Ride A Wild Heart

“You think she can still buck?” Adam asked hopefully as he turned the mare for the arena gate.

Carol bit back a smile. “You never know,” she called after him. “Better keep a deep seat and a tight rein, just in case she takes a mind to unload you.”

She laughed softly as she watched Adam grab for the saddle horn. Shaking her head, she turned and glanced back in the direction where she’d last seen Pete. He was still in sight and, judging by his posture, he was still angry.

With a sigh she stooped to pick up the tack box and set it alongside the fence and out of the way. She’d purposefully hurt Pete and made him angry with her. Not that she’d enjoyed doing so, or had even wanted to. She’d never wanted to hurt Pete. Not then, and not now. But she couldn’t get involved with him again. Not when she’d spent the better part of two years trying to forget him.

I didn’t come to see Clayton. I came to take care of the place while he goes chasing after Rena.

Remembering his explanation of his unexpected appearance at the barn earlier that morning, she stifled a groan of frustration. And how in the world was she supposed to forget him, if he was going to be staying right next door?

She would avoid him, she told herself as she swung the arena gate closed behind her. She’d conduct her lessons, feed her horses and make sure she stayed out of his way. And if they did happen to cross paths while she was at Clayton’s ranch, she’d ignore him…or, at the very least, feign indifference. She could do that, she told herself. After all, she’d successfully managed to avoid him for two years, which was no small feat, considering she lived right next door to one of his best friends.

Saw you at the rodeo last night. Were you there to watch me ride?

Scowling, she squinted her eyes at Adam, who was still walking Honey around the arena, warming up the mare for their lesson.

Wasn’t it just like Pete to assume that she’d gone to the rodeo just to watch him ride? She had, of course, but she would choke before she’d admit that to him. Oh, she’d known she was taking a chance by attending the rodeo, but she hadn’t been able to resist the opportunity to watch him ride, to see him again. Not when she knew he was competing within driving distance of her home. Not when there wasn’t a single day that passed that she didn’t think of him, wonder about him, dream about him.

But she hadn’t intended for him to ever know she was there. And he wouldn’t have known, either, if that bronc he’d ridden hadn’t chosen the spot right beneath her box seat to scrape Pete off his back. Everyone in the section of seats, her included, had run to the rail to see if he was hurt. But when he’d looked up, it was her face he’d focused on. And when she’d seen the surprise in his eyes, the recognition, she hadn’t been able to look away.

She’d look away this time, though, she told herself as she watched Adam smooch Honey into a trot. And she’d stay away, too. Far away.

Pete slapped the coiled rope against the leather chaps that protected his legs from the thorny mesquite trees scattered around Clayton’s ranch. “Get up there,” he called to a calf that had begun to lag. Clayton’s dog, a blue heeler named Dirt of all things, barked and raced over, nipping at the calf’s rear hooves. The calf bawled and ducked back into the herd, pushing its way to the center.

Wiping the back of his hand across his dry mouth, Pete glanced toward the barn. He’d avoided the area all day, working his way down the list of chores Clayton had left, careful to choose tasks that kept him away from the house and the barn. But Clayton had indicated that a buyer was coming to pick up the calves the next morning, and Pete was left with no choice but to round them up and head them for the barn and the corral beside it.

As he drew closer, he could see that Carol’s truck was still parked beside the building, but thankfully she was nowhere in sight. He’d monitored her movements throughout the day—but from a distance—watching cars arrive and kids spill out, ready for the horseback riding lessons Troy had told him she offered in Clayton’s arena.

He pushed the calves on, hoping that he could pen them in the corral and skedaddle before she appeared again.

“Damn,” he muttered in frustration when he saw the gate was closed. Wishing that he’d thought to open it before he’d left to gather the calves, he turned his horse, planning to make a wide arc around them, open the gate, then slip back up behind them and push them through.

Just as he started to touch his spurs to his horse’s side, he caught a flash of yellow out of the corner of his eye, and saw Carol step from the barn, a feed bucket in hand. She glanced his way, immediately saw his problem, and hustled over to swing the gate wide. Frowning, he turned his horse back behind the herd. Dirt darted from one side of the small herd to the other, barking and urging the calves on. When the last calf slipped inside the corral, Carol swung the gate closed and latched it into place.

Pete mumbled a begrudging, “Thanks,” and turned his horse for the barn. At the hitching rail, he reined his horse to a stop and dismounted. But as soon as his right boot hit the ground, taking his full weight, his knee buckled and he crumpled. Howling in pain, he wrapped his arms around his leg and rolled to his side, curling his body protectively around the injured knee.

He felt a tentative hand on his shoulder, then the warmth of Carol’s body as she knelt behind him. “Pete? What’s wrong?”

He heard the concern in her voice, but had to clamp his teeth together to fight back the dizziness, the pain. “My knee,” he managed to grate out.

With her hand braced on his shoulder, she stretched across him and smoothed her other hand down his thigh, her touch so gentle it brought tears to his eyes. But in spite of her care not to hurt him, when her hand swept across his swollen knee, he couldn’t suppress the moan that swelled up inside him. He released his hold on his knee and rolled to his back, flinging his arms wide. She quickly moved out of his way and stood, staring down at him, her eyes wide with horror. His chest heaving, he squeezed his eyes shut and clawed his fingers at the hard-packed dirt, searching for something to anchor himself to, something to grab a hold of to lift himself above the pain. Something to hide behind, so Carol wouldn’t witness his weakness.

Knowing it was useless, he opened his eyes to find her still standing above him, her fingers pressed against trembling lips, tears glistening in her eyes.

Humiliated by his weakness, he tried to make light of it. “Gee, Carol,” he said, trying to force a smile past the pain. “I didn’t think you cared.”

At the teasing remark, she yanked her hands to her sides and glared down at him. “We need to get you to the house,” she snapped. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah.” He set his jaw and hauled himself to a sitting position. “I think so.” Keeping his movements slow and careful, he drew up his good leg until his boot was fitted tightly against his buttocks. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead at the effort. Blowing out a long, shaky breath, he rested a minute, then stretched out a hand. “I might need some help.”

She hesitated a moment, then thrust out her hand. He took it and wrapped his fingers tightly around hers.

“On the count of three,” he instructed. “One…two…three!” He heaved and Carol pulled, and with a growl he rose from the ground. Not wanting to put any weight on his bad leg, he staggered, off balance, and Carol quickly slipped beneath his arm and braced herself against his right side, supporting him.

“Give me a minute,” he gasped, sweat pouring down his face. He dipped his chin and closed his eyes, gulping in air. After a moment he lifted his head and looked across at the house. Five hundred feet stretched like a mile.

“Come on,” she urged, obviously sensing his hesitancy. “You can do it.” Wrapping her arm around his waist, she took a tentative step, then another, drawing him along with her.

By the time they reached the back door, sweat plastered Pete’s shirt to his back and chest and dripped from his nose and chin. With a quick glance at his pale, pain-wrenched face, Carol opened the back door, braced her hip against it, then carefully guided him through the opening. Once inside, she pressed him on toward the master bedroom.

When they reached the side of the bed, Pete twisted around and fell across the tangled covers with a groan, slinging an arm over his eyes.

Carol immediately dropped to her knees and tugged off his boots, knowing that he would need to remove his jeans before his knee swelled any more. Setting the boots aside, she rose and reached for his belt buckle…but jerked her hands back as she realized the intimacy that would require. She stole a glance at him and was relieved to see that his arm still covered his eyes, and he was unaware of her hesitancy. Frowning, she slapped a hand against the side of his uninjured leg. “Come on, Pete. Drop your pants.”

He lifted his arm to peer at her. “’Scuse me?”

She waved an impatient hand at him. “You haven’t got anything that I haven’t seen before, so drop ’em.”

In spite of the pain, Pete managed a weak grin as he reached for his belt buckle. “Maybe not anything different, but definitely more of it.”

She rolled her eyes and grabbed the waist of his jeans. “Braggart,” she muttered.

His grin broadened into a full-blown smile. “No brag, ma’am. Just fact.” He lifted his hips as she carefully worked the denim down over them, then sucked in air through his teeth when her hand grazed his manhood. She froze at the contact, her gaze snapping to his.

Pete watched the color rise on her cheeks, the panic in her eyes…and remembered a time when such an intimacy would have darkened those green eyes with passion, not panic. “Don’t worry,” he said wryly. “My knee’s hurtin’ so bad, you couldn’t get a rise out of me even if you worked at it.”

Her cheeks flaming, she jerked the jeans down his legs, making him yelp as the rough denim scraped over his swollen knee.

She spun away, folding his pants over her arm. “I need to feed my horses,” she said tersely, tossing the jeans over a chair. “Do you need anything before I leave?”

That she couldn’t look at him, or wouldn’t, irritated Pete. “A phone. I need to call Clayton and tell him to head home.”

She whirled, her eyes wide. “But you can’t! He hasn’t had a chance to talk to Rena yet.”

He scowled and shifted a pillow beneath his knee, gritting his teeth against the pain that even that slight movement caused him. “So what? You said yourself that he was wasting his time chasing after her.”

At the reminder, she caught her lip between her teeth and dropped her gaze, lifting a shoulder. “Yes, I did, but still…”

“Look, Carol,” he said in frustration and grabbed for the sheet. “It isn’t as if I want to call him home, but I can’t take care of his ranch for him if I’m laid up in bed.”

Slowly she lifted her gaze. “You could if I helped you.”

He froze, his fingers fisted in the sheet. “Help me?”

“Yes,” she said, and took a reluctant step closer. “You could tell me what needs doing, and I could do it. Just until the swelling goes down,” she added quickly. “A couple of days off that knee, and you should be able to take over again.”

Still scowling, Pete tried to whip the sheet over his propped-up leg, but it snagged on his toes and hung there.