“All right, so that might explain why you’re a bullfighter and not a rider,” she told him. A storied football career cut short would also explain those muscles. Not that she was looking, because she wasn’t. “But again, so?”
“If I’m going to be beaten by my cousin, by God, it’s going to be fair and square. It’s not going to be because some jerk decided girls shouldn’t ride, that sexual intimidation was the best way to get rid of her.”
“But she’s family,” Lacy protested. “I’m not. I’m nobody.”
He cut her off with a look so intense, so heated, that she had no choice but to be quiet. “I don’t want to hear you say that again. I’ll admit it—the first time you tore into me, I wondered what the hell your problem was. But then I heard the way Slim talked to you. I saw how you reacted. And you know what? It was like watching some of those men try to put June in the place where they thought she belonged.” He clenched his hands into fists. “It’s like listening to people try to put me where they think I belong because I’ve got a name like Tall Chief.”
She didn’t know how to respond to that. If there had been a time when she’d thought him nothing but a bunch of muscles he’d completely blown that image away.
“I know it’s not the same,” he went on, sounding tired. “I know it’s not a competition for you. And I’ll never be the best bullfighter in the world. But I need to be good again. I need to be able to say I’m one of the best at something. I’ve got—” He paused and rubbed his hand over his heart. “I’ve got to prove myself.”
He’d stopped being honest. If his body language hadn’t given him away, his voice would have sealed it. He had another reason he did what he did. It couldn’t be bills. There were easier ways to make a buck than this mad obsession they all had with the rodeo.
“It’s not like you can win or lose at being a stock contractor,” he went on, his voice unnaturally level. “But I don’t want people to tear you down, and then say you failed because you were a woman in a man’s world. If you’re going to fail, you should fail on your own. Not because they set you up that way.” He gave her a sheepish look. “If that even makes sense.”
“It does.” It was a lot to take in. “I won’t let anyone tell me I can’t do this.”
“That’s why.”
She thought about what he’d said. “You ever help June out like you help me?”
Oh, my—that smile on his face? Wow. “I only had to once. Had a brief run-in with Red Willis.”
Lacy choked on her coffee. “Red Willis?” He was another rider up in the bigs now. She hadn’t realized how deep Ian’s connections went. “You beat up Red?”
“As I understand it,” he said, his voice something that would have been lazy if it hadn’t been so menacing, “he keeps well clear of her now. A perfect gentleman at all times.” He shrugged, as if assault were no big deal. “If Jerome’s got half a brain, he’ll do the same.” He waved at the waitress, who brought the check. Lacy opened her mouth to protest, but he fished out two twenties and handed them to the waitress. “Keep the change. Ready?”
She nodded. She was tired, she realized. This was more talking—more feeling—than she’d allowed herself to do for a very long time. “So now what?” she asked as they walked back to the truck.
“It’s up to you,” he said in all sincerity. “I promised to help you with your bulls and I aim to keep that promise. We can keep hanging out. Or...” Even though he was a good three feet from her, she felt that lightning’s-about-to-strike sensation again.
Or.
Or they could get naked in the vicinity of a bed.
“We could hang out some,” she said, trying to sound as though she was 100 percent certain about it. Then, before he could react, she added, “And I don’t want to seem ungrateful about the bulls. I... I appreciate the help.”
“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” They’d stopped at the tailgate of the truck, she realized, as if each going to their separate side of the truck would somehow end the conversation. “Where are you going to be next week?”
“Nothing on the schedule until Clinton, Oklahoma, in two weeks.”
“Where’s home?”
It was a perfectly innocent question. So why was her pulse beating an extra hard rhythm right now? “Not too far from Laramie, at the foot of the Laramie Mountains.”
“Beautiful country.”
“It is. It’s home.” And she couldn’t lose it.
If that meant she had to accept Ian’s help and ignore this attraction, then that’s what she had to do. She couldn’t lose the ranch to Slim and have life as she knew it come to an end. Without home to anchor her, she’d be...
Lost.
She cleared her throat. “What about you? Where’s your next stop?”
“West Virginia, if you can believe it.” He sighed heavily. “It’s different out East, when you’ve got a name like mine.” He scowled. “Plus, it’s a hell of a long way. I’m going to have to fly. I hate flying. I don’t fit in the seats.”
She tried to picture him folded up into an airline seat. Laughing, she leaned against the truck. “Will you be in Oklahoma after that?”
“Yeah.” He looked down at her then, his gaze a caress. “Here.” He looked away and dug his phone out of his pocket. “This is my number. Call or text me for any reason.”
She got out her phone and entered the number on his screen into her contacts list. “I’ll let you know when I get into Clinton?”
He smiled encouragingly. “And I’ll help with the bulls.”
“Because we’re friends.”
“Sure are.” That’s what he said, at least. But the look in his eyes?
Not friendly.
Not even close.
Two weeks felt a long way off.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LACY HADN’T GIVEN him her number. And Ian hadn’t asked for it.
Instead, he’d chosen to put himself in the uncomfortable position of hoping a woman would call and being pretty sure she wouldn’t. And all he could do was hope she was doing all right and focus on his job.
West Virginia was a different world. He’d grown up on a sea of grass, the Badlands half an hour away. It was flat and dry and every so often, there’d be a low line of hills covered in pines. South Dakota was a beautiful place, all the more beautiful because it was the kind of land that could kill you if you let your guard down. A summer storm, a blizzard—hell, even a grass fire could do you in. If the weather didn’t get you, a coyote or a snake or a buffalo might. A man had to be aware of his surroundings.
West Virginia, however, was all lush green hills and deep valleys filled with rivers. And people. Houses were hanging on the edge of hills and the roads were wedged in underneath. The whole thing was claustrophobic.
Morgantown wasn’t like any cow town Ian had ever been to, either. The arena was indoors in a coliseum on a college campus, for crying out loud. The place had a concrete roof and the echo was terrible. He’d done indoor arenas before, but they’d never been this freaking loud.
“You okay?” Jack said as they set up their chairs on Friday night. “You don’t look so good.”
“Rough flight,” he admitted.
“Hey, at least you can afford a plane ticket,” Jack snapped. “Where’s your girlfriend?”
“First off, she’s not my girlfriend. Second, she’s not here.” He got out his phone and checked to make sure he hadn’t missed a text from her.
Jack chuckled. “You’re gonna get your head in the game, right?”
“You have to ask?” No messages of any kind. Damn. “I don’t like the echoes in this place.”
“Yeah, neither do some of the bulls. Stay on your toes, man. I don’t need you screwing up my comeback because you’re making puppy-dog eyes at a girl.”
&n
bsp; “What are you, six? What’s your problem?”
Jack gave him a mean look, but then looked away. “Long trip,” he said. “My bad.”
“No problem,” Ian said. But now he was worried. Jack wasn’t normally this tense before a rodeo. “Anything I can help with?”
Jack sat back in his chair and stared up at the horrible roof. He seemed older today than he had last week. More beat down. “We gotta get to Vegas this year, Chief.”
“Working on it.”
Vegas. He’d almost told Lacy about Eliot. About how he needed to be someone his son could be proud of. Yeah, Jack needed to get to Vegas and everyone could use more money but...
Ian hadn’t been able to tell Lacy about that part of him. Hell, he should probably be more surprised that he’d told her what he had. Sure, people knew June was his cousin, but he didn’t randomly reveal that it drove him nuts, her being better than him.
So why had he told Lacy?
She needed to have faith that he wasn’t just putting himself in the friend zone until the perfect opportunity struck. He’d needed to give her a reason to trust him.
But that wasn’t it and he knew it.
And, despite what Jack might claim, Ian was not making puppy-dog eyes at her. She wanted him. She had to be the one to pull the trigger—so to speak. He wasn’t playing games with her because he didn’t play games anymore. The last time he’d thought he could play a woman—two women—he’d wound up fathering a child.
He checked his phone again and began to stretch. The loudspeakers started blasting heavy metal. God, his ears were going to start bleeding.
He had to focus. Too much was riding on this season. No matter what was going on with Lacy—friends or something else—he had to keep his eyes on the prize. If he made it to the bigs this year, he’d ask Eliot’s parents if he could meet his son.
So he focused. He had a job to do.
* * *
IAN SAT AT the end of the bar, nursing a beer and watching the crowd and subtly trying to stretch out his shoulder. He’d caught a glancing blow trying to keep Jerome Salzberg from being turned into a mud puddle and the impact had strained a muscle. Not that Jerome was appreciative of Ian’s effort. The asshole was on the other side of the bar, surrounded by fawning women who wanted to hear about his brush with death. Jerome hadn’t bought Ian a beer or even nodded his thanks.
Well, Ian supposed he had that coming. After all, he’d hit the man long before the bull had taken a shot at him.
Ian didn’t care. Not much, anyway. But he kept taking his phone out and glancing at the screen.
Waiting on a girl, he thought with disgust. He’d never waited on a girl before. He’d never had to. He’d been a big man in high school, a bigger man on campus. He’d never wanted for feminine company.
He thought of Leasha, Eliot’s mother. Ian hadn’t loved her. He wasn’t sure he’d ever loved any of them. They’d had a lot of fun together, but that hadn’t stopped Ian from seeing Pammy on the side. When Leasha had found out—because June had ratted on Ian—it’d been over and done. The fight had been epic, but the break had been clean.
Or so he’d thought. And then Eliot had happened.
All these girls here, they were about the same age Leasha had been when she’d had the boy. He didn’t even know why she’d given up the baby. Because she had plans? A job waiting for her? Or because she couldn’t raise him herself—because she knew she wouldn’t get any help from Ian? He hadn’t exactly proved himself to her, after all. He’d been a lousy boyfriend. A lousy man.
He had to make up for what he’d done.
Ian’s phone buzzed. He glanced at his phone.
A text message. No name, no picture. Just a number. Wrestle any bulls today?
Lacy.
He chugged the last of his beer and headed out to the rental car. By the time he’d climbed into the driver’s seat, he had three more messages. It’s me, which was followed by, Lacy, and then Lacy Evans, as if he had so many Lacys in his life that he couldn’t remember which one was which.
He could almost see her, sitting there, frowning at the phone the way she frowned at him and wondering if maybe she shouldn’t have texted him in the first place. I figured it out after the bulls question, he texted back. No, I didn’t wrestle anyone or anything today. Almost got stepped on once, though. How are you?
The little bubble thought for a moment. Fine, she finally said. You? How was the rodeo?
Okay. The arena had a concrete roof. Louder than hell, he texted back. Now that he was in the relative quiet of the car, he could hear how much his ears were still ringing. Where are you?
The pause was long. It felt longer because not even the little thought bubble was there to tell him she was typing something up.
But it was worth it when she texted, In bed. You?
He let his mind spin out a fantasy of Lacy in, well, lace, curled up under the blankets, looking soft and sweet and...
In my car, in a bar parking lot, he texted back.
The response was quick. Oh. Sorry to bother you. Have fun.
Whoa, girl—I’m done here. Heading back to the hotel, he texted back as fast as he could. Rather be texting with you than watching the riders get drunk.
Oh. Okay. He swore he could hear the hesitation in her voice, as if she didn’t believe him.
There was only one problem with his mental picture of her in bed. Question, he texted before he could think better of it.
Yes?
Do you sleep in the hat?
Of course not.
He grinned at his phone. Pictures or it didn’t happen.
It wasn’t as if he was asking for a picture of her bare breasts or anything. This wasn’t sexting. Or if it was, it was the least sexual sexting ever.
He wanted to see her hair. He wanted to know what she looked like when she wasn’t working so hard at being a tough-as-nails cowgirl.
This time, the pause was much longer and Ian wondered if he’d pushed her too far. Her hair was like her name—she’d reveal it in her own sweet time.
Then she was there, looking up at him from his phone. It was not, technically, a good photo. The colors were a washed-out gray, and she’d only managed to get a little over half her face in the shot.
But it didn’t matter. Because Lacy Evans was looking at him. Her eyes were wide and maybe a little nervous. She was curled up in bed. He could see the edge of a smooth shoulder that was bare except for the strap of a tank top.
And her hair. Oh, Lord, her hair—deep, dark waves that fell in thick curls around her face and down her neck, ending at her shoulders. Something in his gut tightened, and Ian knew that if she’d revealed her hair to him in person, he wouldn’t have been able to fight the overwhelming urge to bury his fingers in it and let the softness of those waves tangle around him until he was hopelessly caught up in her.
Wow, he texted back. Beautiful. His finger hovered over the send button. She wouldn’t like to be told how pretty she was, he knew. She’d probably turn an interesting shade of pink and scowl at her phone and remind him this didn’t mean anything because they were just friends.
He hit Send.
Then, without waiting for her response, he took a selfie—without his hat on—and sent it. Not his best work. He looked like he’d spent several hours being deafened in an arena and getting pushed around by bulls. Even? he asked.
I already knew what you looked like without your hat, she replied.
But did you know what the inside of this crappy rental car looked like?
I’m not going to tell you you’re handsome, if you were fishing for a compliment.
That made him grin. She could be damnably prickly when she wanted to. I only fish for trout, he texted back. Did you eat today?
Yes.
He wasn’t entirely sure he took that at face value. Are you going to be able to sleep tonight?
There was a pause. I think so. Thanks for talking with me.
Hey, that’s what friends are for. He sent the text and then sat there for a moment. Will you let me know how you’re doing tomorrow? It was still her move to make. She could text him if she wanted, but he wouldn’t intrude on her time if she didn’t want him to.
Yes. Then, a moment later, You won’t show that picture to anyone, will you? Never sent a text picture before.
Never? Maybe that explained what took so long? Obviously, she was a different kind of woman, but then something she said seemed to click into place. She wasn’t very good at having friends. It was possible she’d never had anyone to send a picture to before.
And she’d sent one to him. Won’t, I promise. Just between you and me.
I’ll hold you to it.
He grinned at his phone again. I expect nothing less. Night, Lacy.
Night, Ian.
He sat in the dark for a bit, thinking. They were friends. She was probably the most unusual friend he’d ever had, though. Aside from June, he didn’t make friends with women—and June didn’t count because they were cousins. When he’d been younger, he’d been too busy getting busy to be friends with girls. And his world now didn’t lead to a lot of chances to hang out.
He tapped until he had cropped half of the blue-gray background out of Lacy’s photo, so that it was her face, her shoulder, her hair. Then he saved it as her contact photo.
He could see her curled up beside him in bed, looking at him with those big brown eyes. He could feel her lying in his arms, her face propped on his chest. It wasn’t a sexual image, but there was a closeness to it that he wanted.
He shook the vision out of his head. Ian had the feeling that if Lacy ever found anyone in her bed, she’d probably shoot them. And most likely not in the kneecap.
He would not show her picture to anyone; that much he knew for sure. Not even to Jack, and Ian trusted Jack with his life. That photo of her, soft and innocent and vulnerable, that was just for him.
Harlequin Superromance May 2016 Box Set Page 33