He wasn’t sure what it was. He liked her directness. He admired her toughness and determination. He got the feeling she didn’t do anything by halves, which was both intriguing and challenging.
He had a sense, also, that she’d be worth knowing.
The crowd stood and he belatedly realized the grand entry was midway and they were playing the “Star Spangled Banner.” Pushing to his feet, he placed his hand over his heart and fought the tide of red that was burning its way up his neck and into his face. He’d been so far gone thinking about CJ he’d almost disgraced himself. Time to get his head together, if for no other reason than because he had two events he needed to kick ass in this afternoon.
Soon the music switched to commentary as the queen and her princesses rode out of the arena, flags flying. Bareback was the first event, and he watched as his friends and colleagues did their damnedest to make eight seconds before eating dirt. He stood to cheer when Cody Starr made his eight and landed a great score. He’d always considered Cody a friend even though the guy got a bad rap for his wild behavior at times. This weekend everyone was already talking about him—supposedly there was a story online about some crazy thing he’d done—but Jesse didn’t go in for gossip. All he knew was that Cody had just completed a damn fine ride and he deserved a good score.
He got to his feet again when Shane Marvell put in a mind-blowing eight seconds, cheering for the finesse with which the man landed on his feet. Most days a rider was lucky to land without breaking a bone, but Marvell made it look easy, lifting his hat off and bowing to the crowd in recognition of their cheers and applause. Like Jesse, he was a local, and there was always an extra buzz when you did good in front of your own people.
The smell of food drifting up into the stands had his stomach rumbling by then and he went in search of sustenance, leaving his jacket over the back of his seat to reserve it. He allowed himself a single glance at CJ as he walked past, and she happened to look up at that exact moment. Their eyes locked, and he offered her a friendly nod and a quick smile before walking by, even though it was damn tempting to stop and try to talk to her again.
Still, he walked away feeling pretty happy—maybe it was his imagination, but it seemed to him that there was a flicker of…something in the depths of her dark brown eyes when she looked at him. A slow smile curved his mouth as he made his way out of the stands.
Maybe he wasn’t the only one being tortured by an inappropriate and unwelcome awareness.
He bought a bowl of chili and an iced tea to take back into the stands. He’d intended to simply walk past her again on his return journey, but instead he stopped and leaned down for a private word. Startled, she looked up, straight into his face, her full lips slightly parted.
“Hot tip for you—the chili here is some of the best in the state. Do yourself a favor.”
She didn’t respond, but he didn’t really give her a chance, continuing down to his row and lowering himself into his seat.
He ate his chili and managed to follow what was happening out in the arena, where the steer wrestling was now in play. He knew without looking when she left the stand, though, and when she returned ten minutes later. A quick glance confirmed she’d opted for the chili.
It pleased him more than it should, and he gave himself a mental clip over the ear before collecting his jacket and clearing out to go prepare for his events. Saddle bronc was scheduled before the tie-down roping, but he went out to tend to Major first, spending some time brushing him down and taking him for a walk around the practice arena, which was crowded as usual as his fellow contestants prepared for their events. He stayed on the inside, keeping Major to a walk, out of the way of anyone wanting to give their mount a harder workout.
It was a glorious day, the blue sky high and clear overhead, only the occasional fluffy white cloud to mar its perfection.
The sound of the crowd filled the air—the stomp of feet, the shrillness of cheers and whistles. He breathed in the smell of dampness from the nearby Marietta River and turned his mind to the afternoon’s events.
No more fooling around, allowing himself to be distracted. It was time to cowboy up and be the professional athlete he was. Like all the guys on the circuit, his spot on the tour depended on his standing and winnings, and if he wanted a chance to win big at the end of the season, he needed to keep placing or winning overall.
Not to mention the prize money would come in handy. He was doing okay this season, but a big win was always welcome. He had other money behind him, but he preferred not to touch it if he could. Jed insisted on forwarding Jesse’s share of the ranch profits to him on a regular basis, despite Jesse’s repeated instruction that Jed reinvest it in whatever needed doing at the ranch. Because something always needed doing. But his brother was a stubborn bastard, not to mention scrupulously fair, and the deposits kept coming, every quarter without fail.
Once he was satisfied Major was warmed up and ready for the calf roping, he took him back to the corral and put his saddle on. He was third up in the draw for saddle bronc, and he geared up in his protective vest, riding boots and chaps, and made his way to the chutes with his bronc saddle as the mutton busting was coming to a close.
His bronc wouldn’t be saddled until it was in the chute, so he set his equipment on the ground alongside the other contestants’ saddles and started to stretch. He’d gone for a run around the ranch this morning, as well as completing a rigorous series of stretches and isometrics he’d developed over the years. Now, he took care to stretch out his hamstrings and glutes, and to warm up the muscles of his back, abdomen and shoulders. He’d finished and was applying rosin to the swells on his saddle when he glanced up and saw CJ was doing the same, set off a small distance from most of the men. He frowned, wondering why she’d quarantined herself, then saw that Dean Maynard and the Miller brothers were in the group clustered near the chutes.
It didn’t seem fair that she was the one on the outside, given how poor the other man’s behavior had been, but her expression was calm and inwardly focused as she tended to her equipment. He was reminded of her poise and self-containment when Maynard had attacked her yesterday.
She was a hard-ass, that was for sure. But she wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t—being almost stupidly hardheaded was definitely a bronc-riding trait.
Spotting Shane at the rail, he dusted his hands off and went to congratulate him on his score in bareback. They talked for a few minutes before Jesse overheard the tail end of something Maynard was saying to his posse nearby.
“…can’t wait till she falls on her ass and we can call this bullshit PC experiment done and dusted.”
Jesse’s gaze went to CJ, who was now stretching out her hips with an impressive forward lunge. Had she heard what Maynard was saying?
He really hoped not.
“Fifty bucks she doesn’t even make it out of the gate,” Billy Miller said, already reaching for his wallet.
“I’ll match that with fifty that says she breaks her neck,” Maynard said, his laughter laced with sharp malice.
“Heads-up for you boys that I’m going to be the first one in line to console her,” one of the other cowboys said with a leer.
“I’ve got eight inches of solid consolation for her right here,” Maynard said, grabbing his junk.
Jesus.
It was all Jesse could do not to walk over and push the guy’s nose out the back of his head.
Shane slid Jesse a dark look. “Maynard’s been shooting his mouth off about that CJ Cooper chick all day.”
“Has he?” Jesse glared at the rowdy bunch near the chutes again, making no attempt to hide his disapproval. He’d never been close with Maynard, but the guy had just plummeted even further in his estimation—straight from overindulged man-baby to out-and-out dick bag.
“The way I see it, it’s the ride that’s important,” Shane said, one of the many reasons he was someone Jesse was always happy to spend time with on and off the circuit.
“Same.”
He flicked a look toward CJ, who had finished her prep and was simply standing waiting now, her gaze on the ground. “Figure if she’s here, it’s because she’s had to fight every inch of the way. More than any of us have had to do.”
Shane looked surprised by the idea, but after a beat he nodded. “Yeah, good point.”
The music in the arena faded as the PA came to life, announcing the saddle bronc event. The first rider was already hanging off the rail in the chute, double-checking the cinch on his saddle and the length on his rope. Jesse felt the familiar buzz of adrenaline race through his gut.
Not long now.
In step with Shane he moved to the rail, climbing up to get a better view of the arena. He could smell dirt, sawdust and manure, along with the occasional pungent trace of rosin, the pine smell sharp in his nose. In the chute, the first rider was sliding into the saddle. Thirty seconds later, he was out of the gate and hanging on for the ride of his life.
Directly behind the chutes he could see one of the attendants looking around, a clipboard in his hand. He caught Jesse’s eye and waved him over.
“You’re up. Good luck, man,” Shane said, clapping him on the back.
“You, too.”
One of the great things about saddle bronc was the sense of camaraderie among the riders. Sure, they were fighting each other to land at the top of the leaderboard, but the real battle was between the rider, the bronc and gravity. Every ride was a test of skill, experience and luck, and every rider knew it. If Buckmaster failed to come out of the chute strong, if the bronc clipped the rails or cornered too fast or one of a million other things that could go wrong, the ride could go south in a split second. If it went badly wrong, he could end up in the hospital, or worse.
It probably made him more than a little bit sick that he got off on the crazy odds, on the risk and unpredictability of this sport. But if it was an illness, he didn’t want to be cured, not when adrenaline was spiking every breath and the world was sharpening into intense, detailed focus as he handed his saddle over to the chute crew.
The moment the second rider was out of the gate, Buckmaster was fed in and Jesse’s saddle expertly cinched to the bronc’s back. Jesse checked the straps on his chaps to ensure they were tight enough before reaching through the rail to double-check the tension on the cinch strap and flank strap. Then he climbed to the top of the rail and threw a leg over, the fringe on his black and tan chaps riffling in the breeze. Lastly, he checked the length on his rope rein.
“Okay, boy, here I come,” he said quietly, then he set his boot on the saddle and let a little weight come down onto the bronc’s back so the horse knew he was coming.
Buckmaster stirred but didn’t overreact, so he braced his arms on the rails on either side of the chute and slid slowly into the saddle. His boots found the stirrups and he pushed down until he felt the familiar pressure as his heel hit the stirrup. He shifted his weight forward to bring his chaps in tight contact with the swells on the saddle, then took up the rope rein in his right hand, running his rosin-coated glove up and down it a few times to activate the gum.
Then he closed his hand around the rope, tucked his chin to his chest, and lifted his left arm in readiness. He could feel his heart beating against his rib cage, feel his lungs expanding as he took a deep, hard breath. He cleared his mind of everything except the need to get out of the chute as fast as possible.
Then he gave the nod, and the gate opened. Buckmaster came out hard and fast, lunging onto his front legs. Jesse kept his toes out and his legs up, ensuring he satisfied the mark-out rule by keeping his feet above the horse’s shoulders on the first jump. Anything less meant immediate disqualification. Then Buckmaster kicked out with his rear legs, and Jesse leaned back instinctively to counter the move, his free arm bent at the elbow. He got air beneath him as Buckmaster twisted to the left and kicked out, but somehow Jesse found his center again and a crazy kind of rhythm. Spur, lean, spur, lean, his left arm always in the air, his right clenched around the rope.
His shoulder ached from the sharp yank on the rope rein, his thighs burned from the strain of clinging to the saddle. His head jerked on his neck, and he felt the rush of cool air on his damp hair as his hat fell off.
He heard the shrill sound of the whistle over the noisy tumult of his heartbeat and immediately looked around for the pickup rider. The pickup guys on the tour were second-to-none, and within seconds he was off Buckmaster’s back and sitting behind the pickup rider, heading back to the chutes.
He craned his neck, looking toward the scoreboard, and felt a fierce rush of triumph when he saw an eighty-five on the board.
Hell, yeah.
That would land him a spot in the short round tomorrow, almost certainly. He was grinning ear to ear as he climbed back through the rails to collect his gear. Shane and a couple of other riders clapped him on the back in congratulations as he wiped the dirt and sweat off his forehead and accepted his hat from one of the crew.
“Great ride, man,” Shane said. “That bronc is rank, I tell you. You’re gonna be the score to beat.”
Jesse laughed and said something in return, but he never stopped scanning the crowd. It wasn’t until he spotted CJ’s dark head that he realized who he was looking for. Like a cocky teenager, he was checking to see if the girl he liked had been impressed by his performance.
Moron, he told himself, but then CJ turned her head and met his eyes and offered him a big smile and an enthusiastic thumbs-up. It was a little scary how good her approval made him feel, and for a moment he simply stopped in his tracks, winded by the force of his own feelings.
What the fuck was that about?
Then CJ turned away, and he saw they were saddling her bronc, Hellion Boy. Unable to stay away, he pushed his way through the crowd and watched as she checked the cinch strap. She looked like a total bad-ass in her black leather chaps with metallic red fringes and hand-tooled yoke, a black hat on her head.
When she stood, he moved closer and offered some advice.
“Hellion Boy likes to wheel to the left when he leaves the gate. Does it almost every time,” he said quietly.
She nodded, a small frown between her eyebrows as she took the information in.
“Make sure you get a good spur out,” someone else said, and CJ nodded again.
A couple of other guys chimed in, and Jesse hoped Maynard was noting the support CJ was being offered, much the same as the guys would offer any rookie.
“Thanks, everyone,” CJ said with a quick smile, then she turned to the chute. She climbed onto the first rail and was about to throw her leg over when Jesse caught her elbow.
She looked down at him, her face shuttered and serious.
“Have fun,” he said, giving her elbow a light squeeze to drive home the point.
For a moment she looked stunned by his words. Then her face lit up, and he saw the wildness and anticipation and recklessness in her, burning hot and strong. The power and primality of it went straight to his groin, a bolt of pure lust.
Damn, he wanted this woman.
Her elbow slipped free from his grasp as she threw her leg over the rail, and he watched as she seated herself in the saddle and took up the rein. The long, dark plait of her hair shifted on her back as she tucked her chin down. Her hand went up, fingers loose and relaxed.
Jesse held his breath, knowing what was probably going through her mind as she steadied herself. Then she nodded, the gate opened, and Hellion Boy exploded out of the chute.
Jesse leapt up onto the rail, eyes glued to CJ as she leaned back in the saddle, performing a textbook-perfect mark out. Her plait whipped in the air as the bronc lunged forward and kicked. Time seemed to slow, to narrow down to the thud of the horse’s hooves on the dirt, the sounds of the crowd, the too-fast saw of his breath in his lungs.
It only took a second for him to see that CJ Cooper was the real deal. She seemed glued to the saddle, her body appearing to know which way the horse was going to swerve and jump before
the bronc knew himself. She had hot hands and fast feet, and when the whistle sounded he was cheering along with everyone else. He watched as CJ let go of the rein, slipping a leg free and jumping from the saddle. She almost stuck the landing, but overbalanced into a roll. She was back onto her feet straight away, face split into a grin as she kept a wary eye on the bronc to make sure the handlers had him under control. The crowd roared as the announcer’s voice became almost painfully loud with excitement, blaring out CJ’s achievement at too many decibels.
“Talk about the cowboy who can’t be throwed on the horse that can’t be rode. Or should I say cowgirl? Something tells me I better get used to saying that. That was a great ride for CJ Cooper here at her first pro rodeo event, folks. I think we’re going to be seeing a lot more of this cowgirl; you mark my words.”
Jesse’s gaze was on the scoreboard, willing the judges to honor CJ’s stellar ride. The screen lit up—eighty-eight. He let out a whoop. Halfway through the event, she’d just landed the highest score so far.
CJ had her hat in her hand as she climbed through the railing, smiling so hard it looked like it hurt. A bunch of other riders came forward to congratulate her, offering high fives and pats on the back. CJ took it all in, nodding along, shrugging modestly, but he hoped she was registering the support of her fellow riders.
Maynard was a minority, and as Jesse had told her at the street dance last night, if she could ride, the men would respect her.
And boy, could she ride.
“Congratulations. That was a wicked ride,” he told her when he’d finally muscled his way to her side.
“Thanks. I got lucky.”
“You’ve got great hands,” he said, and for the first time since he’d met her CJ Cooper broke eye contact with him.
“Thanks,” she said, and it took him a second to realize she was blushing.
He almost laughed. So that was what it took to flatter a woman like CJ—not flowers or poetry or compliments about how pretty she was. This lady was all about bronc riding.
The Cowboy Meets His Match Page 5