A Cowboy's Pride

“I’ll do it.”

An hour later she brought the John Deere Mule—an ATV-like vehicle with a miniature truck cabin and bed—to a coasting stop in front of Trent’s temporary home, the tires crunching on the drive. There was no reason to have butterflies in her stomach, she told herself. He might be a rodeo legend, but his injuries were all the proof she should need that he was also just a man.

“Knock, knock,” she said, rapping lightly on the door.

Of course, there was always the chance he wasn’t up yet. She’d no sooner had the thought than she caught a whiff of maple-cured bacon, the sweet smell making her stomach growl. They’d had oatmeal for breakfast. Boring.

“Hello?”

Would he ignore her? She had to admit, it was totally possible. He might choose to stay in his cabin the whole—

The door opened.

Good Lord, he wasn’t dressed.

Her mouth dropped open next.

“Yes?”

Keep your eyes up.

But it was hard when he had an upper body that would rival an action figure—six rippling, symmetrical bulges that decreased in size the lower her gaze drifted, and it drifted lower. His skin was a soft gold in color—and damn it, her eyes kept traveling lower and lower despite her best efforts, her cheeks turning molten when she spotted the tiny wisps of brown hair that seemed to point toward—

“I, um...”

Pull it together, Alana.

His gray eyes. Focus on those. “I was, um, asked to check on you.”

Not check him out, Alana!

“I’m fine.”

Yes, you certainly are.

She coughed, sputtered, tried gasping in a breath. What was with her? She was acting like a sex-starved adolescent.

Yes, and when, exactly, was the last time you had sex?

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she wheezed, her mind mentally scooting away from the question. “Did you need anything?”

Coffee? Tea? Me?

She almost—almost—laughed.

“I’ve been able to take care of myself for months.”

“I see.”

He stared up at her. She stared down at him. He smirked.

She snapped, “Cabe wants us all to go on a ride today.”

His turn to be caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“Cabe. He said—”

“I heard you, but I won’t be going.” He jerked his hands on his wheels, rolling back like a race car driver. His hand found the door.

“Whoa, there, ace.” She shoved her foot in so fast, she bit back a gasp of pain when it slammed into her. “That wasn’t a request.”

If a look could incinerate a person, she should have been a puff of smoke. Or maybe a black smudge on the ground.

“I’m in no condition to ride.”

She smiled brightly. “Someone will be down to pick you up at ten in the morning.” She gave him her sweetest I-don’t-care-what-you-think smile. “I’ll see you then.”

* * *

TWO HOURS LATER they were all standing outside the barn. Alana had just finished saddling up her horse, and she played with the dark bay’s forelock. Cabe was to her left, saddling up one of two horses—a bay and a gray—that he had tied to the hitching post to the right of the barn. Opposite the hitching post stood what looked like parallel bars, a deck built next to them and a handicap ramp that led to the top. They’d have to use that if Trent actually agreed to Cabe’s crazy idea. Not that he would agree. Too bad, too, because it really might be good for him.

She soothed her horse’s forelock down.

You’re fussing.

No, she wasn’t.

Nerves.

It wasn’t that, she firmly told herself. Trent Anderson didn’t make her nervous.

Yeah, right.

“Go on down and get him,” Cabe said as he tightened the cinch on a big bay-colored horse wearing a saddle that looked like a cross between a barber’s chair and a car seat. A specialty saddle, it was called. This one had a seat back that was shoulder high and a wide leather strap where a man’s waist would be. “I’ll be done here in a sec.”

The animal pinned its ears and wrinkled its nose in protest when Cabe tugged on the leather strap. “Uh-uh,” he warned. “Enough of that. Only one cranky male allowed on the ranch.”

And that would be Trent.

“You want me to go get him?” The last thing she wanted was to deal with Trent Anderson. “Rana should do it.” She glanced past the rump of her horse.

Rana, who was busy feeding a carrot to Ellie, turned sharply when she heard the words. She’d been the first one to finish saddling up her sorrel mare. “I don’t think so.”

She’d been kidding...sort of. After yesterday’s disastrous first meeting, she wasn’t about to send the teenager to deal with the surly cowboy.

“I don’t blame you,” Alana grumbled.