Rodeo Dreams

“Holy crap,” she said in a rush. The mountain she had to climb suddenly seemed miles taller. Everything she was afraid of—summed up neatly by a cowboy in a coffee shop. People were already talking about her and Travis. About what had happened between them in the dark.

No one here knew about her violent father or her mother, who’d spent most of the past twenty years blowing their welfare checks on beer. June wanted a fresh start. She had grand dreams of being June Spotted Elk, Professional Bull Rider—to have everyone know she was good at something, good for something.

If people were already talking about her like this, her reputation on the circuit wouldn’t be any different from her reputation at home.

How the hell was she going to do this?

“You gonna tell me what happened?” Mitch prompted, his gaze focused on her face. “I like to get my gossip straight from the source.”

This was all just gossip. She could handle gossip. She took a deep breath and gathered her wits. “How do I know I can trust you? I tell you, you tell Red, and the next thing I know, I’ve got my own personal peanut gallery of ill-wishers.”

The Brazilian snorted in disgust as Mitch rolled his eyes. “Girlie, please. Like I talk to Red.”

“So you tell me who I have to worry about. Red or Travis?”

He didn’t hesitate this time. “Red. I’ve seen you twice now, June, and you are one hell of a rider—as good as anyone else out there, present company included.” The compliment sent her heart thudding. “Travis won’t like losing to a girl, but if you beat him fair and square without getting yourself killed, he’ll respect that.”

It’d sure be nice to have Travis’s respect. To have him look at her with those beautiful brown eyes and know he was on her side.

However, after last week, she didn’t think that would ever happen.

“But Red won’t?” she asked.

Mitch looked at the Brazilian, who rolled his hand as if to say go on. “When Paulo first showed up, his rope just happened to get cut right before his second ride.”

Paulo? So he did have a name. “Red did it?”

“No proof. It’s not like CSI makes arena calls for a busted rope.”

Whoa. Cutting a rider’s rope was lower than low. “The funny thing is, Travis warned me to watch out for both Red and you.”

Mitch snickered and then choked on his coffee. Yeah, the more time she spent with him, the more laughable that idea seemed to her, too. “Did he now? Well, I have a reputation to uphold. I am the Heartbreak Kid.”

“I gathered.” She glanced to Paulo the Brazilian, but he was pointedly watching some blonde in supershort running shorts.

As if he had to live up to his title, Mitch leaned forward and whispered, “Where are you staying tonight, Girlie?”

“I’ve got a friend I’m going to crash with.” She hoped.

“Oh?” His eyes danced.

She felt the blush warm her cheeks. “Actually, a friend of a friend. I’ve never met them before, but they said they had a couch. You?”

“All the finest that the Super 8 has to offer.” Paulo sighed.

“Mitch? Mitch Jenner?”

June looked up to see Running Shorts standing over them, her hands full of coffee. She had a look on her face that walked the line between shock and fury. Then she glanced down to June. By the time the woman had swept her eyes back to Mitch, the shock was gone, and there was nothing left but fury. “You’re back?”

“Bobbi Jean!” Mitch was already out of his chair, trying to spin her away from Paulo and June. “Wow! You look really—”

Bobbi Jean wasn’t having any of that. “You dared to show your face in this town again after—after—after—”

After what? Apparently, this was the Heartbreak Kid in action. And Bobbi Jean in her short shorts was not the sort of woman who took kindly to having her heart broken.

“Baby, let me explain,” Mitch managed to get out just before two cups’ worth of foam and espresso shots hit him full in the face. June waited for the screams of pain, but instead, Mitch said, “Aw, Bobbi Jean, honey—your iced mochas!”

“You—you—you!” Bobbi Jean couldn’t even get out a proper curse word. She hauled off and slapped him with enough force to send Mitch boots-over-butt onto the wet floor.

Bobbi Jean spun to face June. “He’s nothing but a lying, cheating bastard. Save yourself the heartache before he starts talking about taking you home to meet his mother.”

“We’re not—”

But June’s defense of Mitch was wasted on empty space. Bobbi Jean was peeling out of the parking lot as the rest of the patrons looked on in shock.

“Mitch! Are you okay?”

“I knew there was something about that girl I liked,” he said as June and Paulo hefted him up off the floor. “Her right hook!”

“Yeah, you’re fine,” June replied as she looked at his face. She didn’t see a red mark. “Didn’t she hit you?”

“She tried,” Mitch answered as they headed out to the Bronco. “I learned long ago that it’s best to roll with the punches. And the slaps.”

“You fell on purpose?”

“Sure did.” He grinned as Paulo popped the trunk, and Mitch stripped off his sodden shirt. “You don’t get to be the Heartbreak Kid without picking up some tricks.”

From his position in the backseat a few spaces over, Jeff whined. He wanted out. People tended to cower in fear at the sight of him running free in broad daylight, so June dug out his leash.

“That’s your mutt?” Mitch sounded properly impressed as he tucked in and buttoned up. “That’s a dog?”

“I said he was a mutt. I didn’t say what kind,” she replied as Jeff wagged his tail. Sheesh, fifty pounds of dog had Mitch more scared than eighteen hundred pounds of bull. “He’s a coydog. Part coyote, part something.” Maybe a coyote and a German shepherd, because Jeff had that long, thin nose and thick, shaggy fur that both animals sported, but everywhere a German shepherd was dark, Jeff was white and red. He was about thirty pounds lighter than most German shepherds, but close to the size of the coyotes that slipped through the Plains grasses in the dark, like Nagi spirit animals.

“Is he tame?”

Jeff answered the question by planting his paws on Paulo’s chest and licking him to within an inch of his life.

After he regained his footing and the shock passed, the Brazilian actually smiled. He pulled Jeff’s paws off him and set him on the ground, but then crouched down to eye level. “Oi, garoto,” he said as he rubbed Jeff’s ears.

She’d never heard Paulo speak before. His voice was soft and gentle, the mark of a man who knew how to handle animals. “He likes you,” she said, hoping to hear his Portuguese accent again.

“Or he’s just tasting you,” Mitch added from a safe distance.

“Trust me, I know the difference.”

Mitch’s eyes swept over her again with a look that she now recognized. She braced herself.

“But does Travis?” Mitch asked.