Читать книгу One Rodeo Season - Sarah M. Anderson - Страница 14

CHAPTER SIX

THE RODEO DIDN’T start until seven that night. Ian rolled into the arena grounds at four thirty.

He wouldn’t be surprised if Lacy had actually slept in that truck. And then, when he’d asked about dinner, she’d gotten a fuzzy look on her face and had admitted that she couldn’t remember if she’d eaten lunch. He’d put the odds on her actually eating something after he left her last night at maybe fifty-fifty.

He had almost two hours before he needed to start his prerodeo warm-up. If she wouldn’t let him take her to dinner, then he’d go get some food and bring it back to her. She was too thin, the circles under her eyes too dark.

She was entirely too stubborn. He got the feeling that if he tried to tell her to breathe, she might hold her breath to show him that he wasn’t the boss of her.

The way she’d held her breath last night, when he’d leaned into the cab of her truck. He hadn’t intended it to be an erotic thing. He hadn’t even touched her.

But she’d sucked in that little gasp and hadn’t let it back out. Instead, her eyes had gone wide and her pupils had dilated as a sweet blush heated her cheeks—and his blood. The spark that he felt when he was around her had threatened to catch and ignite a hell of a fire.

He’d almost kissed her. It would have been easy. He’d only had to lean forward another few inches and take her mouth.

And he hadn’t. He hadn’t kissed her, hadn’t touched her. Instead—and he still didn’t quite believe this—he’d gone back to the cheap hotel room he shared with Black Jack and ordered a pizza and watched some cheesy movie from the ’80s.

It didn’t make a damn bit of sense to him. Lacy wasn’t his type. She was as tough as nails and twice as sharp. But underneath that—there was a vulnerability that had him at the arena hours early to make sure she ate dinner.

He parked and headed toward her truck. Something told him that, even if she had gone back to her hotel, she’d be here early.

He was not disappointed. She was sitting exactly where he’d left her. The only difference was she had on a different shirt, a pale green shot through with pink.

She still had her hat on. He was more disappointed than he cared to admit.

“Hey,” she said when she saw him.

“Hiya,” he replied. Her brows furrowed. Now what had he done wrong? “What?”

She tilted her head to the side as she looked at him. There was something about her face today that was softer. He took back everything he’d ever thought about her being not traditionally beautiful. She was gorgeous.

“Your accent.”

“What about it?”

“Now it’s gone. It was stronger.” She shrugged.

He allowed himself a small smile. “Yeah, it comes and it goes, depending on who I’m talking to.” It was always strongest when he went home and everyone spoke the same way. But sometimes, when he was hanging out with someone he was sure wouldn’t hold his accent against him, it slipped out.

“It was pretty,” she said without looking at him. Then her face scrunched up as it had last night when she’d sleepily told him she liked the wet T-shirt. It was a look that said pretty loud and clear I can’t believe I said that.

“You eaten today? Something more than doughnuts?”

“I remembered to have lunch.”

There was something about the way she said it that struck him as weird. “You remembered? Is that something you usually forget?”

“I eat when I’m hungry.” But she didn’t meet his eyes when she said it.

He tapped the hood again. “Come on. Let’s go grab something before the show.”

She shook her head. “I’ll stay here, thanks. I want to keep an eye on my bulls.”

“Did you sleep in the truck last night?”

The color on her cheeks deepened. “No.”

That admission made him want to smile. She’d done as he’d asked. He got the feeling that didn’t happen too often. “And yet, the bulls were fine?”

That got him a sharp look. Her whole face was transformed from one of surprisingly feminine beauty to a tough, tomboy scowl. “Yes.”

“Then they’ll be fine for another hour.” Again, he wondered who Dale was to her. He couldn’t tell how old she was—he’d guess Lacy was in her twenties, although whether that was twenty-two or twenty-nine was up for debate.

She could have been married. Or not, he thought, checking out her ring finger. No tan lines. But she was certainly old enough that she could have been in a long-term relationship. Of course, it was also possible that Dale had been someone else entirely—not a lover, but a friend, a brother...family.

She opened her mouth, to argue no doubt. Ian shot her a hard look. “I’m betting you’re going to load up those bulls and head straight for home, wherever home is. I’m betting you won’t stop until you get there. I’m betting that you’ll ‘forget’ to eat then. So dinner now.”

Her eyes narrowed, but then, unexpectedly, she gave in. “Fine,” she said, cranking on the engine. “But I’m driving.”

He snorted. “Yeah, I’m not surprised.” He crossed around the front of the truck and climbed in. “You know where you want to go?”

* * *

THEY WOUND UP at Denny’s. If Ian had any reservations about her choice, he didn’t voice them.

For some reason, her dad had loved Denny’s. And every single time they ate at one—which was frequently—he cracked the same “Moons Over My Hammy” joke. And Lacy laughed. Always.

Part of her felt as though bringing Ian to Denny’s was wrong, somehow. She hadn’t been able to face eating here alone. Somehow, with Ian, it felt as if...

As if she could do this.

“What are you going to get?” he asked when they slid into a booth that looked out onto the street.

“I’m not that hungry,” she said. When he looked up at her sharply, she said, “I ate today. Really.”

For a moment, she thought he was going to scold her like a child—much as he’d all but scolded her bull last night. But then his mouth twisted off to one side and he said, “Easy, Evans. We’re just friends here.”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t sound like you believe me,” he said from behind his menu.

“I’m not very good at having friends,” she admitted. It’d always felt like such a failure, that she wasn’t any good at maintaining friendships. Her mother had once said that Lacy was an out-of-sight, out-of-mind kind of person, and it was true.

He tried not to laugh but didn’t quite make it. “You don’t say.”

She rolled her eyes. “I suppose you’re friends with everyone?”

“Most everyone. I’m either friends with them or they deserve to be flattened by a bull.”

“Or by you?”

“If need be,” he told her. “Did you have a history with Jerome before this rodeo?”

She physically flinched at the mention of that jerk. “No. Didn’t even know his name. I don’t normally pal around with the riders.”

He let that set for a moment. The waitress came over, poured the coffee and took their orders. Lacy ordered a salad but Ian ordered three appetizers and a steak dinner with sides. The waitress gave his physique a once-over before she left the table.

Lacy looked with her. Today, Ian had on a gray shirt. It was still cuffed at the elbows and he still had that leather strap around his wrist. He’d taken his hat off and set it on the windowsill. The hat was brown felt, but the band wasn’t horsehair or leather. Quills? That would make sense, she guessed. He was an Indian.

Ian cleared his throat. “Or the fighters?”

She didn’t want to answer that question because admitting that she’d never hung out with a bullfighter before felt as if she was admitting something. That Ian might be an exception.

So she changed the subject. “Is this your first year as a fighter? I think I would have remembered you from last season.” If she could get him to talk about himself, then maybe he wouldn’t ask any questions about her.

He went along with her tangent. “Yeah. I used to play football—”

“Shocking,” she said, a smile on her face. A real smile. Then she made the mistake of letting her eyes drift over his shoulders and down to that chest.

Ian leaned forward, a playful smile on his lips. “You know, you’re actually quite funny when you want to be.”

Was that a challenge? It sounded like one. “Don’t tell anyone. It’d ruin my reputation as that bitch with the bulls, and then where would I be?” She ignored the way her face warmed at his compliment, and she really ignored the way he noticed it. Something in his eyes shifted—deepened.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his voice lower. She felt it in her chest. But then, he leaned back, breaking the spell. “Anyway, I got lucky getting to tag along with Black Jack. Otherwise, I’d probably be down at the level below this one. Black Jack was up in the bigs for a long time before he got into a bad wreck. He thinks we can get back there if...”

She arched an eyebrow at him and actually smiled. “If you stop throwing bulls to the ground?” She was teasing him, she realized. When was the last time she’d teased someone?

“Yeah, that.”

The waitress set down a huge mound of onion rings and mozzarella sticks. “Be right back with those chips,” she said, and Lacy swore she winked at Ian.

If he noticed, he didn’t show it. Instead, after offering Lacy some cheese sticks, he said, “How about you? How long have you been rodeoing?”

It was a perfectly innocent question, the kind someone asked when they were making polite small talk. But suddenly it was harder to breathe. A weight was on her chest and she wished she’d ordered the Moons Over My Hammy, just for Dad.

“I’ve been coming for as long as I can remember. My dad was the stock contractor. The Straight Arrow was his business.”

“Ah,” Ian said, as if that had answered all his questions. “This your first year without him?” His voice was kind.

She nodded, a small movement of her head.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She tried to shrug, but it wasn’t a smooth thing. She was not a smooth woman.

She couldn’t hold up under his intense gaze, so she grabbed a cheese stick and began to eat it to hide her anxiety.

“Is your mom doing okay?”

She blinked a few times. She would not cry. Hell, she would not even tear up. Absolutely no moisture would leak from any orifice in her body. “I... I really don’t want to talk about this.” She set her half-eaten cheese on her plate. “If you don’t mind.”

He tilted his head from side to side. “If you decide you want to talk, you let me know.”

“Why?” It came out so quietly it barely made it to the level of a whisper. She tried again. “Why would you want to listen to me?”

“Because,” he said simply, as if that were the only answer that mattered.

It wasn’t. Honestly, what was he doing here with her, besides trying to feed her fried food? “This isn’t a date,” she reminded him. “I’m paying for my half of the food.”

He pointedly looked at her cheese stick. “Seriously, Evans? I’m buying your salad. Consider it part of my payback for the vet bill.”

“You can’t keep using that excuse.”

“Sure I can,” he said as he ate another cheese stick. “You act like if I buy your dinner, I’ll expect you to put out or something.”

“Most guys would. Most guys would have expected something in return for saving me from Jerome. Not that I needed saving,” she hurried to add, because she realized she was making herself sound weak and she was not weak. She wasn’t.

“And you’re right. This isn’t a date.”

“Yeah?” She should have been pleased with his agreement. She wasn’t. What the hell was her problem?

Ian leaned forward again. The air between them seemed to thin away to nothingness. She forgot how to breathe. She forgot how to think.

“I’m only going to say this once more, Lacy. I’m not most guys. I’m not sitting here with you because I think it’s the best way to get you naked. I’m sitting here—with you—because we’re friends.”

Flashes of that dream came back to her. Naked. With Ian.

His gaze dropped down to her lips. He took a deep breath, his eyelids drifting to half-mast, as if he were smelling her and not the overpowering scent of fried onions. “Besides,” he added in the exact same voice she’d heard in her dream, pure sex in the air, “you want me, you know where to find me.”

“Wait—what?”

“You know what I mean,” he said, leaning back. The waitress brought her salad and the chips, but Lacy couldn’t even acknowledge food right now.

Had this man promised that they were friends, and then immediately offered—well, something? Something that he probably didn’t offer his other friends?

Yes. Yes, he had. The look he was giving her was exactly the stuff that dreams were made of, and for a moment, she considered the possibility that, once again, she’d fallen asleep in the cab of the truck and that at any second, all of her clothes were going to fly off and Ian would be reclined on a bed, promising her that she wouldn’t be able to think straight by the time he was done with her.

“I’m not the kind of man who boxes a woman into a corner—or pins her against a trailer—without her permission. That’s not how I operate. Me trying to be a decent human doesn’t mean you owe me a damn thing. Yeah, I’m attracted to you. There’s something about you...”

His voice trailed off as his gaze drifted over her face, her chest. He took another deep breath and exhaled. Lacy knew her jaw was on the ground, but she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Had he just— Did he want her?

“If you’re not looking for a good time, then no harm, no foul,” he went on. “You’ve got a lot to deal with right now and I respect that. But if you want to have a little fun, you know where to find me. No strings.”

“I can’t—I can’t be hurt. I can’t take any more pain.” The admission was out before she could do anything about it.

He leaned forward and cupped her face in his palm. His touch was a kind of electric that she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt before. Not from another man. Not even from her handshake with Ian a few days ago.

His thumb stroked over her cheek and she knew she should lean away. She should break the contact and put an end to this madness that he’d started. That she’d started.

“I won’t hurt you, Lacy Evans. And I’ll do what it takes to make sure no one else hurts you, either.”

Good lord, he was serious. He barely knew her and he was touching her and promising to—to what? To protect her? To be her friend? With benefits? But only if she wanted to? Did any of that even make sense?

Nothing made sense. It made even less sense when the look in his eyes changed—she felt it where his skin touched hers.

Once, she’d been caught out in a summer storm while she’d been swimming in the creek. The skies had opened up and she’d barely gotten out of the water before lightning started striking. She’d grabbed her horse, Jacks, and dragged him out of the cover of the trees into the open grass. Moments after they’d made it to safety, lightning had struck one of the trees. The air around them had taken on a charged feel, making her hair stand on end. It was as close to being struck by lightning as she’d ever been.

But here? With Ian touching her, looking at her with the kind of intensity that made talking, thinking, nearly impossible? All she could do was feel the way he cupped her face, his massive hand tenderly holding her, his thumb stroking over her skin as if she was a jewel of the highest value.

And then his hand dropped away from her, breaking the spell. He sat back and said, “No strings, either way. It’d be fun. Nothing more.”

She wasn’t so naive that she didn’t get his meaning. He’d sleep with her if she wanted him to—but any relationship they might have would be limited to friendship.

So she might have had an erotic dream about Ian Tall Chief. So he could reduce her to a quivering, wordless mass with a look and a simple touch. So he might be the most gorgeous man to ever look at her. It didn’t matter.

“Honey, I know you can do better than this.”

Mom’s voice floated up through Lacy’s memories. Her parents had raised her better than to tumble into a relationship that was no strings—and no promises.

She could do better than a not-relationship with Ian Tall Chief. And she would. She would not give in to these—these urges, for lack of a better word, to rip his shirt off and pin him to a bed and let him do things to her and...

She wouldn’t let go. She couldn’t.

She could do better.

So she forced her lungs to breathe and dug deep for a voice she hoped like hell wasn’t desperate. “How is this supposed to work? Because I don’t understand how we’re supposed to be friends after you say something like that. You don’t make that kind of offer for your other friends.”

That got a laugh out of him—deep and rich and genuine. “No, can’t say that I offered that to Black Jack. I feel pretty sure he’d turn me down.” Then he looked up at her, his face open and, well, joyful. “We can be friends because I can control myself.”

“It’s not enough,” she pressed on. His eyebrows jumped as he chewed his meat. Suddenly, she had to know why. “Yes, hurrah, you have self-control. That doesn’t explain why you insist on helping me, if you’re not trying to sleep with me. You said you had your reasons, and I don’t want to hear about how you’re making up for Rattler. Spill it.”

He let that demand sit for a moment before he said, “Eat.” She glared at him, which only made him smile. Which only made her glare more. “Eat,” he said again, this time in a more pleading voice.

She picked up her fork and stabbed a leaf of lettuce. “There, happy?”

He waited until she’d actually started chewing. “I can’t believe you haven’t heard about this already,” he finally said when she was into her third bite. “It’s fairly common knowledge, at least among some of the riders.”

“I don’t hang out with the riders,” she mumbled around a mouthful of tomato. Ranch dressing made everything better, she decided.

“No, I reckon you don’t. You ever hear of June Spotted Elk?”

She paused midbite. “Of course I’ve heard of her. She’s the woman who rode No Man’s Land—the bull no man could ride. That was huge.”

Ian nodded his head in acknowledgment but didn’t immediately fill in the blanks for her. Instead, he dropped his gaze to his plate and fiddled with the leather strap on his wrist.

Wait—why did he look so sheepish? Oh, lord—had June been his girlfriend? Or his friend with benefits? And if so, why would that matter? She’d married, hadn’t she? Yeah, Lacy thought she remembered reading that. She’d been dealing with the fallout of Mom’s and Dad’s death, but even the world’s most famous female bull rider marrying one of the more famous male bull riders had penetrated through Lacy’s grief.

Ian still hadn’t said anything. Dread filled Lacy’s stomach and it did not mix well with ranch dressing. She felt sour. Ian was a bullfighter because he was trying to win June back. It made sense. They were both American Indians. Gah.