She rolled her eyes at him as she began shoving her stuff into the car. “Like you and every other cowboy here tonight weren’t all changing out of your lucky jeans right behind the chutes without so much as a solid wall in sight—or did you think that those metal bars offered more privacy than the dead of night? You know,” she went on easily, “if you hold on to that double standard any tighter, it’s going to split you right in two.”
“It’s different for me. But you’re a—”
“I swear to all that is holy, Travis, if you say ‘pretty little thing,’ I’ll personally split you in half myself.” Even as she said it, her gaze danced down to his chest and back up. Was she checking him out? No, not possible. She was just looking to see if she could find the best point to start splitting.
He couldn’t help it, not when her eyes rested on his left hip. Even though the scars were well covered by denim and flannel, he still pivoted sideways. “That doesn’t change the fact that this was a stupid thing for you to do, sweetheart. Out here, all alone—you’re just asking for it!”
Her face solidified into a fearsome look—the kind of look he’d seen a hundred times on a bull. Without a doubt, he knew that this girl—this woman—was about to trample him.
And he had it coming.
“Is that what this is? Am I asking for it, Travis?” Underneath the fierce look, there was something else. Disappointment, if he didn’t know better. “And it’s your job to put me in my place, is it?”
“I didn’t say that.” But even as he said it, his gaze moved down and then back up her body. He couldn’t help it. He was a man, after all.
She flipped her hair back, something new in her eyes. “Are you going to kiss me?” she whispered in an inviting tone as her back arched, pushing her breasts out front and center.
Another hit of adrenaline caught him off guard. God, he wanted to. He could pull her into his arms and feel the warmth of her body molding to his. He couldn’t remember wanting to kiss a woman as much as he wanted to kiss her.
A flash of hardness crossed her eyes, and he realized it was a trap. She was trying to distract him. If he got close to her, she’d set him down—of that he had no doubt. He’d seen what she’d done to Red earlier.
So that’s how it was going to be. She would threaten her way onto this circuit and when that failed her, she’d use sex.
Once he’d been misled, back when he was still green around the edges. It wasn’t until after the wreck that he’d seen how Barb was only using him to climb onto bigger, better prospects.
Red or his cohorts might be stupid enough take her up on her “invitation,” but Travis wasn’t. Not anymore.
He wouldn’t get to kiss this woman, no matter how much he wanted to. What a crying shame.
“Not without the right invitation.” He held his hands in front of his chest to show he wasn’t going to grab her. “But some guys would—they’d do a whole lot more than kiss you, no matter what you were offering. It doesn’t matter how tough you are, June. A bull in the arena, a rider outside of it—this circuit is no place for you. I don’t want you to get hurt, sweetheart.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I am so not your sweetheart, Travis,” she said, her voice low enough that it was hard to hear over the sound of that dog barking his head off. “It would behoove you not to forget that.”
Why couldn’t he make her see sense? She was being stubborn for stubborn’s sake. “You should be worried about guys like Red or Mitch, or the hicks who hang around after a show, hoping to pick up the bunnies the riders cast off. Those are the guys I’m trying to protect you from. It would behoove you to remember that.” At least, he was pretty sure that’s what behoove meant.
She glared at him, but he stood his ground, even though it hurt like hell. “And you.”
“I told you, I wouldn’t do anything without the right invitation—and I’m a man of my word,” he shot back.
She tilted her head to one side. All that black-silk hair draped over her side. What would it feel like, wrapped around his hands? What would she feel like?
“I just want to ride,” she said, the toughness gone from her voice. “I’m not out here to take you down. I...” She dropped her gaze, staring at the tips of her boots as she scuffed one against the dirt. He couldn’t tell in the dim light but it sure looked like she was blushing. “I just want you to believe I can do it.”
What—she wanted his approval? “And I just want you to be safe. If you won’t do the smart thing and quit, at least get a damned helmet. You got lucky on Hallowed. You have no idea what some of these bulls are capable of.”
A helmet wouldn’t have prevented his wreck, but it would have saved him that shattered jaw and a half-dozen surgeries. If he couldn’t keep her off a bull, the least he could do was try to keep her from getting herself killed.
She shrugged. Standing there with her hands in her pockets and her head cocked to one side, she seemed more like a woman and less like a bull rider. “I don’t know what they’re capable of?” She snorted. Anything soft or tender about her seemed to disappear into the night sky. “I’ll take my chances, Mister Younkin.”
She sounded confident—but didn’t they all? How many times had he said that himself, right before he climbed up on a bull and walked the line between winning and throwing his life away?
She got into the car—now, up close, he could see it was a slightly rusty Crown Victoria, like the cops used to drive. In fact, he thought he could even see the faint markings where 911 used to be.
“It’d matter if you got a bull like No Man’s Land. A bad draw can destroy you.”
If she knew anything about bull riding— anything about him—she’d know he was right. This wasn’t about her being a pretty little thing or him being a has-been. This was a matter of life and death.
She looked up at him from the front seat, the door still open. “It doesn’t matter, Travis. Not even if it’s No Man’s Land.” He gaped at her. How could a woman as smart as she claimed she was be so damned stupid? “I’ll ride what I draw. You’d do the same.” Then she shut the door, as if she’d won the argument.
“But what if you get hurt?” he shouted over the roar of the engine.
She rolled down the window. “This isn’t about you, Travis,” she said softly. “It never has been.”
He wanted to scream that of course it wasn’t about him—this was about her! But before he could get the words out, she gunned the engine, shouting, “See you in Mesquite!” as she took off, gravel flying out from her wheels and that dog barking wildly from the backseat.
She was going to Mesquite.
She was going to ride.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
MESQUITE WAS NOT a bad town.
June kept telling herself this as she slowly cruised the strip with her laptop propped against her thigh, searching for a network connection. She had two days to finish the paper for her Twentieth Century American Frontier class before she had to muscle her way back onto a bull.
Five days after she’d driven away from Travis Younkin, she was still steamed. He might not be able to keep her out of the arena, but she knew he was going to fight her every single step of the way, the whole time thinking he was being chivalrous and protective.
The argument in the parking lot ran through her head again. What had he meant, warning her to be careful around Mitch? The one guy open to the possibility of a woman bull rider,