Читать книгу The Texan's Little Secret - Barbara Daille White - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Well, dang. Where the heck had the man gone?

Carly clamped her jaw, taking out her frustration on another mint.

Earlier, she had managed to keep track of Luke in the long mirror across from her. Now a slim redhead had taken the stool he had occupied just a minute ago. She leaned back on her own stool and tilted her head, trying to see through the crowd standing three deep behind her.

For all she cared, Luke could be out on the dance floor with some wide-eyed city slicker or snuggled up in a booth with a wannabe buckle bunny. It didn’t matter to her what woman had caught his attention or even what the two of them had gotten up to. The important thing was to know exactly where to find him. She didn’t want him sneaking up on her. And with her luck, that’s just—

“Hey, Carly.” Luke’s voice rumbled over all the others around them.

She looked up. His reflection stared back at her from the mirror.

He stood directly behind her, the press of the crowd keeping him so close, she would need only to lean back the slightest bit to rest against his broad chest. He could wrap his arms around her and settle his chin on the top of her head, the way he had the night they had curled up on his truck’s tailgate to watch the stars come out.

Which had led to their making out.

Which had turned into making love and changed her life forever.

She swiveled on her stool to face him. “What are you doing here, cowboy? I didn’t think ranch managers got nights off.”

“And I didn’t think you’d come back again tonight.”

“Back?”

“Yeah, I saw you take off the minute I got up from my stool. You ran like a rodeo clown tearing away from the bull wanting to stomp on his butt.”

She laughed and tossed her hair over her shoulder, under cover of checking her surroundings. To her left, Kim sat in conversation with the woman on the other side of her. To the right, she saw only the broad back of the man on the next stool. No chance of interruptions from either of them. No interference, either.

She looked at Luke. “I wouldn’t run from a bull. That means I’d have no reason in the world to run from you.”

“Good to hear. Buy you a drink?”

She didn’t bother to look at her mug. “No, I’m fine, thanks.” She swiveled her seat again, deliberately putting her back to him.

He stepped between her stool and Kim’s to set his beer mug on the bar. His chest brushed her arm. The rest of him seemed to fill every inch of space between them. The mint between her teeth crunched to bits. She faced forward, which only made things worse. Who the heck was that worried-looking woman in the mirror?

Darn Luke. Maybe Kim hadn’t been far off the mark about her falling to pieces. Over the years, she had pulled herself together. But Luke had always had the power to make her feel...not so wild. She had to work twice as hard with him as with anyone else to keep up her pretense. And right now, she desperately needed that defense. She didn’t need to sit here with him for the time it would take to share a drink. She didn’t want to share that much more of her lifetime with him.

Still, she would never let him see her care.

“So, cowboy...” Her voice sounded much breathier than she’d intended.

As if to hear her better, he lowered his head. Her senses revved into high gear, automatically registering details. The gleam in his light brown eyes. His aftershave, something spicy with a kick to it that made her mouth water. She imagined running her fingertips down the plane of his cheek and along the line of his jaw, could almost feel the gentle scratch of golden five-o’clock shadow.

After what seemed like an eternity, he shifted to lean against the bar. And in a heartbeat, she put her defenses in place again. “So, cowboy.” She tried again. “Come here often to pick up women?”

The line wasn’t that funny, but he gave her a lopsided smile. “Every chance I get. You interested?”

“I’d rather spend time with that bull over in the corner. In fact, I plan to spend time over there.”

“With a hunk of metal? That’s got nothing on a live bull.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“I damn sure wouldn’t. There’s a difference.”

“You still need to stay in the saddle.”

“True enough.” This time, his mouth curved in a full smile.

As far as she could tell, he hadn’t moved, but the space between them suddenly seemed tighter, the air in the room warmer, the lights dimmer.

“You think you can handle it?” he asked.

“I know I can.”

“Something besides a slow, sexy ride?”

He had asked the question straight out. No teasing, no taunting, no smile. What else could she expect from a true bull rider? A champion.

Too bad she wasn’t in his class.

The question had made her pulse jump to triple time. Her temperature seemed to spike a degree. And her irritation level for even having these reactions put her blood pressure through the roof. “Slow and sexy’s for city slickers, and you know it.” She leaned forward. In the narrow space, her shirtfront almost brushed his. Giving him the most languid smile she could manage, she added, “I like to make my rides worthwhile.”

His eyes lit with his grin. “All right, then.” He pointed in the same direction she had. “If you’re so confident you have what it takes, why don’t you mosey on over there. But if you plan to show me what you’ve got, you’ll really have to crank ’er up.”

“Watch me.” After all the stories she had told him of her childhood competitions with her brothers, he had to know how she would respond. Wild and crazy Carly would never pass up a challenge like this one. Besides, she’d had plenty of experience riding those “hunks of metal” he despised. She’d knock him off his bar stool.

Smiling at the thought, she turned sideways on her own stool. Her knees grazed his champion belt buckle. He sucked in his stomach as if she had zapped him with a cattle prod.

No matter what she’d told Kim, she wasn’t immune to Luke. The knowledge bothered her—but at least she had the satisfaction of seeing he wasn’t unaffected by her, either.

Still smiling, she went to the small table in one corner of the room. After scribbling her name on the required form, she stood aside to wait her turn.

Luke came up to join her just as a new rider straddled the bull. The crowd pressed forward, eager to watch the show. A man’s elbow caught her in the ribs. After a quick “sorry,” he turned away again.

From behind her, Luke put a hand on her shoulder. To protect her? To steady her? To keep her still so he could get a better view?

She didn’t know and couldn’t take the time to care. She was too busy fighting to ignore the heat licking low inside her.

Other riders, two or three or a dozen, took their turns in the saddle. Again, she didn’t know and didn’t care. Passing up the opportunity to check out their technique might be her downfall in the competition. But she couldn’t seem to focus.

When her name was called, Luke squeezed her shoulder lightly. He leaned down, putting his head close to hers again, and murmured, “Have at it, cowgirl.”

His voice, deep and intimate, made that lick of heat in her belly flame. But his final word turned the rest of her to ice.

Years ago, she had told Luke her secrets, her longings, her dreams, her fears. Her worries about her place in her family. Her irritation over her dad. She had loved Luke and shared everything with him. Had given him everything, too, the night she’d slept with him.

She had trusted him.

And only days later, he had come to the Roughneck, as eager to apply for a job there as she’d been to sign up for a ride on this fake bull tonight.

Daddy’s little cowgirl, he’d called her that day.

The insult and his desire to work for Brock were the worst forms of betrayal.

Now, she turned and stared at him. He stared back, making her heart skip a beat. She cursed herself for not having better control of her reactions. This man had once done her wrong, no denying it, yet she couldn’t keep from responding to him, his nearness, his smile.

“I’ll show you a cowgirl, all right,” she promised.

I’ll show you exactly what Daddy’s little girl can do.

And she did.

But the fun she’d once gotten from it had gone.

The ride was rough. She was tilted and jerked around. She fought to go the distance in front of the crowd—because that’s what Carly Baron did.

Yet none of it mattered.

Just the way her passion for barrel racing had vanished, so had her interest in riding Luke’s “hunk of metal.” Was it his scorn over the mechanical substitute that had taken the pleasure from her ride? Would mounting a real bull give that feeling back to her?

Or was riding, like her relationship with Luke, just going to be a part of her past?

* * *

“SO? WHAT DO you think?”

Luke shrugged. How the hell had he gotten trapped into this situation?

That brush of Carly’s knees against his midsection earlier had just about brought him to his knees. This time, he’d stayed two feet away, not wanting to get caught in the crush against her again. The distance didn’t help. She had resettled herself on a stool and leaned back to prop her elbows on the bar. The position tugged at the shimmery fabric of her shirt, making it gape just enough to show off a hint of twin curves and the barest edge of lace. Sexy as hell.

Then again, when he looked up, he found her wide blue eyes and full lips just as much of a turn-on. The sight brought him right back to the day he’d met her and seen the shy, insecure girl hiding behind the wild child she’d pretended to be.

She stared at him, her brow crinkled, waiting for his answer, which he would happily provide...as soon as he could recall her question.

After a minute, his brain cells finally kicked in again. She wanted his opinion on her ride. “You cranked the machine up high enough,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll give you that.”

“What about form? I get points for that, too. And, not to mention, for staying in the saddle twice as long as anyone else.”

He shrugged. He hadn’t been impressed. At least, not by her ride on the bull. Had to admit, though, he’d liked the way her long blond hair tumbled around her shoulders—just the way it had the night they’d made love in the back of his truck.

“Well?” she demanded.

He cleared his throat. “You had some techniques down. I’ll throw in points for that, too. But you put about as much of yourself into the ride as Rosie needs to when I cart her around in her little red wagon. As in, none. Nada.”

She glared at him. “Who has time for self-expression when they’re in the saddle? Besides, bull riding’s not an art form.”

“Maybe not. But there’s a lot more to it than just putting your hands in the right places.”

The dim light from the bar couldn’t hide the flush that tinged her cheeks. She took a long swallow from the beer he’d bought her.

He wished he’d thought to get another for himself. It had gotten hot in here all of a sudden. With one finger, he loosened his shirt collar. He hadn’t intended a double meaning to his words, but man, had he ever hit the bull’s-eye with that statement.

Carly had all the right curves and, once upon a time, his hands had found all the right places.

The thought immediately registered on another of his body parts. As if she’d read his mind—or seen something he sure as hell didn’t want her noticing—she slammed her mug on the bar. “Thanks for the beer.”

Before he could blink, she slid from the stool.

Dang.

He dug into his jeans pocket for a few bucks to toss beside her empty mug. Damned near hobbling, he hurried across the room.

She’d already exited through the double doors. Outside, he found her standing at the corner of the building, glaring in the direction of the parking lot.

“Need a ride home?” he asked.

“Got that covered.” But she wouldn’t look his way.

A sudden suspicion hit him. “Where’s your ride?”

She glanced toward a vacant slot close to the edge of the parking area and quickly away again, but he’d already gotten his answer. “You didn’t drive, did you? Kim’s your ride. And she left a while ago.”

“Yeah,” she mumbled. “You can bet she’s not going to hear the end of that.”

“Then I’ll take you home. My truck’s right here.” He pointed a few spaces away from the vacant slot, to where he’d parked his silver pickup. The same pickup he’d owned since high school, which meant she more than likely recognized it.

“No, thanks. I’ll find another ride.”

“Why bother? It’s not like driving you home takes me out of my way.” He lived on the ranch in the manager’s quarters, within a stone’s throw of the main house. She didn’t respond, and he swallowed a curse. “Carly, for crying out loud. Whatever happened in the past shouldn’t keep us from spending a few minutes in the truck together.”

Yet, damn, even as she stood there glaring at him, he thought of the many times they had made out in the front seat of that very same truck. Again, he recalled what they’d done in the back of it. Exactly what he wanted to do now.

He ran his hand inside his shirt collar. Hell, it was hot out here, too.

Maybe she had the right idea. Maybe he should call a cab to come and get her.

She hiked the strap of her purse over her shoulder, then winced. Not in dislike or disgust but in pain.

“You okay?” Genuine concern made him ask. Still, he couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. This would be all he needed, to have Brock Baron’s little girl hurt the minute he was alone with her. Worse, to be the one to have gotten Brock Baron’s little girl hurt. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Dammit, Carly. I saw your face when you dismounted from that bull. Ever since, you’ve favored your right arm. Did you hurt yourself on the ride?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s nothing. Just an old racing injury. It flares up once in a while.”

He’d be willing to bet she hadn’t said a word to her family about the spill. If she had, he’d already have heard about it from one of the Baron men—if not from her brother, Jet, then from one of her stepbrothers. For sure, from Jacob, who lived and breathed rodeo the way he himself once had. “What’s the time frame on this ‘old’ injury?”

She shrugged—using her good shoulder. “About a month.”

He bit back a curse. “What happened?”

“Nothing exciting. I was practicing the barrels, coming in close, and dropped my hand too soon. The mare wanted to shoulder, and I wasn’t ready. I just wasn’t with it at all that day. And I paid for it. I went flying and landed on my arm.”

“Hard, I’d wager.”

“Yes, but I’m fine. It only gives me trouble once in a while.”

“Where does it hurt?”

“Luke. Really. It’s not even my arm, only my shoulder.”

“Have you had any therapy for it?”

She shook her head. “Give it up, will you, please? I told you, I’m fine. I won’t feel a thing in the morning.”

If only he could say the same. Chances were, his meeting with her tonight would have him hungover from a long night of little sleep.

No point in continuing this argument about her injury. Just like when he worked with a skittish mare, the more he would talk, the more she would balk. With the mare, he’d put in the time and summon the patience to calm her down, to get her comfortable with him. To get the job done.

With Carly, he’d be a fool to push the issue when he ought to be stepping away as fast as he could. “Come on, then. Let’s get home.”

* * *

TO CARLY’S RELIEF, Luke did give his questioning a rest—at least, until they’d reached Roughneck Ranch.

When he had said he would take her home, she hadn’t known he’d meant his home. To her dismay, he pulled up behind the small single-story ranch house and turned off the truck’s engine.

Then he started in on her again.

“Do your folks know about your fall?”

“No,” she snapped. “There was no need to tell them. There still isn’t.” Before he could say another word, she exited the truck and slammed the door behind her. The fixture over the back porch illuminated a good part of the yard. It certainly gave off enough light for her to see his disgruntled expression through the windshield.

A second later, he slammed his door closed, too. “You know, Carly, there’s a difference between being independent and being too danged stubborn to listen to reason.”

“That’s not your worry.”

He exhaled in disgust. “And you always were the most bullheaded critter I knew.”

“Takes one to know one, I say.”

“Luke?”

She jumped. The voice had come from the direction of the porch. A woman stood framed in the kitchen doorway, looking out at them through the screen door.

“I thought I heard the truck. And voices.” The woman smiled at them. “Everything all right out here?”

“Just fine, Mom.”

Luke’s mother. Of course. She had never met the woman but could easily have guessed her relationship to Luke. He had lighter brown eyes than his mother’s, but they shared the same sandy-blond shade of hair.