Rodeo Dreams

“Jeff!” At the sound of June’s voice, the dog reduced his volume to a steady growl, but its nose followed Travis as he stepped forward. Mental note, he said to himself as he tried to locate June from her voice, do not piss off the hellhound—named Jeff?

Then he found her on the far side of the car, in the field that bordered the parking lot. All he saw was a wide sheet of hair so black that it made the sky look bright at this time of night. It was like she was trying to hide.

“You move quiet for a white man, Travis. And my name is June.”

He caught a glimpse of a white-clad bottom that curved out from one side of that hair curtain. Compared to the darkness of her hair, that backside was a blinking neon light that demanded a guy look at it. And look he did.

She had a fine backside. Even better in a simple pair of panties than when it had been cradled by her chaps....

He shouldn’t be looking. Not why he was here.

He took a step backward—right into range of the now-snapping jaws of Jeff.

Jeans slid over the whiteness, leaving him both relieved and disappointed that he hadn’t gotten a better look.

“Jeff! Cool it!” she ordered, apparently unconcerned with the fact that Travis had chosen the moment she was changing to barge in on her.

The dog acted like it was listening. His trap snapped shut, but apparently nothing would stop the throaty growl. The animal’s reaction was like something out of a movie—the Indian princess at one with the forest creatures.

Before he knew what he was doing, Travis’s mouth opened. “What kind of Indian are you?” The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them.

“Gee, what gave it away?” He could almost hear the eye roll behind that hair. “Was it the hair? The brown skin? The last name? Most people get it from the last name, you know.”

“No, you just—”

“Just what? Trained my dog to listen? Please.” She snorted in derision. “I do not have a telepathic link with animals. I do not shape-shift into eagles. I do not dance with the wolves.” She sounded irritated, sure, but not like she was going to kill him. He relaxed a bit. “I’m not ‘some’ kind of Indian. I’m a Lakota Sioux, a full-blooded Lakota woman. Can you handle that?”

Was she lecturing him on political correctness? Well, he had that coming. “Sure. I’ll make sure to remember that. Lakota. Sioux.”

She was still hiding behind that sheet of hair, nearly invisible in the darkness. He was afraid to look again—what if she still wasn’t completely dressed? A hit of adrenaline rushed into his blood at the thought.

“Something you needed to get off your chest, Mr. Younkin?”

Oh, she was going to be like that, was she? Her body might get his blood pumping, but her mouth sure did get his hackles up. “I’m not your father’s age.”

“But you’re going to tell me what I can and cannot do?” She snorted, a sound that was echoed by a throaty bark from the backseat. Finally, she flipped that hair out of the way, just in time for Travis to see her fingers buttoning up the last few buttons on her shirt.

This was all messed up. In one short evening, this...this...this female creature had not only managed to complicate his comeback year, but she was making him feel things he hadn’t felt in a long time. Since before the wreck.

“I just don’t want to see a pretty girl like you—”

“You overbearing, egotistical, racist, male-chauvinist pig,” she said, managing to spit the words out while still sounding calm. “I’m going to be twenty-two in four months,” she went on, taking a step out of the field and toward him— pushing him closer to the growling muzzle of Jeff the hellhound. But instead of paying attention to the dog, he couldn’t look away from her eyes. They were a deep liquid-black that barely scratched the surface of the bullheadedness he was witnessing firsthand. “In a month, I’m going to graduate magna cum laude from the University of South Dakota with my bachelor’s degree in history with a secondary-school certification.”

“Really?” She was beautiful and smart? Impressive. He was sure there was another student in the circuit, but he couldn’t think of the guy’s name off the top of his head. Most bull riders weren’t cut from the same cloth as students. He sure as hell hadn’t been—and see where that had gotten him? Struggling to make it back to the pros with no other options.

That was just another reason to keep her off the bulls. She was a woman who had options. She had a real life waiting for her. He couldn’t let her risk her good looks and her education on one bad ride. One bad ride was all it would take.

“I own my car, I’m legal to do anything I want in any state I want and I don’t need a—” Travis almost heard the phrase “has-been” smacking against the back of her teeth. But she reined herself in. “An experienced professional such as yourself to worry your pretty little head over me. I’m just here to ride.”

His pretty little head? Now she was openly mocking him. No one sporting the scars he did could ever be confused with pretty. “If you’re so smart, why are you changing in the parking lot?”

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.