A Cowboy's Duty

July

Boot Hill Rodeo, Boot Hill, Arizona

“Ready?”

“I’ll never be as ready as you are.” Dixie Cash grimaced at her friend Shannon Douglas—one of the top female bull riders in the country.

Shannon was forever on the lookout for a rough stock competition and when Five Star Rodeos had agreed to sponsor women’s bull riding in three summer events, Shannon had promised to find five women crazy enough to ride with her—Dixie being one of them.

“Here.” Shannon held out a bank draft.

“I feel bad taking your money.” Dixie shoved the check into the front pocket of her jeans.

“You’re worth every penny.”

When Shannon had mentioned the rodeos, Dixie had just been hired as a part-time receptionist for a construction company in Yuma. She’d wanted to help her friend but needed money to launch an internet business for her homemade organic bath soaps. Then Shannon had made Dixie an offer she couldn’t refuse—a thousand dollars per rodeo.

“Looks like Veronica Patriot has set her sights on Gavin Tucker.”

Dixie’s gaze followed Shannon’s pointer finger. Figures the blonde buckle bunny would target the handsome bareback rider. “If the cowboy knows what’s good for him he’ll avoid that tramp like the plague.” Dixie had run into Gavin—literally—at the Canyon City Rodeo in June when she’d tripped over his gear bag and knocked him to the ground.

“The bull’s more of a spinner than a bucker,” Shannon said. “Stay centered.” The tan Charbray stood docile in the chute, but once freed all hell would break loose.

“Ladies and gentlemen, turn your attention to gate two. Dixie Cash is about to tangle with Bad Mamajamma.” The crowd stomped their boots against the bleachers and whistles filled the air.

“If the Cash name sounds familiar it’s because Dixie’s got six older brothers who rodeo. Earlier today, Merle Cash took third in the saddle bronc competition.”

While Shannon and a rodeo helper fished the bull rope from beneath Bad Mamajamma, Dixie pulled on her riding gloves and adjusted her headgear with its protective mask.

Let’s get this over with. Dixie straddled the fifteen-hundred pound nuisance, found her grip then nodded to the gate man. The bull pounced for freedom, the first buck almost unseating Dixie. Anticipating a wild ride, she held her breath through the first of two tight spins, squeezing her thighs against the animal’s girth.

Bad Mamajamma decided he’d had enough of Dixie and kicked out with extra force. As if she’d been shot from a cannon, Dixie catapulted through the air. She hit the dirt hard, but instinctively curled her body into a ball and rolled away from the bull’s hooves. The bullfighter stepped in front of Bad Mamajamma, affording Dixie an extra second to gain her footing. She ran for the rails and scrambled to safety.

“Well, folks, Dixie Cash gave it her best effort.” The announcer discussed Shannon’s upcoming ride, but Dixie stopped listening when her boots landed in front of Gavin Tucker.

“Good try,” he said.

Try being the operative word. “Thanks.” Brilliant, Dixie. A cowboy with killer looks and nice manners goes out of his way to talk to you and you mumble “thanks”?

“How long have you been riding bulls?” Gavin asked.

“Started this summer.”

A dark eyebrow lifted. “Gutsy gal.”

More like crazy. For the life of her, Dixie couldn’t find her tongue. Turned out she didn’t have to. Veronica Patriot materialized out of nowhere and sashayed her way between Dixie and Gavin. She placed her French-manicured talons on Gavin’s chest and thrust her heaving bosom in his face. “Time to celebrate, cowboy.”

Dixie despised Veronica. The woman had done a number on her brother Porter—used him to make another cowboy jealous then left him high and dry with a broken heart.

“Sorry, I’ve got plans.” Gavin’s soulful brown eyes beseeched Dixie.

“What plans?” Veronica propped her hands on her hips.

Dixie had read her share of silent help me messages from her brothers. The look Gavin sent her begged her to rescue him from the clutches of the evil buckle bunny. What the heck.

“Gavin and I have a date,” Dixie said.

“Pardon?” Veronica frowned.

“That’s right.” Gavin inched closer to Dixie and the scent of dust and faded cologne went straight to her head. When he rested his arm across her shoulders a little shiver raced down her spine. Gavin couldn’t have been more than six feet tall, but her five foot six inches fit perfectly tucked against him.

Veronica’s gaze bounced between Gavin and Dixie. “What kind of date?”

“A boy-girl date.” Dixie smiled sweetly.

“Honey, a girl like you can’t handle a military man.”

Dixie had heard that Gavin Tucker had been stationed in Afghanistan before he’d left the army. “What do you think, Gavin? Can I handle you?”

He grinned.

Disgusted, Veronica snorted like a pig and stomped off.

“Thanks.” Gavin released Dixie and stepped back.

Wishing he still had his arm around her, she said, “No worries. Veronica can be a pest.”

“Are you celebrating later with your lady bull rider friends?”

“Probably.”

“I’m heading over to the Spittoon. Maybe I’ll see you there.”

“Maybe.”

Gavin walked off and Dixie couldn’t help but think he was exactly the kind of man she’d like to marry someday.

* * *

GAVIN STEPPED INSIDE the Spittoon, a bar on the outskirts of Boot Hill, and surveyed the crowd. The place was packed, noisy, and smelled like stale beer, dusty cowboys and easy women. And he hoped Dixie Cash was among the clientele—not that he thought she was a party girl. There was something about the petite, tomboyish cowgirl that drew him. She showed the same courage and spunk as the women he’d worked alongside in the army.

He made his way to the bar, ordered a beer, then found a dark corner away from the crush of bodies. Keeping his back to the wall he searched for the blue-eyed brown-haired girl-next-door. He spotted her at a table next to the dance floor engaged in conversation with her friends. As if she sensed his scrutiny, their eyes connected and Gavin felt the subtle stirrings of arousal.

A former soldier had no business being with a girl like Dixie—that fact in and of itself fed Gavin’s desire, and adrenaline pumped through his veins. If there was one thing he was addicted to, it was adrenaline. After six years of living on the edge…living with danger…he was drawn to taking risks. And Dixie Cash was definitely a risk.

“Well, well, well.”

Gavin jumped an inch off the floor. Damn. How the hell had Veronica Patriot snuck up on him? His temper flared but he counted to ten, as a therapist had once instructed him to do when he felt threatened.