* * *
The last of the crowd was filtering out under the starlit sky and the last chords of the last song were fading from the air when Chloe finally dragged her boots back to her dressing room, where Pete had been waiting for her for at least forty minutes. The sound from the concert back here had been distorted something awful, but he hadn’t wanted to risk Chloe trying to give him the slip.
She was moving slow, her head down and any trace of the princess long gone. “Chloe.”
She pulled up short. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Yup, still me,” he agreed. For some reason, he wanted to grin at her.
“Are you going to follow me into my dressing room again?” Her bright show smile was nowhere to be seen. She looked worn out. The fancy rodeo queen–style dress she’d changed into for the concert was literally weighing her down. The long, sequined skirt glowed in the dim light. Even in near dark, the woman still managed to shine.
He’d never seen her look so...less than perky. He should enjoy the fact that she looked like a bull had run over her because it was just more proof that she couldn’t handle running the All-Stars. Oddly, though, that wasn’t the emotion that snuck up on him. Instead, he felt an odd urge to wrap his arm around her shoulder and kiss her.
On the forehead, that was. Nowhere else.
He cleared his throat. “Nope.” To hell with it. He did grin. “Not unless you want me to.”
She made a noise of disgust. “Don’t make me shoot you.” But she said it without animosity as she trudged past him.
He caught her by the arm. Despite the summer heat, her dress had long lacy sleeves. “I do need to talk to you.”
She opened her mouth as if she wanted to argue with him, but then stared down to where he was touching her. “Do you promise not to barge in on me this time?”
Something in her voice kicked his pulse up a notch. Yeah, he was fully aware she’d been messing with him earlier, using her stunning body to distract him and he wasn’t too proud to admit that it had almost worked.
Okay, it had worked.
But that teasing sensuality was gone now and she sounded soft and vulnerable and it absolutely shouldn’t affect him because he didn’t like Chloe Lawrence. He didn’t want her and he certainly didn’t care one whit for her.
He let his hand trail down her arm until his fingers brushed against hers. Then he leaned in so he could say, “I promise,” close to her ear.
She inhaled sharply, but only said, “Wait for me,” before she pulled free and disappeared into her private closet.
Pete kicked up a heel on the nearby fence and exchanged a few pleasantries with the remaining riders milling around backstage. The only people still here were either roadies tearing down the stage or riders hoping to get an autograph after the concert. Most everyone else had secured their animals and headed to the bars. The stock contractors were long gone.
Pete scratched the back of his neck and did his level best not to think of Chloe changing clothes. He failed.
When had she changed out of her button-up shirt and jeans into that formal dress for the concert? Was she still wearing that sports bra? Or had she slipped into something slinkier, maybe something lacy that matched the dress? Something that cupped her breasts like a lover’s hands and...
Pete slammed the door on any thoughts about Chloe’s breasts, clothed or otherwise. He was thinking about...the long night ahead of him. Yeah, that was it. He didn’t technically have a place to sleep tonight because his plan had come together way too late to get a room in this small Missouri town. All the hotels were sold out and had been for weeks, if not months, so he’d be in his truck tonight.
He looked up at the night sky. Chloe probably had a room, complete with a nice big bed, all to herself. Would she go right to sleep or would she shower to wash off the dust first?
Dammit. It was fine if she flaunted her hot body in an attempt to throw him off his game. Her looks were just another weapon at her disposal and this was war. He expected nothing less. It was not fine if he let her succeed.
He wanted it in writing that he was the show manager. He’d already laid out a contingency plan if Chloe balked—he would skip the next rodeo in Terre Haute but he’d be back at the one in Little Rock. She might get rid of him once, but he wasn’t going away.
He could do this. He could take back his rodeo a bit at a time and then...
And then what?
The door to her dressing room opened and there she was, almost unrecognizable. Gone were the big hair and the sparkly, over-the-top clothing. Her hair had been pulled back into a low tail and she had on flip-flops. Chloe wore a soft pair of black pants that fit her like a second skin and a loose tee that hung off one shoulder, revealing her bra strap. It was not the wide, white strap he’d gotten an eyeful of earlier, but something dark and, God help him, lacy.
“You’re still here. Plotting, I presume?”
She said it in such an offhand way, as if it were common knowledge that he was out to undermine her and not a point of contention between them. And she said it without the least hint of drama. He was her problem and she was going to meet him head-on.
Was it possible he was starting to do the unthinkable? Was he starting to respect Chloe Lawrence?
God help him, he just might be.
“We didn’t discuss terms earlier.”
She adjusted a small duffel slung over one shoulder and tilted her head to the side. The mass of hair she’d bound back fell over one shoulder and he had to fight the urge to bury his hands in it.
“Earlier?” she asked. “Ah, yes—when you freaked out and then watched me get dressed. You’re right, I don’t remember much discussion happening then.”
He might have underestimated this woman. “I don’t think ‘freaked out’ is an appropriate—”
“Freaked. Out.” Then the worst thing in the world happened. She smiled. Warmth bloomed in Pete’s chest as the moonlight glinted off her mouth.
“Surprised,” he corrected.
“Fine.” She looked around and rolled her shoulders as if they were tight with tension. Pete had to clench his fists to keep from stepping behind her and rubbing his thumbs into her exposed skin. “This is probably a terrible idea.”
“Which part? The part where I barged in on you? Or the part where you agreed to hire me?” It felt risky asking that, but hey—maybe being casual was the way to go. If she let down her guard...
“The part where I ask if you want to get something to eat.”
“Now?” It was out of his mouth before he could stop it.
“Filled up on funnel cakes, did you?” He couldn’t see it, but he swore he could hear her eyes roll. “Yes, now. I’m hungry. I’m tired. I’m not negotiating with you under cover of darkness, Pete.”
He stepped into her and lifted the duffel from her shoulder. This close, the scent of her filled his nose. Something sweet, fruity maybe—but underneath that was the musk of a woman. She smelled good enough to eat. “What are you in the mood for?”
The air between them began to hum with tension. Chloe looked up at him, her face hidden in shadows and for one crazy second, he wanted her to say his name.
Hell.
“There’s not much left open,” she said and he might have been hearing things, but her words sounded breathless. “The bars...”
“Will have too many drunk cowboys and buckle bunnies.” The thought of some young buck hitting on Chloe was enough to get his hackles up.
“I’m not eating fast food.”
“I don’t suppose there’s a nice restaurant open this late, where I can buy you a good steak and a better bottle of wine?” A fancy candle-lit dinner with roses on the table and soft music in the background would...
Well, it’d be the wrong thing. She certainly didn’t deserve to be wined and dined.
“First off,
not this late. And second off, I’m not putting that dress back on.” She pulled away from him. “As long as we’re not at the same bar Flash is at, it’ll be fine. And he likes Jeremy’s better. So we’ll go to Mike’s and get a corner booth and I’m getting a bacon cheeseburger. Deal?” She started walking toward her truck, a sleek black Ram pickup with custom pink swirls along the side.
“I’ll buy you a beer. To celebrate our new partnership.”
She stopped so suddenly she almost stumbled and looked back over her shoulder. Even though he couldn’t make out the details of her face, he could feel the distrust radiating off her. “Don’t start celebrating just yet, Wellington.”
Yeah, he’d definitely underestimated her.
It was going to be a hell of a ride.
Five
“I’ll get us a table,” Pete said, his breath caressing Chloe’s ear as his hand rested briefly on the small of her back. Then he was gone, cutting through the drunken crowds with a grace she wasn’t sure she’d appreciated before this exact moment in time.
She shook her head, trying to get her thoughts in order. Dinner at eleven thirty at night with Pete was a truly bad idea, capping off a day full of spectacularly bad ideas. Chloe was starving and exhausted and the last thing she should be doing was standing in a bar filled with All-Stars riders dancing to a bad band, waiting for Pete Wellington to...take care of her, for pity’s sake.
She’d lost her mind. That was the only reasonable explanation. She was not operating on all cylinders and Pete was the kind of opponent who’d take full advantage of her at her weakest.
No way in hell was she drinking a beer around the man.
At least Flash wasn’t here. She couldn’t deal with the headaches a Flash-Pete brawl would bring. She just wanted her dinner and maybe a dance and...
No, wait—no dancing. Absolutely not. Not even if Pete asked. Because if he pulled her into his arms and two-stepped her around the dance floor, his arms around her waist...well, she might do something that would make all previous terrible decisions look positively well planned.
Damn that man.
He was not sweeping her off her feet and she was not being swept. This was all part of the same dance they always did around each other. He was just mounting a different sort of assault and she was doing her best to fend him off.
Wasn’t she?
The noise was deafening and the bar was hot with the press of bodies. The rodeo was a huge deal in this small town, one of the biggest weekends in the entire year and it felt like half of Missouri was packed into this one bar. It wouldn’t be any better at the other one, she knew.
Ugh, what a mistake. There was no way she could negotiate with Pete in here at any volume other than bellowing. It only got worse when he made his way back to her and shouted in her ear, “No place to sit.”
She sagged into him a bit but then he yelled, “I found a waitress. If you don’t mind, we can order to go and eat on the tailgate...”
Mind? Hell no, she didn’t mind. What she minded was that Pete had not only come to the same conclusions she had, but had already found a workable solution that bordered on thoughtfulness.
She nodded.
“Bacon cheeseburger, right?”
Oh, Lord, she couldn’t handle thoughtfulness, not from Pete Wellington. Not without some more sleep and distance between their bodies. “Double bacon cheeseburger and onion rings,” she yelled back.
“Beer?”
“No.”
He winked at her—a disturbing trend—and then disappeared into the crowd.
Chloe slipped out the door and instantly the volume ringing in her ears dropped to a manageable level. A breeze blew through, carrying away the smell of sweaty bodies and spilled beer.
Where had this day gone wrong? Oh, right—a bunch of sexist old men who might have been working with Pete. She had to remember that part.
So what was Pete trying to accomplish with all this thoughtfulness?
The same thing he was always trying to accomplish—getting his rodeo back. She didn’t have any question about that. But she had to admire that he was going about it in a new way.
So he was trying to steal the All-Stars. Again. Reasoning with him had never worked before. How many times had she pointed out that it’d never really been his rodeo in the first place—it’d been his father’s? He was not a fan of that logic.
So why was he turning on the charm now? Because he was and, heaven help her, she was in danger of being charmed.
Unless she missed her mark, he had one of two plans. Either he was going to push her out from the inside or...
A shiver ran down her back. Or he’d decided he could win her and get the rodeo all at once.
Sneaky. Very sneaky. The only problem with that second plan was that she wasn’t anyone’s prize to be won. Especially not his.
The door to Mike’s swung open, bringing a blast of noise and heat. “Hey—” she started to say.
And pulled up short because it wasn’t Pete.
Two men she’d never seen before all but fell out of the bar, giggling like schoolgirls. By the looks of their hats and T-shirts with the sleeves carefully torn off, she’d guess they were local boys out having a wild night.
They stumbled to a stop, holding each other up as they looked Chloe over with leering gazes. “Well, hellooo, nurse!” said the taller one, which made the shorter, beefier one giggle again.
She notched an eyebrow at the men and dropped back into a fighting stance. Bless her brothers for teaching her how to throw a punch. During her childhood in New York City, her mother and her nanny had shuttled Chloe to dance and gymnastics and music—all the standard classes for a girl of her social circle. Most of the time, Trixie Lawrence had also arranged shuttling for Renee Preston to the same classes. The two girls had been inseparable.
But when Chloe had started riding as the Princess of the Rodeo, her brothers had decided she should know how to throw a punch. And since it’d been one of those rare times when Oliver and Flash had agreed on something and since her father hadn’t been in a big rush to get her back into dance classes, Chloe had gone along with it.
Thank God for that.
“Not interested,” she said casually even as she slid to the side, putting more space between her and the men while also making sure she had room to run if she needed. A good punch was a great thing, but if two guys got her pinned against the wall, the odds weren’t in her favor.
“Ooh, lookie here,” the shorter one said, leering drunkenly at her. “And I thought all the pretty girls were inside.”
Hell, the odds already weren’t in her favor. Outnumbered and outweighed—and these guys were drunk. Should she kick off her flip-flops? She knew she should have packed her sneakers, dammit. “Not. Interested.”
“Waiting for us, honey?” the taller one added, stepping toward her. The shorter one almost tipped over without his support.
Why didn’t men ever listen? Because they never did. How were these guys any different from Dustin Yardley refusing to try something just because a girl had suggested it? Or from Pete refusing to acknowledge that the damned All-Stars wasn’t his?
“No means no,” she said, shifting her weight and letting her fist fly as the tall guy made a clumsy grab at her. She couldn’t deck Pete or Dustin or any of the other men who treated her as nothing but a pretty face, but by God she wasn’t going to let this jerk assault her.
Her fist connected with a sickening-yet-satisfying crunch. Pain blossomed along her knuckles, making her gasp. But it was a good, solid punch. She hit him hard enough that he spun around, knocking back into his friend. The pair of them staggered until they landed in a heap next to the door.
“Why you little—” the one not bleeding said as the taller one made a muffled screaming noise.
“Leave me alone,” she snarled, shifting her pos
ition again. Damn, her hand hurt. If she’d broken something, it’d be impossible to ride and carry the flag tomorrow night.
This was exactly why she never went out to the bars anymore. But the nice thing about anger was the adrenaline that came with it. Her hand stopped throbbing as the shorter guy threw off his buddy—still moaning—and scrambled awkwardly to his feet.
She couldn’t throw another punch with the same hand, so she shifted again. She’d either get this one on an uppercut or she could try a well-placed kick, if she had the room to—
The door to the bar swung open and Pete came out. “They were out of onion...hell.”
“Little help here?” Chloe said, trying to keep her voice calm. She didn’t dare take her eyes off the guy on his feet.
“She bwoke my node!” howled the tall one. He’d made it to his knees, but blood was gushing down his face.
“Good.” Pete cut past the one still on his feet. The shorter guy swayed, his fists up. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.
“Getting their asses kicked,” Chloe muttered.
“Shut it,” Pete snapped, thrusting the food back at her. Then he turned his attention to the men. “You’ve got five seconds to get the hell away from her.”
The shorter one blinked before his hands fell to his side. “Sorry, dude—didn’t know she was yours.”
Oh, that just absolutely did it. “What the hell did you just say?” she shouted and suddenly Pete had her around the waist and was holding her back.
“Five,” Pete growled. “Four. Then I’m letting her kick your ass while I laugh at you.”
“Not worth the trouble,” the shorter one muttered as he hefted his friend up.
Oh, she was going to show them trouble. “I’m gonna...”
“Chloe, stop,” Pete hissed in her ear. Then he said, louder, “Three...”
“We’re going, we’re going. Come on, Jack.”
“My node!” Jack howled.
“Two,” Pete all but yelled, but the guys were already shuffling off into the dark, bouncing off parked cars and trucks and occasionally yelling insults over their shoulders.
His Enemy's Daughter Page 5