Three Weeks With a Bull Rider

by Cat Johnson

  “Okay, good. Listen, Emma and Logan are finally ready to tell everyone about the baby. I mean Becca, Tyler, and I have known for a while, but they’re planning on announcing it to his parents, and Becca’s and mine maybe next week. I think it might be best if I break the news to Tara before she hears it from someone else.”

  Jace glanced at Tara. He saw her breathing fast and shallow. Even if she already knew the news, this girl did not want to hear what Tuck had to say. “I think you’re underestimating her, Tuck. She’s too busy with school and her internship to worry about this.”

  “You don’t know her like I do. She’s going to have a fit, Jace. I need to nip it in the bud before she says or does something embarrassing.”

  “I think you’re wrong, but if you are right and she can’t handle the news, then telling her right now isn’t exactly fair to her, is it? Just because Mr. Perfect didn’t bother to use a condom is no reason to upset Tara in the middle of her internship and possibly cost her the degree she’s been working so hard to get.”

  Yeah, Jace was bitter that Tuck treated Logan like he was infallible but considered him a screw up. He wasn’t about to jump to do Tuck’s bidding because Logan and Emma had finally decided it was time to go public with what half of them knew already.

  Jace’s loyalty was to Tara, his traveling partner. The traveling partner he’d had his hands all over last night. One more reason for him not to come face-to-face with Tuck sooner than he had to.

  “Jace—” Tuck didn’t sound as if he was going to accept Jace’s answer.

  Time to end the call. “Oops. Here she comes. Gotta go. But no, we’re not coming home.” Jace hit END, then risked a glance at Tara.

  She stared at him, looking pale and kind of in shock.

  “Sorry, Tara.” He wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, but it seemed the right thing to say. Maybe that he’d spoken for her, or about her to Tuck. Whatever. The end result was the one they both wanted. That was all that mattered.

  Her brow furrowed. “Don’t be sorry. That was good.”

  “Really?” Jace thought he pretty much sucked at lying.

  “Yeah, it was. Thanks for handling the call and Tuck.”

  “No problem.”

  It wasn’t finished. Not for either of them. They’d have to go back and face what they were running from, but not today and not after the next event. For now, that was good enough.

  Jace realized he still had her phone clutched in his hand and handed it to her. “Hey, let’s really stop for a break. I think I could use one.”

  “Yeah, me too.” She took the phone and shoved it back into her pocket. “Jace?”

  “Yeah.” He glanced at her.

  “You’re not such a dick all the time. Just most of the time.” One corner of her mouth tipped up in a crooked smile.

  “Thanks. And you’re not such an obnoxious brat all of the time, either. Just most of the time.”

  Tara tipped her head in a nod. “Thank you.”

  One step closer to getting back to normal.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dillon glanced in Tara’s direction and then turned to Jace. “I see things seem to have thawed out a bit between you two.”

  “What do you mean? Why do you say that?” Crap. That reaction had sounded suspicious. Nothing like a guilty conscience to get a man’s defenses up.

  “Your roommate keeps looking over here, only today, it doesn’t seem like she wants to kill you. You two work things out?”

  “Uh, yeah. I guess.” The last thing Jace needed was Dillon guessing something had happened between him and Tara. Something more than arguing, that is.

  Jace glanced up and caught Tara watching him and changed his mind. That was the last thing he needed—her eyeballing him with that look that said wait until we get alone. He’d managed to deflect her subtle, and not so subtle hints while driving yesterday and even while they were in the room alone, but that was probably because she was still grateful for his handling Tuck’s phone call. Jace had a feeling that reprieve was over and she’d be back to the innuendos.

  Having to expend all of his energy on Tara on his day off was one thing. Having to give a large portion of his concentration to her when he had to ride was quite another.

  From her little looks and comments, it was no secret what she wanted. She was looking for an encore of the other night, and he couldn’t let that happen. The thing was, his body seemed to have a different idea from that of his brain. Even as the guilt weighed on him until it felt as if a bull was standing on his chest, parts lower were all for a repeat with Tara.

  “You okay?” Dillon asked, bringing Jace’s attention back to the here and now.

  “Yeah. Just planning out my ride.” That was as good an excuse as any. He couldn’t tell Dillon he was remembering what had thawed the chilly situation with Tara.

  Dillon let out a snort. “Nothing to plan. The only thing predictable about that bull is that he’s unpredictable.”

  That was the truth. Hit the Dirt, the bull Jace had drawn for the night’s competition, was aptly named because that’s what riders did just a few seconds out of the gate. Add to that the other challenges he was facing—the fact that his head was not in the game thanks to his little travel partner, and that he’d run through all the new underwear he’d superstitiously begun to attribute his winning to—and he had a feeling the next ride would be the end of his lucky streak. He would have to rely on his experience and instincts and pray for the best.

  Either way, whether he made the whistle or not, it would be over soon. He was scheduled to ride in the next section. He moved to the rail where he’d left his safety vest and chaps. Time to suit up and get to work.

  Hit the Dirt stood in the chute as still as a statue. Nothing moved on the animal except the eyeball facing Jace as the bull looked in his direction. The bull was checking him out. It seemed only fair, since Jace was checking the bull out as well. It was big. At least two thousand pounds and built strong and solid with muscles that could launch the animal six feet into the air. The bull was unridden in competition. One hundred percent buck-off rate. Jace was crazy to think he’d be the one to break that record, but he still had to try.

  The bull didn’t mess around in the chute like some did—probably conserving energy for after the gate opened. Jace kept that in mind as he popped his mouth guard in and climbed onto the animal’s broad back. He felt how wide the beast was under him.

  One of the stock handlers balanced on the rail, pulling the rope tight behind the bull’s shoulders, then handed it to Jace. He gave the rope another tug and wrapped it tighter than usual around his hand before weaving it between his fingers. It was referred to as a suicide wrap. Jace tried not to think too hard about the significance of the name.

  He flipped his chaps out of the way, made sure his spurs were clear of the bull rope, and then pounded his fist one more time. That was it. He was as ready as he was going to be. He nodded to the gateman and the gate clanged open.

  The bull took a giant leap into the air. Dropping its head low, while its hind feet were still airborne put the animal almost vertical. Jace managed to hang on as the bull’s feet crashed to the ground and it settled into a spin to the right, away from Jace’s hand. The power and speed of the bull’s bucking and spinning simultaneously made it hard to stay centered. Jace fought but still felt himself begin to slip into the well. The worst place to be.

  His free hand touched the bull’s side. With that foul, his ride was officially over, but being disqualified was the lesser of his worries. While the seconds seemed to move in slow motion, he realized he couldn’t get to the tail of his rope to release his hand. With his hand still in the wrap, he slid off the side of the bull on the inside of the spin as the animal continued to pound the dirt with its deadly hooves.

  He knew he needed to get to his feet and keep trying to release the rope, or be dragged and possibly trampled. The bullfighters were there, but were having trouble getting to him as the bull di
dn’t let up trying to shake the rider still hanging on him.

  As he felt something give in his shoulder, Jace made one last ditch effort, reached for the rope with his free hand, and somehow, miraculously, grabbed it. The wrap released and he fell free to the ground. Shouting at the bull, the bullfighters did their job and drew its attention away from Jace and toward themselves.

  Jace crawled onto his hands and knees, intent on getting to the rails any way he could so he could pull himself up and out of the bull’s way should it decide to come after him, but one glance told him the bull had no interest in him.

  Once the weight of the rider was off, the bull stopped dead in the middle of the arena. The veteran bull knew its job was done. Far more interested in locating the out gate than in pursuing the men in the arena, it turned until it spotted the way out. When the massive animal trotted toward the exit and out, Jace could breathe again.

  He rolled to his back and let his head fall to the dirt and lay, staring at the ceiling as the full impact of the pain in his shoulder hit him. Yup, his lucky streak was definitely over, and in a spectacular way.

  Doc Chandler and Rick, a member of the sports medicine team, were kneeling on the dirt beside him in seconds.

  “I’m okay.” Jace tried to sound convincing as he clutched his arm with his other hand.

  The doc ignored Jace’s self-diagnosis as he prodded Jace’s shoulder. “Looks like it’s dislocated. We’re going to have to take you out and pop it back into place.”

  “No. Do it here. Right now.” It wasn’t the pain Jace couldn’t handle—he’d been through this before—it was having Tara be there to witness it in the medical room. It had been sheer luck she was in back for his wreck or she’d be hovering over him the way the rest of the medical team was.

  The doc’s brow rose. “You sure?”

  “Yup. Do it.”

  “All right.” Doc Chandler braced his leg against Jace’s side, and then with a firm hold, gripped Jace’s arm with both of his.

  A slow, steady pull on the doc’s part and Jace’s shoulder slid into the socket. The pain was horrible, but the relief once it was back in place was immediate. Still, he was sore as shit and knew from experience he would be for a while.

  He blinked fast a few times and let out the breath he’d been holding. “Thanks, Doc.”

  “No problem. Come on back so I can get you a sling and something to take.”

  “Don’t need anything.”

  The doctor pinned Jace with a no-nonsense glare. “Take it anyway.”

  “Okay. Fine.” He’d likely be given an anti-inflammatory. The doc might even try to push a muscle relaxer, if not a painkiller on him.

  A little ibuprofen would help the swelling. Jace would take that. No problem. But he wasn’t wearing a freaking sling or taking any of that other stuff. If he did, he’d be passed out behind the chutes before the short go. Not that he’d be riding in the championship round with his disqualification at four-point-five seconds, but still, he’d like to be awake for it. Not to mention he had to drive back to the hotel afterward.

  “Can you walk?” Rick asked, eyeing Jace still flat on his back on the ground.

  “Of course, I can walk.” Not that he’d tried but hell, it was his shoulder that hurt, not his legs. He’d walk out of the arena even if it killed him to do it.

  “A’ight.” Rick grabbed Jace’s good arm and hoisted him to his feet.

  The crowd’s cheer broke through the hush of the arena. They always did applaud as loudly for a fallen rider who walked away from a wreck as they did for a ninety-point ride. In theory, it was to help the rider feel better. It wasn’t working. Covered in arena dirt and hurting, Jace had plenty of reminders that his perfect three-event winning streak was good and broken.

  Maryann skidded to a stop in the doorway of the sports medicine room. “Jace wrecked. It’s pretty bad.”

  “What?” Tara spun from the rider she’d been tending to.

  “He got hung up in his rope. He finally got free, but he’s laid out in the arena. Flat on his back, right where he landed.”

  “You didn’t go see if he’s hurt?” Tara’s heart clenched with fear.

  Jace had been right when he said travel partners had a special bond. Love him or hate him, she had reached another level with him from traveling together.

  “Doc Chandler and Rick are with him. But I thought you’d want to know.”

  “Well, go now. The doc might need you. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Tara turned to the veteran rider on the table.

  She needed to know Jace was okay, and she realized her concern had nothing to do with worrying she could lose her ride because he was laid up, though that could well be an issue for her if he was broken up bad and couldn’t continue on the circuit.

  The rider on the table, probably half a dozen years older than Jace, had asked if she’d get him some sports cream to rub into his neck, which had been chronically sore since he’d broken the C1 vertebra a few years ago. There were men who had been paralyzed for life by a similar injury, but this old-timer had worked his way back to the circuit after it.

  If Jace had landed wrong he could very well be lying out there with a broken neck. The thought had her knees growing weak.

  “Go on out where you’re needed, Miss Tara. I can wait.” The rider’s offer brought her attention back to where it belonged.

  “Thank you.” The tightness in her throat made it hard to get even those two small words out.

  With an urgency that had her pulse pounding, Tara strode through the door of the medical room . . . and smack into Jace.

  He hissed when she crashed into his chest. He reached out with one arm to steady her. “Easy, girl. One dislocated shoulder a day is enough for me.”

  “Oh, thank God.” Tara’s relief at seeing him upright came out in one big whoosh of breath. “That’s all? Just your shoulder?”

  As she waited for confirmation, Tara was aware of the doctor walking into the room and past them.

  Jace let out a laugh. “That’s not enough? You want me more broke up?”

  “No, I mean . . . I heard you were laid out.”

  “Just while I was waiting for the doc here to fix me up. That’s all.” Jace shrugged, but she noticed he only used one shoulder to do it.

  “Waiting on me, huh? Well, now I’m waiting on you to take this.” The doctor handed Jace two pills.

  “What is it?” Jace eyed the tiny orange tablets in his hand.

  “Ibuprofen.”

  “Nothing else?” He raised a brow.

  Doctor Chandler rolled his eyes. “No, nothing else. Would you take something else if I gave it to you?”

  “Nope.”

  “That’s what I figured.”

  Jace popped the pills into his mouth, and then grabbed the cup of water with the same hand, not using his left arm at all. He was still hurting.

  “I’m getting you a sling.” Tara turned toward where the supplies were kept.

  “Don’t want one.”

  “Too bad. You’re wearing it.” She pulled a sling out of the cabinet.

  “Tara—”

  “Jace. Stop.” She cut his protest short. “Put on the sling and shut up or I swear, I will nag you until—”

  “A’ight.” He held up his good hand. “Give me the dang sling.”

  The doctor smiled at the exchange. Even the older rider on the table wore a smirk. Jace, on the other hand, looked annoyed, and frustrated, and maybe a little bit embarrassed at being ordered around by his friend’s little sister. Too bad.

  Tara stood back while Jace slipped his arm through the sling.

  Riders could be as stubborn as the bulls they rode sometimes. Hopefully, getting Jace to do what was medically advised in spite of his reluctance would win her a good review from the doc.

  Tara’s satisfaction stemmed from more than wanting a good grade, though. There was much more to it on a personal level. Not only did Jace need the sling he was so opposed to wearing, it w
as just plain fun making him do something he didn’t want to.

  As he scowled, but remained quiet while she strapped it around his neck, Tara realized that was the best part.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jace stood beneath the pounding heat of the water in the shower until steam filled the room with a thick fog. It felt good on his sore shoulder.

  Finally, he flipped off the water and stepped out of the shower stall. Naked except for the towel he draped around his waist, he stood in front of the sink and wiped the steam from the mirror with his good arm.

  He hated with every fiber of his being that now he had a good arm, because it meant he also had a bad one. His riding arm. He set his jaw at that thought. Pain or not, he was riding tomorrow. It was only eight seconds. He was strong. He could endure anything for that short a time.

  “You okay in there?”

  He could even endure Tara, who insisted on babying him as if he’d been nearly killed rather than hung up for a few seconds.

  “I’m fine. Stop worrying,” he called back. Not that he had to raise his voice too loudly, since it had sounded as if she was directly on the other side of the door.

  The lack of privacy and knowing Tara was creeping around within earshot had kept him from dealing with the pressing situation beneath the towel while he’d been in the shower. He’d made the mistake of thinking about the kiss and found his cock remembered it fondly. His right arm still worked just fine, but he sure as hell couldn’t jerk off with Tara on the other side of the flimsy hotel-grade door.

  “You took so long in the shower, I got worried.”

  He would have been even longer had he taken the time to rid himself of the hard-on that tented the towel he wore. Maybe he should have risked it because even Tara’s nagging wasn’t making the inexplicably persistent arousal go down. Maybe it wasn’t such a mystery. He hadn’t handled things in that area since being on the road with her. Add to that the new memories of what they’d done together and his suspicions that she wasn’t going to let up until they did it again, and it was no wonder he was walking around ready to blow.