“I know how that works. I’ve got three brothers too.”
“I knew there was something I liked about you,” Sierra said.
CJ laughed, and it felt good. As though she was letting go of a burden she hadn’t even been aware she was carrying.
A sixth sense alerted her they were no longer alone, and she turned to find Jesse in the doorway. He’d taken his coat off and he looked impossibly tall and wide in a navy and black plaid shirt and dark denim jeans.
“All good here?” he asked.
“Yep. I was about to invite CJ to stay for dinner. How does grilled chicken, corn bread and salad sound?” Sierra asked.
“You don’t have to feed me as well,” CJ protested.
She’d already imposed on the Carmodys enough.
“I know I don’t,” Sierra said, flashing her a smile. “But since I’m going to be cooking anyway, you might as well join us.”
CJ wasn’t sure if Sierra was just being kind, and she glanced uncertainly at Jesse. His mouth crooked up at the corners.
“Just say yes. It’s easier that way,” he said.
“Funny,” Sierra said. “Just for that you’re in charge of the grill.”
“Dinner sounds lovely,” CJ said, because how could she resist such kindness and generosity? “I’m not the best cook but I can help peel things and cut them up.”
“Well, I am awesome in the kitchen, but it’s Casey’s turn to be my reluctant handmaiden, so you relax and enjoy yourself,” Sierra said.
Jesse pushed away from the doorframe. “You can come watch me clean the grill if you like. Nothing like watching someone else work to build up an appetite.”
He exited to the kitchen and CJ glanced uncertainly at the washing machine.
“You’ve got another half hour before they’ll be done,” Sierra said.
Which left her with nothing to do but follow Jesse out into the kitchen. He was waiting with two beers in hand, and he passed one to her wordlessly.
“We’re out here,” he said, indicating the door that led outside from the kitchen.
She followed him onto the wrap-around porch to where a gas grill had been built into a brick retaining wall. Benches ran along the wall on either side, and the profusion of herbs planted in the garden bed behind the retaining wall filled the night air with their scent.
“Take a load off. You must be sore,” Jesse said as he lifted the lid on the grill.
“Starting to feel it a bit,” CJ admitted as she sank onto the bench to the left of the barbeque.
“Hot shower works wonders.”
CJ had a sudden, vivid image of Jesse Carmody standing beneath hot water, gloriously naked and glistening wet.
Okay, definitely not helpful, thank you subconscious.
She took a hasty gulp of her beer, hoping it would flush her brain out, only to be hit with a perfect combination of malty-hoppy goodness and crisp coldness.
“God, that is good,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment.
When she opened her eyes, Jesse was watching her, an arrested expression on his face.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Don’t tell me I’ve got a beer moustache?”
“Nope. No moustache that I can see,” he said, turning his attention to the grill.
He squatted to inspect the gas bottle and twist it on, his thigh muscles bunching beneath his jeans. CJ told herself to look away, but he was one of those men it was simply a pleasure to watch do almost anything—his big, strong body seemed to move effortlessly, confidently, no matter what he was doing, and his hands were sure and dexterous as he manipulated the gas bottle.
But she already knew the man had good hands. She’d seen them in action today during his ride.
She cleared her throat. “So…this is your base, then? When you’re not on the circuit?”
“I don’t really have one. Tend to follow the circuit round, go from rodeo to rodeo.”
“So you pretty much live on the road?” she asked. She should have guessed that, given his standing in the rankings. A rider didn’t get that high up the leaderboard without hitting as many rodeos as he could.
“Pretty much. You planning on going all-in now you got your pro card?” he asked, shooting her a searching look.
She kept forgetting how beautiful his eyes were, then he’d look at her directly and she’d be hit all over again by the depth of the green in his irises and the lushness of his thick dark lashes.
“My plan is to play it by ear. I’ve got enough saved to survive a while without winnings. So I guess I’ll just see what happens.”
A lot could change very quickly in pro rodeo. She could get injured. She could fail to place or win and have to rely on her savings to survive. Anything could happen.
“If you’re having second thoughts about staying on the circuit because of Maynard, don’t. He’s not going to bother you again,” Jesse said. He was fiddling with the knobs on the grill, but she could see his grim expression.
“Don’t go starting anything with him on my behalf,” she said quickly. “I don’t want you to get into trouble with the law or the association.”
“Who said it would be for you?” he said. “He’s making us all look like a bunch of ignorant, redneck assholes, the way he’s behaving.”
She gave him her best ‘cut the bull’ look. If it wasn’t for her, no way would Jesse feel as though he needed to rein Maynard in. If it wasn’t for her, none of this would have happened in the first place.
“This is my problem, not yours,” she said.
“Consider it professional courtesy,” he said.
“If you start something, people will talk,” she pointed out.
He frowned. “About what?”
“About us. If you go after him, it’ll look like you’re doing it for me.” She could feel heat rising into her face, but she needed to say this, get it on the table, so they both knew where they stood.
“Right.” He used a scraper to clean the grill, the sound loud in the quiet night. Then: “Maybe people should just mind their own business.”
“Great in theory, not so much in practice,” CJ said. “I don’t want rumors flying around about me. I’m here to compete. Nothing else.”
He glanced at her, and she knew he’d gotten her message.
“Fair enough.” His tone was neutral, almost completely uninflected with emotion.
And why wouldn’t it be? There was nothing between them except a certain animal awareness and some kindness on his behalf.
“What sort of cattle do you run here?” she asked.
He smiled slightly at the very deliberate change of topic.
“Mostly Black Angus, but we’ve got a few hundred head of Red Charolais as well. And Jed’s been breeding Appaloosas the last couple of years.”
“My first horse was an Appaloosa,” she said.
His teeth showed white as he smiled. “Mine, too.”
Good Lord, but he was ridiculously handsome when he smiled. Dangerously so.
“What about you? Your family own land?” he asked.
“When I was younger, but they sold it when I was about ten. Nothing like this place, though. My dad’s a farrier now, and my mom works in Plentywood at the county office.”
“A farrier? That’s pretty cool. Does that mean you know your way around a forge?”
“Only enough to get into trouble.”
“So what do you do when you’re not showing us all how to ride a bronc?”
She pulled a face at his compliment. “I ran a riding school back home, helped out at a local agistment.”
He nodded, then reached out to turn down the gas. “I’ll just let Sierra know we’re ready for her.”
“Don’t bother. I’m psychic,” Sierra said, appearing through the kitchen door with a platter loaded down with a lot of chicken. “Don’t overcook it, because there is nothing worse than cardboard chicken.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll supe
rvise,” CJ said, offering Sierra a wink. Sierra smirked and headed back into the house.
“You’re welcome to take over,” Jesse said, waving a welcoming hand at the grill.
“No way. I’m even worse with a grill than I am in the kitchen.” She grinned at him. “I’m a great armchair cook though, so I’ll just yell out when I see you going wrong.”
“You do that,” Jesse said dryly.
She swallowed the last of her beer and set the empty bottle down with regret.
“Grab another one from the fridge,” Jesse said, and she realized he was as attuned to her every action and reaction as she was to his.
She filed the knowledge away for later. When it would be safer to think about what that meant.
“I’d love to, but I can’t—gotta drive back into town. I’ll grab you another one if you want, though…?” She stood, dusting her hands down her thighs.
“You can’t go back to that motel,” he said. “I already changed the sheets—you can have my bed, I’ll sleep in the old Airstream behind the barn.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“Sure you can.”
“I’m not kicking you out of your own bed.”
“You’re not, I’m volunteering. And what’s the alternative? Because at the risk of repeating myself, you can’t go back to that motel.”
CJ was tempted to stand her ground, but privately she’d been dreading going back to her accommodation. The room would have been cleaned in her absence—the manager had promised her that—but she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be getting a lot of sleep, knowing Maynard had found a way past the lock without leaving so much as a scratch on it.
“How about this—you stay in your bed, I’ll sleep in the Airstream?” she offered.
He tilted his head, studying her for a beat. Then he shrugged. “Okay, if that’s what it takes. But I want it on the record that I tried to do the gentlemanly thing.”
“It’s been noted and will go in your permanent file,” she said.
That surprised a laugh out of him. “Good to know.”
“One other thing—pretty sure that chicken wing in the back corner has passed cardboard and is on its way to cremated.”
“Shit.” Turning back to the grill, Jesse busied himself with the chicken.
CJ studied his profile. Maybe it was the warmth of the beer spreading through her body, or the smell of rosemary and oregano from the garden behind her, or the clear, bright night sky, but it occurred to her for the first time that this weekend hadn’t been all doom and gloom.
Having to confront and deal with Dean Maynard had been pretty damn unpleasant, to say the least—but she’d also met Jesse Carmody. And he was a good man, a kind man. An honorable man. He’d gone out of his way to approach her at the street party and let her know he didn’t share Maynard’s opinion. He’d offered her advice on everything from good chili to the habits of her bronc, and he’d stepped up when Maynard had started mouthing off in front of the rest of the riders.
And now he’d offered her the comfort of his home and family, no strings, no expectations.
He was one of the good ones, and no matter what else had happened this weekend, she’d lucked out that he’d come into her orbit.
“Jesse?” she said.
He glanced across at her, eyebrows slightly raised in inquiry.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For everything.”
He held her eye for a long beat, then acknowledged her words with a single nod before turning his attention back to the food.
*
Jesse tried to think of something to say, but CJ’s quiet, sincere expression of gratitude had cleared every thought from his brain.
He hadn’t done any of the things he’d done because he’d been looking for gratitude—or anything else, for that matter. He’d done them because she’d been unfairly harassed, and because he could empathize with how daunting it was for a rookie to join the pro circuit, where the competition was more intense, the crowds bigger, the pressure more profound than any local rodeo CJ would have competed in before.
The fact he found her attractive was beside the point. He almost wished he wasn’t so aware of her in that way, because he was starting to like her a lot and sex almost always got in the way of friendship between men and women. In his experience, anyway. He could count on the fingers of one hand the ex-girlfriends he was still friends with.
He frowned at the chicken, trying to work out how he’d gone from embarrassment over CJ’s acknowledgment to thinking about her in terms of a girlfriend. Talk about putting the cart before the horse.
“I might go see if Sierra needs help setting the table,” CJ said. “Even I can’t mess that up.”
“Won’t be much longer out here anyway,” Jesse said.
He was very aware of the night sounds around him once she was gone—the occasional nicker of a horse in the home paddock, the hoot of an owl, the wind in the old yellow pine behind the house. He could hear Sierra and CJ talking and laughing in the kitchen, too, but not clearly enough to understand what they were saying.
He was glad CJ hadn’t been scared off by Maynard’s ugliness. He was even happier she’d be competing the next rodeo in Great Falls. He liked being around her, even if she’d made it clear that nothing was going to happen between them.
He could understand why. She was in a difficult position, being the only woman competing in a field of men. Like it or not, the rodeo crowd was a conservative one, and if it got out she’d slept with one of the riders, she’d get a lot of judgment and side-eye from people.
Meanwhile, the male rider would probably get a bunch of high fives and pats on the back. That was how messed up the double standard was.
Aware he was going to take a lot of heat from his sister if the chicken was overdone, he tested a piece and decided it was cooked. Piling a clean platter high with the meat, he turned off the gas and let himself into the kitchen.
“’Bout time, man. I am starving,” Casey said.
He was loitering in the space between the kitchen island and the scrubbed pine dining table, a beer in hand. Jed was at the sink, washing his hands, and Jesse exchanged a nod with his older brother. Sierra and CJ were nowhere to be seen, but he could hear their voices in the laundry room.
“Chicken’s done,” he called.
“So I smell. Won’t be a minute,” Sierra called.
Jesse figured they must be transferring CJ’s stuff to the dryer, and made a mental note to thank his sister for stepping up the way she had.
“You met CJ yet?” he asked Jed as he set the platter in the middle of the table.
“Five minutes ago. Gather there was some trouble at her motel?”
Jesse glanced toward the laundry room, unwilling to get into the details yet again when CJ might walk in. She’d had to go over it enough times already today.
“Yeah. I’ll fill you in later.”
Jed nodded, getting the message, then crossed to the fridge.
“For sure I’ll have another one, thanks for asking,” Casey said before Jed even had the door open.
“Those arms of yours painted on?” Jed asked, but he pulled out three beers and passed one each to Casey and Jesse.
“These arms have been busy creating amazing music and they require the soothing balm of beer to restore them,” Casey said.
“Listen to the poet,” Jesse said.
“I do, twenty-four seven,” Jed said dryly, taking a long pull from his beer. “Apparently I did something real bad in a former life.”
Jesse smirked as Casey gave his brother the bird, then they all tried to look innocent as Sierra and CJ joined them.
“What are you three up to?” Sierra asked, looking around suspiciously.
“Just standing here watching our dinner get cold,” Casey said.
“Then you should have got the corn bread out of the oven and the salad out of the fridge. Those arms of yours painted on?”
Jesse and Casey both burst into l
aughter, and even Jed cracked a smile at her echo of his own words.
“Whatever,” Sierra said after a beat of bafflement at their reaction. “CJ, I apologize for the idiocy of the Carmody men. It’s a weakness that breeds true in our family.”
“You have my sympathy. Like I said, I’ve got three like them at home, and I know what a burden it is,” CJ said.
“Ow,” Jesse said, placing a hand over his heart. “What happened to ‘Jesse, you’re my savior’? I liked that much better.”
CJ gave him a steady look. “You want to rethink that quote?” she asked, one eyebrow cocked in challenge.
“Careful, Jesse, she’s already whipped your ass once today,” Casey reminded him.
“The loyalty of this family staggers me sometimes,” Jesse said.
“Can it stagger you at the table? Some of us have been fencing all day,” Jed said.
Probably the line was meant as a joke, but it felt like a reprimand, and Jesse’s smile slipped. No doubt Jed didn’t consider competing in two events back-to-back at the rodeo real work. Certainly not the equal of a day on the ranch.
Waving his hand, Jesse invited his brother to take a seat. No one was stopping him, after all. He was aware of CJ shooting him a quick look, trying to understand the shift in the room.
“CJ, sit next to me,” Sierra said, indicating the chair to the right of her own.
Jesse took the chair opposite as Casey and Sierra ferried the rest of the food to the table.
“Looks great, everyone,” Jed said.
“Hell, yeah,” Casey said, already reaching for the potato salad.
“Raised by wolves, I tell you,” Sierra said, slapping his hand away. “We have a guest, remember?”
“CJ’s got three brothers. She knows the drill—every man for himself,” Casey said, reaching for the potato salad again.
CJ beat him to it, whisking the bowl from beneath his hand. “Thanks for reminding me,” she said, much to Sierra’s delight.
Jesse grinned, too, then let out a bark of laughter at the surprised look on Casey’s face.
Her eyes dancing with amusement, CJ offered Sierra the salad first before taking a scoop for herself. Then and only then did she offer it to Casey.
The Cowboy Meets His Match Page 8