She clicked her tongue. “That girl got you good.”
He touched his stomach. “Yes, she did.” In more ways than one.
“The star quarterback’s gotta save the ball at all costs.”
He grumbled out a laugh. “Yeah, normally I’m on the other end of the spectrum with throwing the ball, but I guess it’s ingrained. A ball comes, and you just react.” Why had he not stopped to think that through before reacting? Then again, he might never have met the redhead if it hadn’t happened. So, it might not be such a bad thing. The jury was still out.
“Poor baby,” Trisha purred, placing a hand on his arm. Her sultry eyes lifted to his as she batted her thick eyelashes. “Would you like for me to make it better?”
“Thanks, I’m okay,” he said nonchalantly. He and Trisha were mostly friends, which was for the best. Better to let the past stay in the past.
“Suit yourself,” she sniffed. “Where do you want to sit?” she asked when they reached the stands.
He scoped the crowded bleachers, looking for a spot … and for a turquoise cowboy hat. His pulse bumped up a notch when he saw it. As the woman made eye contact, disappointment trickled through him. It wasn’t the redhead. Several people, including a couple of women, gave him eager waves when his eyes met theirs. He smiled and nodded.
Trisha harrumphed, shooting the women dark looks. “Your adoring fans never stop, do they?”
“Not jealous, are you, Trisha?” In the old days, Trisha had been a big fish in a little pond—head cheerleader, homecoming queen, Silver Creek’s little darling. Now that Riker had come into his own, she wasn’t sure how to take it.
She slid her arm through his and leaned in. “Why would I be jealous? I’m the one you’re with.”
“As friends,” he said firmly. Yes, friends were all they would ever be. The knowledge settled over him with surprising certainty. Funny how meeting the siren had helped him decide that.
Trisha’s face fell. She pointed to an empty space on the front row of the bleachers. “Oh, look. They saved us a couple of spots.” Her voice went cheery as they went over and sat down. “It must be our lucky night.”
Women’s barrel racing was underway. Riker watched as the rider and horse sped around the barrels in a clover pattern. Applause thundered through the stadium as the announcer shouted out her time. Watching this competition was a double-edged sword. On the one hand Riker really enjoyed it—he’d been coming to the rodeo since he was a kid. On the other, it reminded him of his mom, Irene. She’d grown up barrel racing and competed well into her fifties. Part of the reason he’d come here tonight was to feel close to his mom again. He wouldn’t forget her, even though his dad had. Acid churned in his gut as he thought about the injustice of his dad remarrying so soon after his mother’s death. He’d never forgive his dad for that.
“Are you okay?” Trisha tugged at his arm. “You seem so serious.”
He forced a smile. “I’m good.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
He jerked. “Huh?”
She laughed. “You’re thinking about your mom, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
“It’ll get better with time.”
That’s what people kept telling him, but so far it wasn’t working.
“How are things with the Titans?”
“Busy.” He watched as the next contestant charged out of the gate and around the barrels.
She frowned. “I thought this was your time off.”
“Yeah, it is. I mean, I still have training exercises, but it’s nice to have some downtime.”
“That was LeAnne Croker with a time of 16.685,” the announcer boomed, followed by applause.
Trisha leaned closer to him, talking louder over the noise. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about Silver Creek …” her lower lip jutted out in a petulant pout “… that you’d forgotten about me.”
Trisha was good at playing on the emotions, using her charms to persuade the opposite sex. “I could never forget about you, Trisha. The two of us are buds.”
Her brows bunched together in irritation, then she smiled coyly. “You know … if you asked me nicely, I might even entertain the idea of us getting back together.”
He laughed. “Really?”
She gave him an adoring look. “Really.” Her voice grew husky. “The two of us were so good together, Riker.”
“You didn’t think so when you broke up with me.”
Her eyes took on a wounded look. “That’s not fair.”
“It’s the truth.”
“I was a silly teenager … confused.”
“You said you needed space to stretch your wings, said you wanted to date other people.” In all honesty, Riker was ticked when it first happened, felt like she’d broken his heart. Later, he realized it was mostly his pride that had been hurt. As time went on, he was relieved that he could go to college without the additional stress of a long-distance relationship.
“I made a mistake, okay?” She reached for his hand, pressing it between hers. She looked him in the eye. “Can you ever forgive me?”
He gave her a reassuring smile. “Of course. It worked out as it should have. The best part of our relationship survived. We’re friends.” He knew Trisha well enough to know that while she cared about him, it didn’t hurt that he was now a professional quarterback for the Titans.
She sighed. “Yes, I suppose we are.”
The next contestant was up. Riker’s pulse shot up ten notches. It was the redhead! He removed his hand from Trisha’s and sat up straight.
She followed his trail of vision, sighing in irritation. “Is that the girl you spilled food on?”
“Yeah.” He kept his eyes fixed on the siren. Trisha spoke, but he didn’t process what she’d said. All he could think about was how magnificent the redhead was.
“She changed shirts,” Trisha added.
“Yes,” he murmured. He could feel the tension in the siren’s body as she leaned forward on the horse, clutching the reins. Her chin was set with determination, her hat low on her head, the brim just above her eyes. He watched in admiration as she charged out and around the barrels, her copper strands flying in the wind like streaks of a rocket. Wow! What a woman. All of the energy in the arena seemed to be gathered around her.
“Starr Andrews at 16.654,” the announcer yelled.
Riker committed the name to memory. Starr Andrews. Everything in him wanted to jump up this instant and rush over to her. He craned his neck to look over to the side of the arena where she’d gone.
Trisha linked her arm through his. “I’m bored. Let’s get something to eat. I’m sure you’re hungry too, since your food went all over that barrel racer.”
She spoke the words barrel racer with disdain.
Riker had to talk to the redhead. How to get away from Trisha without hurting her feelings. “Um, Trisha, maybe we ought to call it a night.”
She tightened her hold. “Oh, no. I’m not letting you go that easily.” She flashed a wicked grin. “You like her.”
He blinked. “Who?”
“The barrel racer.”
“I don’t even know her.”
“You want to get to know her,” she purred in a playful tone.
“She hates me, punched me in the gut.”
“Yeah, but you’re thinking you can charm her into forgiving you. Flash those baby blues, tell her what a kick-butt quarterback you are and she’ll fall into your arms.”
If only it were that easy. He had a feeling that unlike most girls, the siren wouldn’t be all that impressed that he was the Titan’s starting quarterback.
She laughed lightly. “That’s exactly what you’re thinking, I can see it on your face.”
He grunted, removing his arm from Trisha’s. “Not hardly. I was actually thinking that Starr would probably slap me if I even so much as tried to say hello.”
She flashed a hard smile that looked like it might crack with the slig
htest bit of pressure. “Ah, so you’re on a first-name basis now. That was fast.”
Geez. “The announcer just said her name.” A grin played on his lips and for a second, he felt like they were back in high school, bantering back and forth in Mr. Floyd’s biology class. “Are you jealous of Starr?”
Her face turned red. “You wish,” she spouted. “You know what, Starr probably would slap you, or punch you in the face.” Trisha let out a snarky giggle. “Oh, the amount of money I’d pay to see that.”
His brows shot up. “Way to throw me under the bus.”
“Well, you have been getting too big for your britches lately,” she quipped.
The statement was spoken in jest but he could sense some hostility. It got under his skin. “You know what? I think if I approached Starr, she’d be just fine with it. Would probably even be glad.” Okay, that was a stretch, but Trisha was crossing the line. She, of all people, should be happy for his success instead of resentful.
She shook her head. “Dream on.”
“Maybe I’ll go and talk to her and we’ll see.”
She rolled her eyes. “Go ahead, it’s your funeral.” She tilted her head, looking thoughtful. “Since you’re so certain she’ll fall at your feet, let’s make a wager.”
He sensed a trap. One thing he knew about Trisha was that she always had an angle. “What kind of wager?”
She pursed her lips. “If you can talk to Starr,” she held up a finger, “no, kiss her before the night’s over, I’ll give you three pints of my mama’s blackberry jam.”
“Oh, no. Don’t be bringing your mama’s jam into this. You know how much I love that stuff.”
“Yep.” She flashed a victorious smile. “You never could resist my mama’s jam.”
His mouth salivated just thinking about that jam spread over a warm piece of homemade bread. What could it hurt to make a wager? He planned to approach Starr anyway. He had to admit, wager or not, the thought of kissing her was thrilling. Heck, he’d even settle for talking to Starr again.
Trisha’s eyes danced with a challenge. “What do you say?”
“You’re on.” They shook on it. “Wait a minute, though. What do you get if I lose?” No way he was going to lose, but courtesy demanded that he at least broach the topic.
She waved a hand. “Just buy me some loaded fries at Skinny Steve’s and we’ll call it even.”
“It’s a deal.” He stood, suddenly anxious to get to where Starr was before she somehow got away. “Whelp,” he drawled, flashing a cocky grin. “I’m off to prove my manliness. Wish me luck.”
“You’ll need it,” Trisha said, a smile flitting over her lips. “Those fries are gonna taste so good.”
He winked. “Not as good as your mama’s jam. See ya around.”
“Later,” she responded.
With that, he was off.
5
Emerson’s racing time put her in the middle of the pack, exactly where she wanted to be. While it was tempting to go for the top slot, winning wasn’t worth calling attention to herself.
“You did good, girl.” She rubbed a hand down Clover’s neck, giving her a gentle pat. Clover was no Ringo, but little by little, she was learning to race. Ringo, Emerson’s horse from childhood, was a natural at racing during his prime. Unfortunately, he was getting too old now, so she’d gotten Clover and was working to get her up to speed. Her phone buzzed. She fished it out of her pocket. When she realized it was her mama, she hit the side button to silence the ringing and stuffed it back in her jeans. “Not gonna talk to her right now,” she muttered, rubbing swift, smooth strokes down Clover’s neck. Her mama had been sending scathing texts for the past hour, demanding to know why Emerson ditched the barbecue and where she was. Emerson hadn’t responded to a one, which is why her mama kept calling. She scowled. The woman would just have to get over it, realize that Emerson wasn’t at her beck and call.
What a crazy evening it had been. First, Finley blackmailed her into kissing him, then that moron tossed his food all over her as she was darting to the restroom before the race—all because he wanted to play hero and catch a stupid football. She smiled thinking of the tongue lashing she’d given him, followed by the punch in the stomach. Well, she felt a little guilty about that, but he deserved it. Had she not borrowed a shirt from one of the other contenders who’d brought an extra one, she would’ve been forced to compete with the stained one.
She couldn’t seem to stop thinking about the guy—tall, fit, blonde hair, defined features, clear blue eyes filled with laughter, cocky grin. Sparks had zinged through her when their eyes connected. She shook her head remorsefully. Why couldn’t she feel that way about Finley?
“You did good tonight, Miss Stein.”
Her eyes widened as she turned to Gary the ranch hand she’d hired to bring Clover to the arena. “Thanks, but here it’s Starr,” she said in a low tone. It would be disastrous if her true identity got out.
He smiled in understanding, his fingers forming a gun as he clicked his tongue. “Gotcha.” He motioned. “Would you like for me to remove the saddle?”
“I don’t mind doing this part.” The ritual was part of the bonding process.
“Alrighty. Just let me know when you’re ready for me to take the horse and trailer back to the ranch.” He jutted his thumb. “In the meantime, I’m gonna grab a drink from the concession stand. Want anything?”
“No, thanks.”
He turned to leave.
“Hey, Gary?”
He looked back over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“I know we’ve been through this already, but no one is to know I was here. I’ll pay you handsomely for your silence.”
He nodded. “I understand. Thank you, Miss Ste—Starr,” he corrected with a sheepish grin.
Emerson stroked Clover a few more times. “All right, girl. Let’s get this saddle off you.”
“I can help with that.”
Her eyes rounded, a thousand firecrackers going off inside her. It was him—the moron! Same mischievous twinkle in his eyes, same confident grin. Same overwhelming chemistry.
“16.654.” He shrugged, thumbs going into his pockets. “It seems you can race as well as you can punch.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you know about racing?”
He chuckled. “Probably more than you think.”
He stepped up to Clover. “Let me help you with that saddle.”
“The breast collar comes off first,” she instructed, realizing as she spoke that he was working on it.
A reproving smile tugged at his lips. “I know my way around horses.” Once the saddle was undone, he lifted it and the pad off Clover, rather than dragging it off as newbies were inclined to do.
“Where would you like this?” he asked.
She reached to take it from him. “I don’t need any help.”
He held onto it, amusement aglow in his eyes. “Sure you do. Where do you want it?”
“Let go!” She pulled. He pulled harder, jerking her forward. She stumbled, catching herself as she glared at him. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
This guy was tromping on her last nerve. She blew out a breath. “Fine. You wanna help? Put it in the trailer.”
After he placed the saddle in the stand, he came down the ramp. “Let me put your horse in.”
Her jaw tightened. “That won’t be necessary.” What was this? Penance for earlier? She eyed him, trying not to dwell on how his smooth, sinewy muscles rippled underneath his snug t-shirt. Her knuckles were still sore from hitting his rock-hard abs. There was fit and then there was athlete fit like this guy. To get that kind of definition, he must live in a gym. No, he didn’t seem like the bodybuilder type, more like a die-hard cowboy. She glanced at his long, faded jean-clad legs and leather boots. Or maybe a Marlboro Man/surfer dude combination. His mop of thick, sun-streaked hair certainly reminded her of a surfer. “I don’t need your help.”
He didn’t back down an inch. “
Well, you’re getting it.”
“Look, if you’re trying to make up for earlier, it’s not necessary.”
“I’m not.”
She jerked. “What?”
“I spilled food on you. You slugged me in the gut. We’re even.”
A startled laugh chugged out of her throat. “Oh, no. We’re not even … not by a long shot. You owe me big time, mister.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Really,” she spat. But she wasn’t as mad as she was earlier. In fact, she was rather enjoying the verbal sparring match.
An unencumbered smile broke over his face, spreading unexpected warmth through her. This must be how deer felt when stunned by bright light—knowing they should run but being transfixed by the brilliance. “All right. I owe you,” he said. “That’s why I’m putting your horse in the trailer. And why I’m buying you dinner.”
Her first thought was that she’d fallen right into that one. Her next thought was that dinner with him would be the most excitement she’d had in a month. Things had been so blah with Finley that she was starting to wonder if maybe she was hoping for something that didn’t exist. But, oh, boy, she knew now that it existed. This guy was every school-girl’s crush rolled into a 6’ 2” package of testosterone, charisma and a smile so dazzling he could’ve been the poster child for a Colgate commercial. It occurred to her that she was getting swept up in some guy who’s name she didn’t even know. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Dinner, huh?” She pursed her lips. “Let’s say I agree, where would we go?”
He gave her a crafty look. “This is a test, isn’t it?”
She couldn’t stop a smile from curving her lips. “Maybe.” His eyes reminded her of a summer sky, clear and pristine.
“You can tell a lot about a girl from the type of food she eats.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true,” he said with a straight face.
“Okay, lay it on me. I’m listening. What kind of girl am I?”
He made a point of looking her up and down, the intensity of his eyes sending her pulse thrumming. “I’ve gotta get this right,” he mused. He held up a finger. “I’ve got it. You want a funnel cake.”
The Hometown Groom Page 3