“Good night, Lacy,” he murmured to her picture. Then he fired up the car and headed for the hotel.
* * *
LACY LAY IN BED, scrolling back to the beginning of the whole text conversation and rereading it. She almost hadn’t sent him that text. She’d assumed he’d probably be in some bar, pretty women fighting to be the one who went home with him.
And she hadn’t been all wrong about that. He had been in a bar. And, if he’d looked the way she’d seen him look—the close-cut Western shirt with the sleeves cuffed to the elbows, that leather strap around his wrist, those intense eyes—yeah, there’d been women. There had to have been.
But he’d been in his car. If the photo could be believed, he’d been alone. She couldn’t imagine any self-respecting woman sitting patiently next to him for twenty minutes while he’d texted Lacy.
She looked at his picture. He was wearing a dark shirt and there was the leather strap on his wrist. He looked tired—like a man headed back to his bed to sleep.
Night, Lacy.
She touched her fingertip to the screen. She was terrible at being friends with people, especially with people who were technically not there.
But she’d texted him. He’d texted back.
And she was beautiful. He wouldn’t say something like that if he didn’t mean it, would he? Or was it that he was still softening her up, making her like him more than she wanted to? She wasn’t beautiful; she knew that. Striking, maybe. But not beautiful and nowhere near pretty.
He must have been saying “thank you” when he’d said “beautiful,” she decided. Thanks for sending the picture—you look nice. She could accept that, right?
“Good night, Ian,” she whispered to his picture. Then she turned off her phone.
It took a long time to fall asleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IAN’S PHONE BUZZED. Lacy. I’m here. You?
Twenty min away. Will be there ASAP, he texted back. “Can you drive any faster?” he asked Jack.
K, was the only reply he got from Lacy.
“Keep your pants on,” Jack grumbled. “I’m not speeding for you or anyone else. I’ve had trouble in these here parts.”
“Fine,” Ian said, trying to sound as if putting along at seventy miles per hour was no big deal. If he were driving, he’d be pushing a hundred, easy.
But Jack was driving, so Ian kept his damn mouth shut. It’d either been ride with Jack or get back on a plane to South Dakota, and then drive down to Oklahoma. Jack had invited Ian down to his family’s ranch in Texas after the West Virginia rodeo.
Which was great. The Johnson family ranch had been about two hours north of Dallas—pretty land. Jack’s parents still worked the ranch and his brother lived nearby. It’d been a boisterous family reunion with so much barbecue that Ian had gained almost five pounds.
And every night, about 9:00 p.m. Wyoming time, he’d gotten a text from Lacy. The conversations were often short—mostly hey, how are you, doing good here, good night. He’d told her about hanging out with Jack’s family, but that had been the extent of it. No more pictures of her in bed. This morning she’d texted that she was on the road with three bulls—Rattler, Wreck and Peachy.
Now she was in Clinton and he was still half an hour outside city limits with the world’s most cautious cowboy driver.
“And how is your friend who is a girl?” Black Jack asked.
Ian snorted. “She’s okay.”
“Already at the arena, I gather? I hope your sorry hide appreciates that I left home a day early for this.”
“I do, man. She needs help with the bulls. She’s got three this time. It’s a lot to handle.”
“Why’s she doing it alone? Seems kind of reckless.”
“Her dad—that’s the guy you remembered, Dale—he died. She’s still working through it. They traveled together.”
“I see.” Jack was quiet for a moment longer. “I don’t remember her. But if she always dressed like a boy, I guess I wouldn’t.”
“Yeah.” Ian could see it, too. A stock contractor’s kid, not a stock contractor’s daughter. No doubt that between the Slims and the Jeromes of the world her father had assumed she’d be safer that way.
“You’ll help with the bulls, won’t you?”
Now it was Jack’s turn to snort. “You’re not going to lecture me on that whole ‘misfits have to stick together’ thing again, are you?”
“Depends. You going to help or not?”
Jack shot him a side-eye look. “You’re gonna owe me one for this.”
There was something in his tone that made it clear that this was going to go above and beyond Jack taking Ian to Texas and having his family put Ian up for a few nights and eating his food. This favor Jack was banking on didn’t have to do with Vegas, either.
“Yeah, okay.”
“I’m serious, now.”
“I am, too. I’ll owe you one and you’ll help keep an eye on Evans.”
Jack stuck out his hand and Ian shook it. “Done.”
They pulled into the arena grounds twenty-three minutes later. Jack had goosed it up to a whopping three miles over the posted speed limit and they hadn’t gotten pulled over, so he was in a good mood.
Ian spotted her silver truck. Jack parked and they walked over to discover Lacy standing next to three bulls, all snorting around a holding pen. She had all that glorious hair hidden up under her cowboy hat. When she saw Ian, a cautious smile crossed her face. But then she saw Jack and that smile fell away.
“I thought you were going to wait for us,” Ian said with no other introduction.
This time, her smile was huge—and almost feral. “I managed,” she said, sounding as if she wanted a fight.
“Lacy, it’s not a good idea for you to do this on your own.” Even as he said it, though, he knew it was wrong.
A scowl wiped that smile off her face. “I appreciate the offer, but I know how to handle my animals. I don’t need your permission to unload them.”
Jack unhelpfully snorted. Ian heard his partner mutter, “Misfits,” under his breath.
“I thought we had an agreement,” Ian said, stepping toward her and lowering his voice. “I was going to help you out and you were going to accept my help as payment for the vet bill you won’t let me pay.”
“First off, I did accept your help at the last rodeo. Second off, I didn’t need it today so I don’t see what the big deal is. And third off—you don’t get to tell me what to do. I’ll eat when I’m hungry, sleep when I’m tired and handle my bulls as I see fit.”
He took another step toward her. She stood her ground. “I didn’t show anyone your picture,” he said in a voice so quiet he was sure no one else could hear him.
Her eyes went wide. Something was wrong. Up close now, he could see that the dark circles were back under her eyes. Without that big smile on her face, she looked drawn. “Lacy,” he said, a weird mix of fear and anger gripping him, “what happened?”
“Nothing,” she snapped. But she took a step back and dropped her gaze.
He hoped like hell she didn’t play poker. “Lacy.”
“Nothing, okay? Look, I’ve got to do what I’ve got to do and you’ve got to do the same. Okay?” Behind her, one of the bulls bellowed and started pacing. “See?” she hissed. “You’re upsetting the bulls. I was doing fine without you.”
He stared down at her and she glared up at him and he didn’t want to let this go but what the hell choice did he have? He wasn’t white-knighting her. She wasn’t so helpless that she couldn’t function without him. He knew that.
By God, if Slim or anyone else had so much as laid a finger on her, they’d spend the rest of their very short lives regretting it. “Fine. When you’re ready to talk, you let me know.”
“I don’t need your help,” she said in a cutting whisper.
He wasn’t going to win this argument. He didn’t even know why they were arguing. He was positive that half an hour ago, she’d texted him and nothing had seemed off. She hadn’t said, “I’ve got this,” or anything that might have clued him in that she didn’t need his help. In fact, nothing in the past week had said that she was sick of him.
Something had definitely happened. By God, he was going to find whoever was responsible.
“We aren’t done yet,” he growled, turning away from her. “Come on,” he muttered at Jack.
“What’s going on?” Jack asked.
“Don’t know, man.”
Jack fell into step next to Ian, occasionally glancing over his shoulder. “She always like that?”
“No.” Which wasn’t strictly true. She was usually like that—prickly and borderline belligerent. But he’d thought that, since the restaurant, maybe she wasn’t like that with him.
Was it because Jack was with him? She could be almost human around Ian, but anyone else was a threat?
“She’s a hell of a tough nut to crack,” Jack said. “I wonder...”
But whatever he wondered was lost underneath a sudden crash and shout. Both Jack and Ian spun to see Lacy stumbling back from the pen. A fence panel had come loose and one of the bulls was out.
“Wreck!” he thought he heard Lacy shout, as if she could reason with the bull. “No!”
But all that did was draw the bull’s attention to Lacy.
Ian was running without being conscious of telling his feet to move. “Lacy!” he hollered. “Get out of there!”
She didn’t. Maybe she couldn’t. She backed up a step or two but it wasn’t enough to get her to her truck or behind anything that could protect her. The animal lowered his head, pawed at the dirt and charged.
Jesus. She was defenseless, stuck in the middle of no-man’s-land. “Jack!” Ian bellowed.
“Hiyaaa!” Jack shouted, hands waving wildly as he tried to draw the animal’s attention away from Lacy. He wasn’t as fast as Ian, though.
Ian got in front of her seconds before the bull hit her. He tackled her with everything he had, but instead of flattening her as he might a quarterback, he wrapped his arms around her body and rolled into it. Ian felt the heat of the bull’s body pass behind his back, and then the two of them hit the ground with an audible whump. Pain jolted his shoulder, but he didn’t care. He kept rolling, trying to keep her out of the bull’s way. Lacy let out a pained shriek as Ian’s back hit something hard and metallic.
There was a horrific crash from off to the side, and then the air was filled with the screams of an animal in pain. Seconds later, everything shook as something large hit the ground.
“No!” Lacy cried out, trying to break free of Ian’s arms. “No! No, no, no!”
Still rolling, Ian got his feet under his legs and hauled himself up, carrying Lacy with him. “Don’t look,” he said. He hadn’t let go. He couldn’t.
“No!” Lacy screamed, hitting at his arms. “Wreck—oh, God—Wreck!”
Jack came skidding to a halt in front of them. “Okay?” he shouted.
Ian gave a curt nod of his head. He wasn’t dead and neither was she. Lacy hadn’t been trampled or gored.
“No,” she yelled again, her voice cracking on the high note. “Wreck!”
Ian looked at Jack. His partner shook his head no.
“The other bulls,” Ian said.
“Got them,” Jack said. “Couple of contractors are here. They’re penned.”
“Who’s got a gun?” someone demanded.
“Wreck...” Her voice cracked over the word again and Ian recognized it for what it was. She was about to start crying. She leaned her head back and looked up at him. Her eyes were glazed with pain and her hat was gone. “Don’t let them kill my bull.”
Ian tucked her head against his chest and half turned to see a cowboy with a pistol stand over what was left of Wreck. Wreck was a wreck—that much was clear. Ian didn’t need to be a vet to see the animal wasn’t going to make it. He was on his side but instead of his legs all pointing out away from his body in the same direction, one of his front legs was angled up toward the sky—until the hoof, which dangled awkwardly. The bull was trying to stand, screaming in pain the whole time. His other three legs were thrashing madly.
The bull had hit the trailer, Ian realized. His leg must have hit the wheel well or something. He thought he could see blood dripping off the rim of the well—which was six feet off the ground. The animal had hit the trailer hard enough to flip the whole damn thing on its side.
Jesus. If Ian hadn’t gotten to Lacy in time, she’d have been pinned between the bull and the trailer. She would have been crushed to death.
“Don’t let them,” Lacy begged.
“Medical tent?” Ian yelled over the noise. A cowboy he didn’t recognize looked up and pointed in the opposite direction.
A shot rang out. What was left of Lacy’s bull went silent and slumped against the ground.
“No!” Lacy howled against his chest. She began to beat her fists against him. “No!”
“Lacy, hon—come on,” Ian tried to say gently. She was coming apart at the seams, and he knew that if he let her fall apart in front of all these men, she’d hate him for it.
He swept her legs out from underneath her and cradled her to his chest. Then he took off in the direction of the medical tent.
Her breathing had left ragged behind and moved on to deep, painful gasps that didn’t come at any regular interval. He couldn’t tell if that was because she was so deep into the panic or if it was because he’d hit her at full speed.
But he’d had no choice, he reminded himself as he ducked into the tent. It was either she get hit by him or get hit by the bull.
The tent was empty. A cot was off to one side and a table that held a small fridge full of ice was on the other. No EMTs, no doctors. “Dammit.”
“I—can’t,” she gasped in his arms, and then she tried to twist out of his grip. He almost dropped her, the movement caught him so off guard. “I have to—”
He staggered to the cot and managed to set her down without flat-out dropping her. Lacy looked up at him with dazed eyes. “I want to wake up now,” she said in a whisper that was nothing but pain. “God, please let me wake up now.”
It hurt him so bad. “Lacy, babe—just sit. I’ll find the EMTs and—”
“No!” she screeched. “Don’t leave me. Not until I wake up.”
Well, hell. He was not a medical professional, but he had a degree in sports kinesiology. “I won’t leave,” he promised as he crouched in front of her. “But I need to check you for injuries. Will you let me do that?”
“Am I...hurt?” She looked down at her body.
“I need to find out. I’m going to take your boots off and check your ankles, okay?” He grabbed the left one and tugged. It came off so suddenly that he wound up sitting on his ass in the grass.
He saw Lacy physically shake herself, as if she really was trying to wake up. Then her eyes focused on him again. “Oh, God—this is really happening, isn’t it?” She stood and started to walk out of the tent, with only one boot on.
“Lacy—wait!” He hopped to his feet and caught her by the arm. “I need to check you for concussions.”
“Ian...” Her chest hitched up and fat tears streaked out of her eyes.
He sat down on the cot next to her and pulled her onto his lap. “It’s okay. I’m here.” He held her. That was all.
She collapsed in heaving sobs.
He started rubbing her back. As he did, he let his hands feel along her ribs. “It’s okay,” he murmured into her hair.
“It’s not, is it? Don’t lie.” She leaned back, shifted an
d buried her face into the crook of his neck. Her arms went around him and, for the first time, she was holding him back. “It’s not okay.” She took a shuddering breath. “I’m so tired of death, Ian.”
“I know, babe.” So far, she hadn’t reacted to his gentle pressure on her back. That was a good sign. The biggest risks of the hit had been a concussion if her head hit the ground or cracked ribs.
“Wreckerator...” She sucked in air.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and he was. “He didn’t suffer long.”
“Oh, God,” she repeated.
That was all she said for a while. The crying evened out. There was no stopping those tears, though.
So he held her. At some point, he realized he was stroking the top of her head. He didn’t know where her hat was and he knew she would want it. But for right now, he would let her dark waves slip under his fingers. He’d wanted to see her hair, to feel it—but not like this.
Eventually she cried herself out. When she was down to a few sniffles, she whispered, “This wasn’t a nightmare, was it?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Rattler? Peachy?”
“Black Jack made sure they were secure. He’s watching them now.”
She nodded against his neck. “Wreck...”
“I’ll deal with it,” he told her, hoping like hell she wasn’t about to start crying again. “But I need to do something else first.”
That got her to lean back. Not enough to look him in the eyes, though. “What?”
“I need to check you for injuries. I need to make sure you don’t have a concussion or any broken ribs.”
“Oh.” Her voice was small. “Okay.”
He slid her off his lap and set her on the cot next to him. “I’m going to feel your ribs,” he told her. “I’m not trying anything funny, okay?”
“Okay,” she nodded. She looked as awful as was to be expected, but at least her eyes were focused on him now and she was breathing regularly.
Ian pressed along her ribs. “Let me know if you feel any pain,” he said as he moved his hands forward, underneath her arms. He kept his pressure slow and steady and his hands as far away from her breasts as he could.
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