Boy, howdy, did they. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand, then silently cursed and leaped from the bed, dragging the sheet with her. “C.J. and I have to leave in fifteen minutes,” she said, shutting the bathroom door in Johnny’s face.
She made quick use of the facilities then, realizing her clothes were in the other room, she wrapped the sheet around her and opened the door. Johnny stood by the window holding her bra and panties.
“I’m sorry, Shannon.” He grimaced. “I accept full blame—” his gaze cut to the bed “—for what happened.”
Sorry? Swell, just what every girl yearns to hear the morning after.
She snatched her lingerie from his hand. He might act like making love hadn’t been a big deal—but they both knew they’d set the sheets on fire. Even though she’d been with only three guys—Johnny being one of them—their lovemaking was unlike anything she’d experienced before, and she knew he’d enjoyed it, because he’d been pretty darn vocal.
He spun when she dropped the sheet to put on her panties. “Seems like just yesterday I was bandaging your knees and wiping your runny nose.”
“You’re nine years my senior. So what?” Obviously their age difference bothered him.
“Old enough to know better.”
“I’m decent now.”
“Like I said, I’m sorry.” Gaze glued to the tips of his boots, Johnny walked to the door. “Good luck at the rodeo. Drive safe.”
Then he was gone.
Tears burned her eyes, but she held them at bay and blamed her wishy-washy emotions on too little sleep. After she tugged on her boots, she carried the truck keys and her cell phone outside to see if C.J. had come back to the motel or spent the night somewhere else.
Johnny’s truck was gone from its parking spot—he’d wasted no time making a getaway. She shielded her eyes from the sun and scanned the rows of vehicles. There in the back sat the familiar black Dodge with the big red-and-yellow boot painted on the door. While she waited for C.J. she might as well phone her father—maybe it would take her mind off of Johnny.
Shannon cut through the lot toward the truck and punched the number 7 on her speed dial. “Hey, Dad, did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No, I’m on my way to the barn.”
Good. Short phone calls were best between them.
“I won yesterday in Gila Bend.”
“Congratulations,” he said.
As much as Shannon loved her father, just once she’d like to hear excitement in his voice when they talked about her rodeo career. She knew he didn’t believe women should ride bulls—neither did her brothers, but she’d been competing in roughstock events since high school and that’s what she knew how to do best.
“I’m getting closer to winning that title, Dad. I can almost taste it.” Her father had been a National Champion in bareback riding and both her brothers had won rodeo titles—Luke in bull riding and Matt in team roping. National titles were in the Douglas DNA and Shannon intended to earn one herself.
“You comin’ home soon?” he asked.
“C.J. and I are traveling to California, but we’ll be back at the end of the month to compete in Yuma. Maybe you can come watch me.” Silence greeted her suggestion.
What happened to the man who’d praised her when she’d been a little girl beating out the boys in all the mutton bustin’ competitions? Back then, her father hadn’t cared that she acted like a boy. Then one day she woke up with breasts and suddenly he insisted she quit rodeo.
Time to change the subject. “How are things at the ranch?”
“Might have a buyer for Cinnamon.”
After her mother had walked out on the family when Shannon was three, her father had focused his energy on growing his cutting horse operation. Now that her brothers were busy with their law practice in Yuma and she traveled the circuit all year, most of the horse training fell on his shoulders.
“Is Roger excited about retiring?” The foreman had worked at the ranch for over three decades. This past year, he’d fallen and broken his hip, requiring a hip-replacement operation. Her father had finally convinced the seventy-five-year-old man that it was time to put away the branding iron.
“You know Roger. He doesn’t have a whole lot to say,” her father said.
Maybe not, but Shannon bet the ranch hand looked forward to spending time with his sister in Florida. “Have you hired anyone to take his place?” Aside from raising cutting horses her father ran a small herd of cattle on the property—more than enough work to keep two men busy.
“Johnny Cash.”
Shannon sucked in a quiet breath. Why hadn’t Johnny told her he was the new foreman? No wonder he’d beat a hasty retreat this morning. He was probably worried how her father would react if he found out about their tryst.
“Johnny’s not starting until Roger clears his things out in a couple of weeks.”
“That’s great.”
The motel door opened and C.J. stepped outside in a pair of black boxers and white tube socks. When he spotted her, he waved.
“Gotta go, Dad.”
“Good luck in California.”
The words weren’t heartfelt, but Shannon gave her father credit for saying them. “I love you” dangled on the tip of her tongue, but instead she said, “Call you soon.” She shoved the phone into her jeans pocket.
“Who you talkin’ to?” C.J. asked.
“Nobody.” As she stared at his muscular chest and bulging biceps, an image of Johnny’s leaner athletic build flashed before her eyes. If viewing a man’s naked chest was all it took to trigger the memory of her and Johnny’s lovemaking, then she was in big trouble, because cowboys were always changing their shirts behind the chutes.
She checked the time on her cell phone. Eight o’clock. “We’ve got to be at the fairgrounds in Glendale by one-thirty.” Glendale, California, was four and a half hours away. “I’m leaving in ten minutes with or without you.” She got into the truck and started it, then adjusted the air conditioner to cool down the cab.
With less than a minute to spare, C.J. stowed his gear in the backseat. She didn’t wait for him to put on his seat belt before peeling away like a bat out of hell.
“You pissed off about Veronica?”
The buckle bunny would be history soon enough, seeing how C.J. blew through women faster than a dust devil bounced across the desert.
When she remained quiet, he said, “I’m gonna try harder to keep my love life private.” He tugged on his boots. “Maybe we should ham it up more for the fans.”
The last thing she wanted to do in public was act like an idiot over the womanizing cowboy. “Our normal routine has worked fine so far. Why mess with it?” The most she and C.J. had done in front of the cameras was hug and exchange high fives.
“I bet the fans want to see us kiss.”
Fat chance. “They’ll have to settle for fantasizing about us kissing.”
“You’re a hard woman, Shannon.”
She’d learned from the best—her father. She jacked up the volume on the radio. C.J. leaned his head against the seat, tipped his hat over his face and fell asleep.
At one in the afternoon they pulled into the rodeo grounds west of Glendale. C.J. stretched. “You ready to go down, Douglas?”
The cowboy was about to find out hell hath no fury like a pissed off cowgirl. She pocketed the truck keys then walked off with her gear. Once she signed in for her event, she went to the livestock pens to check out her draw—Dead End.
The bull appeared docile, its tail twitching at the flies buzzing near its rump. The short, muscular bull lifted his head and a shiver raced down her spine. The animal was a machine whose only purpose was to hurt cowboys.
She left the stock pens and reported to the Dynasty Boots tent, which had been set up next
to the bleachers. As usual, C.J. was nowhere in sight, leaving her with the responsibility of signing autographs and shaking hands.
“Will you sign this?”
“What’s your name?” Shannon asked the little girl who wore a pink cowboy hat.
“Lizzy.”
Shannon scribbled her name across the program. “Are you a real cowgirl?”
“Yes.”
“Hurry up, Lizzy.” An older man waited a few feet away.
“You gonna ride broncs or bulls when you grow up?” She handed the program to the girl.
“Daddy says ladies don’t rodeo, but I wanna ride bulls like you.”
“Do I look like a lady, Lizzy?”
The girl nodded.
“Do I ride bulls?”
Lizzy nodded again.
“Then I guess your daddy’s wrong. Ladies do ride bulls.” Shannon winked. As the little girl walked off, Shannon called after her, “Don’t ever let anyone tell you what you can or can’t be just because you’re a girl.”
An hour later, she left the booth to prepare for her meeting with Dead End.
“Where’ve you been?” C.J. asked when she arrived in the cowboy ready area.
“Signing autographs. Where’ve you been?”
His gaze drifted to the bleachers where a blond-haired buckle bunny watched them. C.J. tipped his hat and the woman blew him a kiss.
At least he’d kept his promise and made the bimbo wait in the stands.
“Get ready to lose,” Shannon said. “I drew a better bull.”
“It’s not about the bull, baby.” His smile taunted her. “It’s all about the cow...boy.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, hold tight to your hats as we kick off our bull riding event!”
Shannon donned her Kevlar vest then put on her face mask and riding glove. She rubbed resin on the leather as rodeo helpers loaded Dead End into the chute.
“Up first this afternoon is talented cowgirl Shannon Douglas.” The fans hooted and hollered and a few waved pink posters with Shannon’s name on them.
A group of cowboys nearby stared. Most of her competitors welcomed her in the male-dominated sport, but there were a few who felt threatened by her presence.
“Shannon Douglas from Stagecoach, Arizona, is about to battle Dead End, a bull from the Kindle Ranch in Las Cruces, New Mexico. This cowgirl’s gonna have her hands full!”
Before approaching the chute, Shannon closed her eyes and pictured herself riding the bull to the buzzer, and then she imagined her dismount—a solid landing before making a break for the rails. Her sponsor didn’t care if she won, but Shannon did. She never entered the chute without believing she’d make the buzzer.
Showtime. When she straddled Dead End, the bull balked and attempted to rear so she lifted off his back.
“Looks like Dead End wants nothing to do with Shannon,” the announcer said.
The JumboTron showed a close-up of her and the bull. When Dead End became feisty again, forcing her off a second time, a collective gasp rippled through the stands. C.J. grasped her shoulder and whispered, “Thought I’d act like a concerned boyfriend.”
“Back away, C.J. You’re not helping.” She’d ridden her share of uncooperative bulls before, but something felt off about Dead End, and she worried the ride wouldn’t go the way she wanted.
Third time’s a charm. She eased onto the bull and secured her grip, then nodded to the gate man. Dead End bolted into the arena.
The first kick was powerful and thrust Shannon forward, but she hung on. Then the bull spun, and the arena became one big blur of color before her eyes. The seconds ticked off inside her head...four...five...
Dead End switched directions so quickly that Shannon didn’t have time to adjust and she fell into the well—the inside of the spin. She hit the ground hard, but sprang to her feet and raced for the rails, trusting the bullfighters to intercept Dead End if he gave chase. Helping hands grasped her arms and lifted her to safety.
“There you have it folks, Dead End won that round against Shannon Douglas. Maybe next time, cowgirl.”
Back in the cowboy ready area, C.J. said, “I’m taking the lead today.” He swatted her backside with his hat and the fans cheered as their interaction was displayed on the JumboTron.
“Folks, all-around cowboy C. J. Rodriguez is up next. As you know, he’s traveling the circuit with Shannon.” The announcer whistled. “They’re a pair of regular bull-ridin’ lovebirds.”
The audience cheered and it was all Shannon could do to keep smiling when C.J. put his arm over her shoulder and preened for the camera.
Chapter Three
“Your sister’s worried about you. You’ve been MIA for over twenty-four hours.”
The last thing Johnny wanted to do was confess his whereabouts the previous night to his brother-in-law. The memories of his rendezvous with Shannon churned his stomach after spending most of today at the Triple D with her father. Talk about uncomfortable—he hadn’t even been able to look his boss in the eye when asked if he’d watched Shannon ride at the Gila Bend rodeo.
“’Bout time Dixie worried a little.” Johnny climbed the farmhouse steps and strolled to the opposite end of the porch where Gavin Tucker sat on the swing. Leaning a hip against the rail he said, “Now she knows what I went through all those years keeping track of her.”
“Must be tough being the eldest,” Gavin said.
“At least you took one of my siblings off my hands.” From an early age Johnny had felt a sense of responsibility for his siblings. He recalled a middle school psychologist once telling him that he should start acting like a brother instead of father. He’d thought the woman was nuts, but he’d never forgotten that conversation and at times wondered if his need to protect and guide others was rooted in a suppressed desire for his own father to show interest in him.
“You look tired.” Johnny guessed nightmares were robbing the former soldier of sleep. Dixie had told him that her husband had been diagnosed with PTSD after he’d served in Afghanistan, and a few mornings when Johnny had left the bunkhouse before dawn he’d found Gavin asleep on the porch swing.
“Did Dixie tell you Shannon Douglas’s father offered me the foreman’s job at the Triple D?”
“She did. Congratulations. When do you start?”
“Not until the end of the month. I was over there today helping Clive train a cutting horse.”
“Are you quitting the rodeo circuit?”
“I’m cutting back on events until I get a handle on running the Triple D.”
The squeak of the screen door interrupted the men and Dixie stepped onto the porch. She smiled at Johnny. “I thought I heard your voice.” She joined her husband on the swing, curling up against his side. “Did you see Shannon yesterday?”
He wished he could blame his serious lapse of judgment last night on Dixie’s insistence he check up on Shannon at the rodeo. But he was a big boy, and no one had forced him to follow the lady bull rider into her motel room.
“Shannon didn’t make it to eight on her bull but she’s fine.” Uncomfortable with the conversation he pushed away from the railing. “I’ve got a few phone calls to make.”
“Wait. The other day you never said whether or not Charlene was moving into the foreman’s cabin with you.”
He might as well get this over with. “Charlene and I broke up.”
Dixie gasped. “What happened? You two have been together forever.”
Gavin kissed the top of Dixie’s head. “Think I’ll grab a bite to eat.” He disappeared inside the house.
“You’re not leaving until you tell me what happened.” Dixie patted the empty spot next to her.
When had his baby sister become so bossy? He sat down. “This feels weird—you listening to my problems.” I
n the past, he played the role of Dear Abby.
“I’m sorry about Charlene.” Dixie hugged him.
Through the years Johnny had been the hugger, consoling his siblings when their grandparents had been busy with the farm or their mother had been out of town chasing the next love of her life. Johnny had grown to resent his mother for putting her own wants and needs before her children’s and when Aimee Cash had passed away the day before his eighteenth birthday, he hadn’t shed a tear. How could he cry for someone he’d barely spent any time with?
“Why did you two break up?” Dixie asked.
He repeated his standard line—because it sounded good. “Charlene and I have been growing apart for a while.”
“It’s my fault.”
“How’s that?”
“You were worried about me when I got pregnant last summer, then I miscarried and I was such a mess that you wouldn’t leave me alone for a minute.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Dix. I ignored the writing on the wall.” And Shannon had been his wake-up call.
“What do you mean?”
“You put years into a relationship, then one day you look at the other person and wonder what you have in common.” And when there’s no zip, zap or zing left in the kisses, it’s time to say goodbye.
“How’s Charlene taking it?”
Pretty damn well. “She’ll be fine.”
“And you?”
Shannon’s face popped into Johnny’s mind. What would Dixie say if he told her that he had the hots for her best friend? “I’ll be too busy at the Triple D to mope.”
“Are you sure you want to move into the foreman’s cabin? It’s not that far of a drive between the farm and the ranch.”
“I’ll be back to visit, especially if Gavin’s cooking chili for supper.”
“Who’s going to run herd over the rest of our brothers?”
“It’s your turn to keep everyone in line, Dix.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“If any of them give you trouble let me know and I’ll bang a few heads together.”
Right then the bunkhouse door flew open and Porter, the youngest brother, stepped outside and ducked as a cereal box flew past his head. “I didn’t know you were going to ask her out!” he shouted.
The Cowboy Next Door (The Cash Brothers) Page 3