was quiet and sweet—as there was a part of her that wanted his help—but it wasn’t a part she was all that excited to share with him, and it’d be best if he didn’t allow his thoughts to wander off in that direction. Even if she didn’t have a pistol on her, she had a gun and she knew how to use it—and he’d basically told her to shoot him if he did anything underhanded.
Lacy Evans might not realize it, but he’d given her his word and he intended to keep it. This wasn’t about getting her into the sack.
Of course, that didn’t exactly explain what it was about.
That wasn’t entirely true, either. It was about that spark she had. When she tore into him, her body language was completely different than what it had been when she’d been confronted by Slim or when Ian had come around the corner and seen her pinned against the trailer by Jerome.
She’d been physically shaking, pale and panicked—and then Jerome had touched her. And that had been all Ian had seen before the world narrowed to Jerome. That asshole would not touch Lacy like that. Not while Ian was breathing.
“Why are you alone?” he asked as the first bull emerged from the trailer. “This isn’t a one-man job.”
“You really don’t think I can do this, do you?” she snapped before adding, “Get up, Wreck.”
“I’m not questioning your skills. I’m saying you have three bulls and you’re by yourself. You were by yourself last week, too. You should have a traveling partner.”
“I—” Oh, hell—he heard her voice catch. She dropped her head and put her hands on her hips. “I had a partner. He died.”
“I’m sorry.” Ian had the urge to put his arm around her shoulder and hold her. He didn’t do it, of course—he wasn’t particularly in the mood to have his nuts crushed up into his stomach. But the urge alone was troubling. It was obvious that she’d loved the guy. Ian could only hope he’d treated her well.
“All I’m saying,” he went on, pointedly not looking at her, “is that I’m only ever in the arena with one bull at a time and I’ve got a partner. And here you’re traveling with three bulls. Don’t you have any hired hands or something?”
“I don’t have to defend myself to you.”
There, that was better. Her moment of weakness had been just that—a moment. Already she was back to her fighting self. “Lacy.”
He had things he wanted to say after her name, but then she looked up at him and whatever speech he’d been about to make about safety died on his tongue. Her eyes were wide-open, a pale brown color with a darker brown ring around the outside.
He wanted to see what she looked like without that hat crammed down on her head. He wanted to tangle his fingers in her hair and tilt her head up and—
She looked away first, her cheeks turning a sweet pink. “Maybe if Rattler and Wreckerator have a good season,” she said, her voice pinched, “I can afford to hire someone. But right now, I can’t. There. Are you happy now?”
“I don’t know why you’d think I’d be happy about that,” he said, taking a step away from her. “Sounds like it’s been a rough road for a while.”
This observation was met with the kind of silence that made stone walls look cushy. They got the third bull out.
“That one’s Rattler, right?” he said into the silence, pointing at the brown bull.
“You should remember him,” she said. It ought to have come out snippy, but her voice was quiet—thoughtful, even. “He checked out, by the way.”
“How much was the vet call?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Now it was his turn to gape at her. “Seriously, Evans?” She flinched when he used her last name. “You’re busy convincing yourself that me helping you unload the bulls doesn’t mean you ‘owe’ me anything, but you won’t let me cover the cost of the vet visit—which, I might add, I already promised to pay for? This isn’t charity and I’m not taking pity on you. I might have injured your animal. Let me pay for the damn vet.”
She turned toward him, her brow furrowed in what looked like confusion. Well, she could just be confused. He was completely turned around by a hard woman with a soft name and several chips on both shoulders.
“You helped unload the bulls. We’re even,” she said, her hand slicing through the air as if that was that.
It wasn’t. “If this is you being not stubborn, I’d hate to see what you’d do if you really dug your heels in. I’m paying for the vet visit one way or the other. Either you tell me how much it cost or...”
She leaned toward him. It wasn’t a big movement—she might not even have been aware she’d done it. But he noticed. Her big brown eyes were locked on his and her body was angled toward his and her lips were parted. When she tilted her head to one side, as if she wanted to be kissed, his self-control almost snapped.
The only thing that saved him from making a first-class fool of himself was Jack’s voice echoing in his mind—a good bullfighter waited. A bad one rushed in.
Ian would not rush this. Not her.
So, despite the signals her body was sending, he did not pull her into his arms and he did not take the kiss she appeared to be offering.
“Or what?”
But by God, it would be easier to not kiss her if she didn’t sound so soft and sweet. “Or I’ll work it off. I’ll help you load and unload the bulls when we’re at the same rodeos, make sure the assholes don’t treat you like crap.” He couldn’t help it, not when her eyes widened even more. He leaned forward, his voice dropping down a notch. “Either way, you’ll get it out of me.”
Then he waited. Either she’d punch him or kiss him or she’d walk off.
She didn’t do any of those. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, that voice of hers so soft without all the hard edges she usually used. “I’m nothing to you. You don’t even know me.”
“You’re not nothing. Not to me.” She sucked in a quick gasp of air. “And rodeo is a family. I was raised to look after my own.”
But even as he said the words, he could feel the ink over his heart start to burn, like he was having it carved into his skin all over again.
So it was a lie that he always looked out for his own. No one knew about Eliot, not even Ian’s cousin June. All she knew was that he’d been seeing two girls at the same time before he went off to college. Leasha had left the rez to have the baby and hadn’t told anyone she’d given the boy up.
Not even Ian. Not until the papers had arrived.
And Ian had—Well, he’d signed them.
He hadn’t taken care of his own son.
Ian rubbed the tattoo on his chest until the pain edged back again.
“A...family,” she said, turning back to the bulls. She sounded very faraway.
“We’re not all like Salzberg or Slim,” Ian felt obligated to point out. “Some of us are decent human beings. My partner, Jack, is a good guy. There’s the Preacher, Randy—heck, even Garth is okay, if you get him before he’s had more than three beers.”
“You spend a lot of time with the riders?”
He shrugged. “I have connections.” She shot him a sideways look. “There’s always going to be the jerks who think you shouldn’t be here. Let’s just say I enjoy putting jerks in their proper places.”
As he’d done at that first rodeo he’d gone to with his cousin June. She’d been c
limbing the ranks of professional riders, but she’d had a problem with some of the riders. Ian had been more than happy to stand up for his cousin.
Before that rodeo, Ian had been an ex-football player without a team.
But after that rodeo? He was a bullfighter.
“No strings?” Lacy asked, a hint of worry at the edge of her eyes. She didn’t trust him. Not yet, a quiet voice whispered in his ear.
“No strings,” he agreed. Then he stuck out his hand. “Friends?”
She regarded him for a long second. Then she slipped her small hand into his, gave him a brief squeeze, and yanked her hand back. “Don’t get carried away,” she told him.
He grinned at her. Oh, she was a piece of work, but really, he didn’t expect anything less from her. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“HEARD YOU GOT into it with Salzberg,” Jack said, giving Ian a look. “Can’t take you anywhere, can I?”
Ian bristled. “He had Lacy pinned against her trailer. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.”
That got Jack’s eyebrows up and moving. “Lacy, is it?”
There were days that talking with Jack was like talking with Ian’s father, Dave Tall Chief. Dave had a way of making Ian feel as if he was still fourteen, big and wild and more than a little stupid.
This, apparently, was one of those days. “I reckon that girl can take care of herself,” Jack said, lazily scratching his throat.
They were sitting behind the chutes. The rodeo didn’t start for another hour, but the crowd had started to filter into the outdoor arena as people jockeyed for the best seats. The stock contractors were loading the bulls in order.
He looked around, but he didn’t see Lacy. All he saw were bull riders strapping on their spurs and chaps or rosining up their bull ropes.
Every athlete needed a pregame ritual to get their head into the game, he thought. When Ian had played football, he’d needed to smash helmets or bump chests with his teammates.
Ian and Jack had some collapsible chairs that they set up next to their watercooler. Jack liked to watch the bulls and try to guess which ones would give him the most trouble. Ian always had a hard time sitting still for this part—he’d always been a little hyper. But today was worse than normal. He wanted to find Lacy and make sure she was all right. At the same time, he was sure that doing anything remotely like that would get him in trouble.
More trouble than he was in, anyway. “I don’t see what the big deal is. I watch your back. Why shouldn’t I watch hers, too?” Jack snorted, so Ian went on. “I thought you were the one who told me that rodeo is a family and we look out for each other.”
Jack sat forward, his massive biceps straining at his white T-shirt. Ian was big—but Jack was bigger. “I’ve fought too damn hard to prove that I’m not some gangbanger playing at cowboys and Indians for you to toss that aside for some chick. You dig?”
Ian glared at his friend. “All I’m saying is that we stick together because we don’t fit in with them,” he said, nodding toward where the all-white rodeo riders were gearing up. “And Lacy doesn’t fit with them, either. You know some of them don’t want her here because she’s a woman. How’s that any different from someone calling us names?”
“This ain’t the Land of the Misfit Toys, man,” Jack drawled in his strongest Texas accent. He only busted it out when he was being condescending—or when he was trying to pick up buckle bunnies. Either way, it grated on Ian’s nerves.
“Like hell it isn’t.” Ian spotted her. She’d walked up alongside the chutes, her eyes on the bulls. “I’m keeping an eye on her,” he stated. “If you decide to grow a pair and man up, you can do the same. I won’t tell—it’ll be our little secret that big, mean Black Jack Johnson’s got a soft spot for misfits.”
“Boy,” Jack growled, “that mouth is going to get you into a lot of trouble one of these days.” But he slumped back into his chair, the fight gone from his body.
“Too late,” Ian said cheerfully. He’d won this round. Winning wasn’t everything, but sometimes, it came close. “What do you know about that Slim fellow?”
“Slim Smalls?” Black Jack chuckled. “He’s an ass. Always has been. There are some that don’t think a black man should be in the arena and Slim is always leading that charge.”
“The more things change?” Ian asked.
“The more they stay the same,” Jack agreed. “But his bulls are rank and he knows how to grease the wheels. Got friends in high places and all that crap.”
“And the Straight Arrow?”
Jack shrugged. “Man...”
“Come on, Jack. You know everything and everyone. I don’t know a thing.”
“Wait!” Jack dug his phone out of his pocket and held it up. “Say that again, Chief. I want it on the record.”
“Ha-ha. But you know what I mean. She said she’d lost her traveling partner.”
“Honest to God, I don’t remember a lady stock contractor,” Jack replied, pocketing his phone again. “I want to say that the Straight Arrow was owned by a guy named Dale? If I’m remembering right, nice guy. Never made a big deal about me one way or the other. Quiet, kept to himself.” He gave Ian a blank look. “I suppose you’re gonna want me to ask around.”
Ian shrugged. “Don’t put yourself out, man. I do have my own connections.” He could always call Travis Younkin, June’s husband and a former world-class bull rider in his own right. Travis would make a few phone calls and get back to Ian with all kinds of information.
But then, Ian could have already done that. And he hadn’t.
He wanted to know. But for some ridiculous reason, he wanted her to tell him.
Like yesterday, when she’d finally told him her first name. He could have found out, but it was sweeter hearing the name come out of her mouth because he’d earned it. The fact that she trusted him with her real name was powerful stuff.
He wanted to show her that men weren’t all Slims and Jeromes. He wanted...
Well, hell. He didn’t want to be the man he’d been seven years ago.
Ian realized he was rubbing the ink over his heart again. “We gonna get to Vegas this year?” he asked Jack.
Jack notched an eyebrow at Ian. “Might,” he drawled. “Assuming you stop pulling dumb-ass stunts like you did last week. Why?”
“No reason.”
Except for Eliot. Ian knew the boy and his family lived in Las Vegas. If Ian could get to Vegas, maybe he could see if Eliot’s folks would bring the boy to the rodeo. Maybe, after all this time, Ian could meet his son.
He found himself looking at Lacy again. What would a woman like her think of a man like him, if she knew about Eliot? Would she think he was a deadbeat dad? A serial womanizer who didn’t care what happened to the women he loved and left?
Would she still trust him with her name?
Jack stood up and began to stretch. Ian did the same. They’d get loosened up, don their matching work shirts and suffer through the opening rounds of the same tired jokes that the rodeo clowns used at every stop along the way. Then it was time to dance with the devils in the late-summer light.
“She brought that bull I took down last week,” Ian told Jack as he stretched. His back was still tight where he’d pulled it last week. “Rattler.”
“Yeah? The bull wasn’t hurt, was he?”
“Nope. She wouldn’t even let me pay for the vet visit.”
Jack cracked a wide smile. “You be careful. A woman like that doesn’t take crap from anyone—not even the likes of you.”
“Tell me something I don’t already know.”
They went out for the introductions and the opening prayer. The Land of the Misfits, Ian thought. It wasn’t far off. He didn’t fit anywhere else. He had a job back on the Real Pride Ranch and the rez wo
uld always be home, but he’d wanted more. He’d thought football was his ticket to the rest of the world, but it hadn’t worked out like that.
He found Lacy. She was behind the arena fence, apart from everyone else. Instead of having her head down in prayer, her hands were clasped as she stared up at the dusk sky. For a woman who was not to be taken lightly, there was something fragile about her that pulled at him.
The fireworks shocked him back to himself. They were all noise and smoke, but they got the crowd energized after Preacher’s solemn prayers for safe rides. Heavy metal music blared through the speakers as the riders got back behind the chutes and began to mount up on their bulls.
He couldn’t think about Lacy right now. Distractions could be deadly. He had to focus on the bulls and the riders. He let the music push him until his adrenaline was flowing and his head was in the game.
Lacy would have to wait.
It was time to go to work.
CHAPTER FIVE
WRECKERATOR WAS NOT in the mood to be ridden. He came flying out of the gate awkwardly, slamming into the chute hard enough that Lacy had to grab onto the top of the gate to keep her balance. The rider had no such luxury—he lost his grip and went down.
The crowd gasped as the rider bounced off the ground. Then Ian and his partner were there. They threw themselves in front of Wreck, arms waving as they shouted at him.
Wreck’s flank strap didn’t fall off, which meant it was still irritating him. He was not the sharpest knife in the drawer and, in his pissed state, he got confused by the noise. Still bucking, he lowered his head and charged at Ian. Lacy held her breath. He wouldn’t try to wrestle Wreck, would he? She wanted to shout at him, but her voice got stuck in the back of her throat and all she could do was watch in horror as Wreck bore down on Ian.
Ian made a stutter step to the right, and then spun left as Wreck blew past him. Lacy leaned forward, trying to see around her bull to where Ian was—had he gotten clipped?
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