That meant she didn’t have to worry about picking herself up and getting the hell out of Dodge before he opened his eyes. He’d beaten her to the punch and now she could close her eyes and go back to sleep for a little while. And she certainly wasn’t going to wonder where in the world he’d run off to at five o’clock in the morning. Probably some early-morning training session. Or some interview with PBR executives. Or maybe he was helping out at the Gunner Ranch until Pete and his new wife returned.
Not that she cared.
She rolled onto her right side and punched the pillow a few more times before snuggling back down. There. She was going to close her eyes and she wasn’t going to remember the tenderness in his eyes when he’d fed her a taste of chili the night before. Tenderness? Yeah, right. That had all been part of the foreplay, which had been part of the sex.
That’s all last night had been.
Even if it had felt like an actual date.
She nixed the thought. A date implied like, and no way did he like her. And she certainly didn’t like him.
Her chest tightened and her eyes popped open. She rolled onto her left side, scrunched the pillow under her head and snuggled down. There. Now she was going to close her eyes, and she wasn’t going to remember the way he’d pulled her close the minute they’d hit the sheets and held her as if she was the most important thing in his life—
Her eyes popped open again and she rolled onto her back.
She sat up and climbed out of the bed. A few steps and she found herself in the hallway. The hardwood floor was cool beneath her bare feet, but it did nothing to ease the fire burning inside her as she walked toward the kitchen. A glass of ice water would do the trick. Or maybe she could stick her head in the fridge until she started to calm down and think rational thoughts.
Like how excited she was that she was this close to meeting her quota and getting the hell out of Lost Gun for good.
At the same time, she still hadn’t managed to put together a decent story about the death of Silas Chisholm. Even more, she hadn’t managed to find a date for Melba Rose and she was no closer to hooking up Sarah Jean from the bakery and—
Seriously?
She wasn’t a matchmaker. She was a journalist biding her time until she got her big break. Melba and Sarah would just have to find their own men because she had ten more cowboys to sign up and a story to write before she left town.
And she was leaving.
“Can’t sleep?” The deep, husky timbre of his voice met her the minute she reached the doorway to the kitchen.
She found Billy standing at the kitchen counter. The sight of him wearing nothing but a pair of snug, faded jeans stalled her heart for a long moment. Soft denim molded to his lean hips and strong thighs, and cupped his crotch. A frayed rip in the denim on his right thigh gave her a glimpse of silky blond hair and tanned skin and hard muscle and... Oh, boy.
She’d seen him without a shirt before, but she hadn’t really seen him. She’d always been too anxious to get to the main event to really take a long, leisurely look, and too determined the morning after to ignore him.
He had the hard, well-defined physique of a rough-and-tough bull rider. Broad shoulders. Muscular arms. Gold hair sprinkled his chest from nipple to nipple before narrowing into a thin line that bisected his six-pack abs and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. Her gaze was riveted on the hard bulge beneath his zipper for several fast, furious heartbeats before shifting north.
“Hungry?” he asked.
She swallowed. “You have no idea.”
“Me, too.” He held up a forkful of pancakes. The aroma of melted butter and sweet syrup hit her nostrils. Her stomach grumbled and he grinned. “I’ve got a big stack if you want some.” She didn’t miss the heat that simmered in the bright violet depths of his eyes, which made her all the more confused as to why he’d stopped before the main event last night.
He obviously wanted her.
She could see it.
Feel it.
But then his gaze darkened and he stiffened, as if he’d just remembered some all-important fact.
“Come on and I’ll get you a plate,” he offered.
Pancakes, a voice reminded her. As in breakfast. As in the morning after.
But it was still dark out and she was too hungry and, besides, they hadn’t actually done the deed last night, which completely killed the notion of a morning after.
“They’re homemade,” he added. Determination gleamed hot and bright in his gaze, along with a glimmer of possessiveness that said he’d just climbed onto a monster bull for the ride of his life, and he had no intention of letting go.
Not now.
Not ever.
And damned if that notion didn’t excite her even more than the prospect of hot, breath-stealing sex.
She smiled. “Let’s eat.”
16
BILLY HAD NEVER been a big believer in luck. Good fortune came through hard work and talent, and when things went wrong, there was usually a damn good reason behind it. Lack of motivation. Fear. Laziness.
He’d learned that from Pete and his older brothers.
A man made his own luck. It never just waltzed in on its own.
But as he watched Sabrina walk into his kitchen, he couldn’t help but reevaluate his position. He fully expected her to turn and run, the way she did every morning. Yet here she was, standing right in front of him wearing nothing but his T-shirt and a look that said she was none too happy about it.
Still, she was here.
And damned if Billy didn’t feel like the luckiest man on the planet.
He turned back to the stack of pancakes he’d just made. Grabbing a nearby plate, he fed a few golden cakes onto it. “Syrup?”
“Please.”
He grabbed the bottle and poured a hefty amount of brown liquid before handing her the cakes. He watched as she cut into the stack and stuffed a bite into her mouth.
Her features softened and pure ecstasy rolled across her face, the sight like a sucker punch to his gut.
“The chili I could see,” she murmured around a mouthful, “but pancakes, too?” Her gaze caught and held his and the air rushed back into his lungs. “I’m impressed.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Did your older brothers teach you this?”
“Jesse can barely heat up a frozen waffle in the toaster. And Cole’s the fast-food king.” He shrugged. “Eli was always the cook in the family.”
“My partner and best friend Livi did most of the cooking in our dorm room. Mostly microwave stuff, though. That, or we did takeout.”
“What about your mom?”
“She could outcook Rachael Ray, which is why I stay as far from the kitchen as possible.” She took another bite and he had the distinct feeling she wanted to change the subject.
“So how long have you and Livi been friends?”
“Since freshman year. I didn’t know if I was going to like her at first. We were so different.” When he arched an eyebrow, she added, “I know I don’t look like it, but I was a small-town country girl at one point in time.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It is. It was.” She shook her head. “I hated being from a small town. I hated the fact that we had to drive two hours just to get to a mall. I hated everybody being in everybody’s business. I hated that everybody knew what a rat bastard my dad was, while my own mom buried her head in the sand.”
“Maybe she wasn’t as clueless as you think. Maybe it just didn’t matter.”
“How’s that possible?”
“Maybe she accepted him the way he was.” He ate another bite of his own pancake. “My dad was a son of a bitch. There’s no denying that. He did some really awful things and my older brot
hers hated him for it.” He shrugged. “I didn’t.”
“But you were young—”
“That had nothing to do with it. I knew what he was, but it didn’t matter. He was still my dad.” He shrugged. “Maybe your mom knew, too, but she just accepted it because that’s the way he was and she loved him anyway.”
“Love had nothing to do with it. She was afraid of being alone.”
He shrugged. “I can see that. A single mom on her own seems pretty scary to me.”
“Being a mom didn’t have anything to do with it. She didn’t stay for me. She stayed for her own selfish reasons.”
“You sure about that? It seems pretty selfless to sacrifice your own happiness to stay in a bad relationship and try to make it work. To give your kid a real family.” When she didn’t look convinced, he added, “And sometimes it’s just easier to run from the truth than stand and face it.”
“Profound words from rodeo’s biggest good-time cowboy.”
He winked. “Just call me Dr. Phil.”
A companionable silence engulfed them for the next few minutes as he watched her finish off her pancakes. A glimmer of sadness lit her eyes and he had the crazy urge to haul her into his arms and hug her tight until the look disappeared.
But he knew if he touched her, he wouldn’t be able to stop. It had taken every ounce of strength not to finish what he’d started earlier that evening and his control was shaky at best.
“You’re lucky she at least tried,” he heard himself say, eager for something to distract himself from the sudden image of her naked and panting beneath him. “My dad never gave a lick about anyone other than himself, otherwise he would have straightened up his life and played by the rules. Folks call him a career criminal, but being a criminal isn’t a career. It’s a death sentence.”
“What really happened that night?”
“He robbed a bank, went home, had too much to drink and fell asleep with a lit cigarette. End of story.”
“Where were you?”
“Jesse had this part-time job at the training facility. He used to feed the bulls after school, shovel manure—that sort of thing. Jesse didn’t want us going home without him, so he kept us at the training facility. When Silas drank, which was most of the time, he wasn’t the nicest guy, and Jesse didn’t want him beating the crap out of us.”
“He doesn’t sound like much of a man.”
“He wasn’t, but he was still our dad.”
“It seems to me, Jesse was more like a dad to you.”
Her words eased the tight feeling in his chest just a little.
Because she was right. Jesse had been more of a dad than Silas ever would. More of a man. A good man. Honest. Loyal. Trustworthy.
But then Jesse wasn’t a carbon copy of their old man.
It’s just hair, bro. You’re nothing like him.
That’s what Jesse had told him too many times to count, whenever Billy stared into a mirror and saw his old man in his reflection, but he’d never let himself really believe it.
Until now.
Until Sabrina Collins looked deep in his eyes and said the very same thing.
There was just something about the conviction in her gaze, the sincerity, the compassion that hit a button deep inside him and made him think that he could be different. That he was different.
“I look just like him,” he said, because old habits died hard and Billy had been reminding himself of the past far too long to stop now. “That’s what everybody says.”
“So? I look like my great-aunt Mildred, but I’m nothing like her.” When he arched an eyebrow, she added, “She’s a lesbian. She just moved in with her bingo partner and adopted a new cat. I’m not a cat person either. I like dogs. Not that I have time for one, but when I do, I plan on getting a blue heeler.”
“Heelers are great. Eli used to have a red heeler pup that always hung out at the training facility. Cole and I used to play with him while we were waiting for Jesse to finish up work. That, or we’d play Lego or Hot Wheels. Then we’d all walk home together.”
“Were you together the night of the fire?”
He nodded. “Jesse finished up late and we were a good hour past our usual time. Otherwise, that night was just like any other until we saw the flames. We knew it was our house that was burning even before we got close.” His gaze caught and held hers. “We just knew.”
Ask him.
Ask him when? Where? What? Why? How?
There were so many unanswered questions and this was the chance she’d been waiting for. Her opportunity to get the inside scoop. There had been dozens of reports on what had happened to Silas Chisholm and the money he’d stolen, but no interviews with the actual witnesses. The Chisholm brothers had answered all the police’s questions, but they’d never given an actual one-on-one to the press.
And they never would.
Which made this moment all the more valuable.
Billy was talking freely about that night, opening up to her. All she had to do was ask the really tough questions and she could write an exposé that would lead her to a real journalism career and stir up the past for all three of the Chisholm brothers yet again.
And while Billy didn’t seem all that upset to be walking memory lane, she didn’t miss the tight lines around his mouth or the sudden tensing of his shoulder muscles, or the fear that flickered deep in the depths of his gaze.
For all his bravado, the past pained him. And damned if she could make herself probe the wound.
“Wow,” she blurted, stuffing a forkful of pancake into her mouth and killing her one shot. Surprisingly, that fact didn’t bother her nearly as much as it should have. Because she wasn’t cut out to be a journalist? She didn’t know. She only knew that now wasn’t the time to figure it out. She had more important things to worry about. Like Billy. And the hurt she’d glimpsed. “These are really good. You have a recipe?”
“No, but I could teach you.” He eyed her. “That is, if you want to learn.”
And where she’d avoided the kitchen her entire life because it reminded her of her mother, suddenly whipping up a batch of pancakes with hot, hunky Billy Chisholm didn’t seem all that bad. Especially since it chased the fear from his gaze and filled it with a hopeful glimmer.
She smiled. “It’s about time I learned how to make something other than ramen noodles.”
17
“THIS ISN’T PART of our agreement.” Sabrina stood on the front porch of Billy’s cabin later that morning and stared at the black-and-white horse he’d just walked from the barn.
He tipped his hat back and the devil danced in his gaze. “How’s that?”
“For one thing, it’s daytime. Morning, to be exact, and I don’t do mornings.”
“I’ll be busy tonight winning this rodeo, so just think of this as a schedule change.”
“I wasn’t planning on a schedule change, but suppose I go with it. Our agreement still doesn’t state anything about riding horses.” Or making pancakes, or laughing and talking until the sun came up about his life growing up on the Gunner spread and her life in Sugar Creek. But they’d done it anyway, and she’d enjoyed every moment. “It’s all about sex.”
“Trust me,” he murmured, the early-morning sun bathing him in a bright light that made him seem even darker and more dangerous, “so is this.” Billy winked. “We’re riding double.”
“So we will be fooling around?”
His grin was a slash of white beneath the brim of his hat. “That’s the plan.”
“Really? Because it’s been four days.” The grin widened and she stiffened. “Not that I’ve been, um, counting.”
“Actually, it’s been four days, three hours and fifty-two minutes.” She arched an eyebrow and his expression went serious. “I’ve been the one counti
ng.”
Her heart did a double thump and the butterflies started to flutter low in her belly. “So, um, how exactly is this going to work?”
“Well, I’ll be in back and you’ll be in front.” He let the words hang between them for a long moment. “Use your imagination, sugar.”
“What if I fall off?”
“I’ve never lost a partner yet.”
“Meaning, you’ve done this before?”
“Ridden a horse? Yes.” His gaze darkened for a split second and a serious note touched his expression. “Riding double? No. You’ll be the first.” The look went from serious to seductive. “But I’ve thought about it a time or two.” His eyes twinkled. “Or three.”
“And here I thought you spent your time dreaming about PBR titles.”
“I did up until I met you.”
His words sent a burst of warmth through her that crumbled her defenses. She glanced down at the oversize T-shirt she wore. The soft cotton hit her below the hips. Beyond that, her legs and feet were bare. “I’ll have to get dressed—”
“You’re fine just like that.” He stared at her as if he could see the slinky undies beneath. “The less you have on, the better.”
If the words weren’t enough to convince her, the hungry look on his face left no doubt that the next few hours would, indeed, be all about sex.
A shiver worked its way through her, along with something else. A rush of hesitation, because despite his words, this wasn’t just sex. The past few hours, even the past few days, had changed things between them. Upped the stakes.
“You’re not scared, are you?” Challenge fueled his words and lured her down the steps, when every ounce of sanity told her to climb into her car and get while the getting was good. That, and he was smiling at her. And she had a really, really hard time thinking straight when he smiled like that.
“Of you? Hardly.”
He threw a blanket over the horse’s back. “So prove it.”
The words hung between them for a long moment before she gathered her courage and closed the distance between them. She planted both hands on her hips and stared up at him. “So how do I do this?”
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