The Cowboy Meets His Match

by Sarah Mayberry

  “He’s probably talking business with someone. That’s all he seems to do these days,” she said.

  “How’ve things been, business-wise?” Jesse asked.

  He’d noticed a few things at the ranch this afternoon—the barn needed painting, the drive re-gravelling, a few other maintenance issues here and there. All summer jobs, but Jed obviously hadn’t gotten to them yet. If he planned to at all.

  “Much the same as always, I think. You know Jed—he never really lets on much about anything, just gets on with it,” Casey said.

  “But calving season was good?”

  “Not as good as last year, but good enough.” Casey paused in the act of slicing into his steak. “What’s with all the questions?”

  “I don’t know. Jed just seemed…tired, I guess. Thought it might have been something to do with the ranch.”

  “You know what Jed’s problem is? He has no life,” Sierra said, stabbing at the air with her fork, a sure sign they were about to be treated to a big dose of opinion. “All he does is work, eat and sleep. I bet he hasn’t so much as looked at a woman since he and Mae Berringer broke up.”

  Casey screwed up his face in disbelief the same way Jesse did.

  “What? Don’t go trying to turn Jed into some kind of broken-hearted monk,” Casey said.

  “Exactly,” Jesse agreed. “That was years ago.”

  “Yeah, and he hasn’t brought anyone home since then,” Sierra said, stubbornly holding her ground. “He never talks about another woman, he never even looks at other women, from what I can tell—What? What’s so funny?”

  Jesse shook his head at his sister. “Like Jed’s gonna sweet-talk a woman in front of his little sister. Just because something doesn’t happen right in front of you doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened. I guarantee you that he’s getting some from someone, somewhere.”

  Casey nodded his agreement. “Hell yeah, and amen to that.” He lifted his beer and Jesse clinked his own against it.

  Sierra rolled her eyes. “Fine. And good. I hope he’s happy. That’s all I want—for my brothers to be happy.”

  She looked a little hurt and Casey bumped her shoulder with his. “Sorry to crap all over your big theory, Squirrel.”

  Sierra pulled a face at the mention of her childhood nickname before going back to her meal, but it hadn’t escaped Jesse that this was the second time she’d raised her brothers’ romantic lives today.

  Stretching out his leg, he nudged his sister’s boot. “What’s going on, Sierra? Why are you so worried about us being with someone and being happy all of a sudden?”

  For a moment he didn’t think she was going to answer, but then she set down her plastic knife and fork on her plate and leaned forward a little, her pretty face serious.

  “Don’t you think it’s weird that none of us are married or in a serious relationship yet?” she asked.

  Jesse blinked, surprised by the angle of her attack. “No. Haven’t really thought about it, to be honest.”

  “Such a guy answer.” Sierra flicked her hair over her shoulder.

  Jesse glanced at Casey, who lifted a shoulder to signal his own lack of thought on the subject.

  “Always figured it would happen sometime,” his younger brother said.

  “Every single girl I went to school with is engaged, married, or living with someone,” Sierra said. “Bet it’s the same for all the guys you two went to school with, too.”

  Jesse wrinkled his brow, thinking.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?” Sierra said. “I think losing Mom and Dad messed us up, made us bad relationship material or something.”

  “Where do you get that from?” Jesse asked, genuinely perplexed.

  “What else can it be? It’s not like any of you are hard on the eyes. You could ask any woman here to dance with you, and she’d trip over herself to say yes. Yet Jesse roams around the country risking his life on the back of crazy horses, and the only thing Casey cares about is his guitar, and Jed never does anything but work, work, work.”

  “What about you? What’s your excuse?” Jesse asked.

  “I don’t know. I keep asking myself that. Am I just too picky? What am I waiting for? Why hasn’t it happened for me yet?”

  It was tempting to tease her, but Jesse could see this was something she was genuinely worried about.

  “Losing Mom and Dad did not mess us up,” he said.

  “Yeah, it did. It made Jed kick you out, turned him into our parent instead of our brother. Our whole family hierarchy is screwed.”

  “Family hierarchy? Have you been watching Dr. Phil again?” Casey asked, looking distinctly unimpressed.

  “It’s a thing, Casey. You should look it up,” Sierra said.

  “Nope. I’m going to get another beer, then I’m going to go find the other Shots and get our gear ready for our set. But don’t worry, if I see any hot, single babes on my way, I’ll do my best to land a wife, okay?”

  Sierra gave him dead eyes to let him know she wasn’t amused and Jesse was forced to hide a smile.

  “I saw that,” she said once Casey was gone. “Feel free to mock me along with Casey. Better yet, feel free to prove me wrong by meeting someone awesome and falling in love. Because I would be thrilled to be wrong about this.”

  As if in response to her words, the crowd behind her split for a moment, giving him a clear view over her shoulder and across the street to where CJ Cooper stood, eating a hot dog with unashamed enthusiasm. As he watched, she finished the last bite and took a moment to lick something off her finger. Then she lobbed the soiled napkin into a nearby trash can, her aim straight and true. She did a muted air punch to celebrate her small victory, and the urge to stand and go talk to her again was so strong his leg muscles actually tensed against the hay bale.

  Then the crowd eddied again, and CJ was once again hidden by the sea of people.

  “What’s wrong? Did you just see someone you know?” Sierra asked.

  “Not really.”

  He couldn’t go hunting for CJ in the crowd. After what had happened today, he was one of the last people she’d want to hang out with. Even if he had apologized, and even though she’d seemed to accept it.

  “Good. Because I need something sweet. Let’s hit the dessert table.”

  Jesse let his sister pull him to his feet. He cast a final glance over his shoulder, but CJ Cooper was nowhere to be seen.

  Probably just as well. She was his competitor, and if she had any idea how interested he was in the way her jeans hugged her backside, he was pretty sure her first reaction would be to kick him where it hurts instead of being flattered or even intrigued.

  The thought made him laugh out loud, earning him a curious look from his sister.

  “Nothing,” he said before she could ask.

  “Weirdo,” she said.

  He just shrugged and let her lead the way through the crowd.

  *

  CJ stayed in town long enough to see the last act take to the stage, a four-member band called the Whiskey Shots. The lead singer had the sort of raspy, deep voice that gave a person goose bumps, and even though she wanted to get a good night’s rest, she was tempted to stay and watch him light up the stage. He didn’t appear to be doing anything special, but somehow he effortlessly drew all eyes and CJ wasn’t immune to his magic, whatever it was.

  Then she realized there was something oddly familiar about the shape of his jaw and general structure of his face, not to mention his build, and it hit her that she was staring at yet another of Jesse Carmody’s siblings.

  The Carmodys must be prolific. Or she was just unlucky. One or the other. Either way, it was enough to get her walking back to where she’d parked her truck, well away from Main Street. She yawned more than once on the brief drive to the motel. It was going to be good to put her head on her pillow tonight. Between the travel, all the drama and a belly full of food, she was ready for a little oblivion.

  She was annoyed to find someone had taken the parkin
g spot in front of her room when she arrived at the motel complex, leaving her to find a spot elsewhere. The moment she was out of her truck she heard loud music and noticed a couple of rooms at the end of the block housing her room were playing host to a shared party. A group of cowboys and a handful of women filled the walkway and lounged against nearby cars, smoking and drinking. Laughter and the occasional high-pitched female squeal rang out into the night.

  Awesome. Just what she needed—a loud party to keep her up half the night before her first pro ride.

  She wove her way through the parked cars, aiming for her door. She was about to put her key in the lock when some instinct made her look up.

  Dean Maynard was standing among the crowd at the party, one shoulder against the wall as he took a pull from what looked like a bottle of whiskey, his gaze intent on CJ as she stood at her door.

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

  She waited for him to head toward her, her hand tight around her key, but he didn’t move. After a beat she unlocked the door and stepped inside, shutting it and carefully locking it before pulling the security chain across as well. Not that that was going to stop anyone determined to gain entry.

  She kept glancing toward the door as she prepared for bed, her nerves on a knife’s edge. Usually she slept in nothing but a tank and a pair of panties, but she pulled on some yoga pants tonight, just in case. After turning out the light, she lay in her bed, stiff as a plank, listening to the sounds of the party, on the alert for heavy boot steps approaching her door.

  Slowly she relaxed into the mattress. Probably she was overreacting, worrying about Maynard coming to harass her some more. Although no doubt he would love it if he knew she was lying in her bed fretting over him.

  Ugh.

  She needed to stop wasting energy on him, put him out of her mind and focus on tomorrow. And she really, really needed to get some sleep.

  Easier said than done, of course, with all the noise happening outside. She tossed and turned for what felt like a couple of hours before the music finally died abruptly. She suspected the motel management had intervened. Better late than never.

  She was so wired it took her another hour to drift off, but when she did sleep it was deep, heavy and uninterrupted until the alarm on her phone woke her at seven the following morning.

  The one benefit of having slept in her yoga gear was that she was half-dressed already for her morning run. After slipping into a sports bra, tying back her hair and putting on her sneakers, she set out to clock an easy two or three miles. Normally she’d try for five, but not when she was riding. This morning, she just needed to work off some adrenaline, find a rhythm and warm up for some yoga back in her room.

  By the time she was in the shower it was eight and she felt limber and loose, her mind clear.

  Ready to ride, in other words.

  She took her time ironing her shirt and jeans, wanting everything to feel crisp and clean. Then she packed her gear bag, ticking off the essentials as she gathered them—rosin for her saddle, her leather chaps, baby powder for her boots, her protective vest, her good hat, gloves, spurs…

  She hauled her saddle out to her truck, then came back for her gear bag and locked up. She was officially ready to roll. She was about to start her truck when her phone buzzed in her back pocket—her mom, calling to wish her good luck.

  They kept the conversation short, and her mother wished her luck “from both of us,” but CJ was very aware that her father hadn’t taken the handset to say it in person.

  She shook off her disappointment as she drove to the fairgrounds. The lot was already an ocean of cars and pickups, but she managed to find a spot near the contestant entrance. Hefting her saddle onto her shoulder, she made her way past a row of parked horse trailers and cowboy rigs, aware with every step that her belly was fluttering with nerves.

  This was a big deal. Her first pro ride. She needed to stay on Hellion Boy for eight seconds, and she needed a good ride with high points to get into the finals—known in rodeo circles as the short round—tomorrow. She wanted to win this thing so much. It would be the ultimate vindication after the crap Dean Maynard had thrown at her, but she would settle for a berth in the short round. There was no way anyone could give her the side-eye when she’d made the finals in her first rodeo.

  The women’s locker rooms were filled with the scent of hair spray, perfume and deodorant as she entered, the high whine of hair dryers competing with the chatter and laughter of more than a dozen women, some of them local rodeo princesses and queens, some of them barrel racers. A quick glance revealed an empty spot on one of the benches and she made her way toward it, stopping to check with the woman sitting nearby before dumping her saddle.

  “Okay for me to grab this spot?”

  “Sure thing. No one else is using it,” the woman said.

  She was young—barely sixteen was CJ’s best guess—and her long blonde hair was styled into glossy curls, her face perfectly made-up. She ran an educated eye over CJ’s saddle as CJ dumped it and her gear bag in front of the bench.

  “You must be new. I know all the other contestants,” she said.

  “Exactly what I was about to say,” someone else said, and CJ found herself facing an attractive Hispanic woman in her mid-thirties. “Hi, I’m Lena Martinez, one of the barrel racers. I didn’t know we were getting new blood this weekend.”

  “CJ Cooper. And I’m not new blood. Well, I am, but I’m not a barrel racer. I’m competing saddle bronc.”

  There was a stunned silence in the room, the only sound the continuing whine of the hair dryers as two oblivious princesses primped in front of the mirror.

  “Holy shit,” Lena said. “When did this happen? How come I haven’t heard about it?”

  “I only qualified for my pro ticket last month. And I guess cowboys aren’t that great at gossiping,” CJ said.

  “Cowboys are better at gossiping than a church congregation and a knitting circle rolled into one,” another woman said, joining them. Like Lena, she was dressed in an elaborate western shirt and neatly pressed jeans. Another barrel racer, most likely.

  Her arrival seemed to be a signal for all the other women to gather round, and pretty soon CJ was surrounded by curious females, the questions coming thick and fast. If she had to guess, she’d say that most of them were positive about her gaining pro status, maybe even excited, but there were a few who seemed a little squinty-eyed and passive-aggressive with their questions, too.

  Not her problem. And it wasn’t like CJ was trying to make some big political statement or force anyone to follow in her footsteps. She just wanted to ride saddle bronc, pure and simple.

  She answered their questions and laughed at their jokes and was a little humbled by their well-wishes, but by the time ten minutes had passed she felt in dire need of some fresh air and personal space. Easing her way out of the locker rooms, she exited to the yard and took a couple of deep breaths before checking her watch.

  Ten minutes until the rodeo officially kicked off. Just enough time to grab a seat and settle in to watch the rodeo queen and princesses do their thing. She made her way to the bleachers, climbing the same stairs she’d taken yesterday, and showed her contestant pass to the security detail to gain admission to the specially cordoned-off area of the stand dedicated to contestants and their support crew.

  Pausing on the steps to get her bearings, she spotted a seat just three rows from the front, right at the end of the first run of seating. Perfect. It wasn’t until she’d made her way down the steps and sunk onto the hard seat that she saw Jesse Carmody was sitting across the aisle from her, one row down.

  Well, damn.

  She tugged the brim of her hat a little lower over her eyes and focused on the arena. With a bit of luck, he wouldn’t even know she was there. If only she could say the same about him.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of him stretching his legs in front of himself, his booted feet encroaching on the aisle space. Unable to res
ist, she allowed herself a quick glance.

  And rolled her eyes at the sight of his muscular thighs, outlined by soft-looking denim.

  Of course he had great legs. Of course.

  She wrenched her gaze back to the arena, but the urge to take a second peek to confirm her earlier findings was like an itch in the back of her brain.

  She’d always had a weakness for a man with good legs. She blamed her first boyfriend. He’d been on the football team, and the sight of his muscular thighs in his uniform had sparked a life-long appreciation.

  Don’t even think about looking again.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. The dumbest move she could make this weekend was to become infatuated with one of her fellow contestants. No, strike that, there was a dumber move—she could sleep with one of them. Once word got out that she’d gotten naked with one of the other contestants, no one would ever take her seriously, no matter how competitively she rode. She’d just be a piece of ass, forever and always.

  Jaw tight, she kept her gaze front and center. Where it belonged, and where it was going to stay. If it killed her.

  Chapter Four

  It was a crazy thing, his awareness of Cassidy Jane Cooper. He’d known her less than twenty-four hours, yet the moment she’d taken a seat across the aisle and one row back, all the little hairs on the back of his neck had stood on end.

  He turned his head, and there she was, decked out in a deep blue western shirt with white piping and white embroidery on the chest. The color looked good with her dark hair and sun-kissed skin, and the shirt’s precise tailoring was a gift to her curves.

  He shifted his gaze back to the arena before he got busted staring, but that didn’t make the awareness go away. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so powerfully drawn to a woman. It wasn’t just because of the way she filled out her jeans and shirt, either. Although that was definitely part of it—he had a pulse, after all, and the normal amount of testosterone racing around his body. There were plenty of attractive women around, though, and none of them made the small hairs stand up on the back of his neck when they were nearby.