Читать книгу Montana Gold - Genell Dellin - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

ELLE KEPT ONE EYE on the dog while she arranged her nail stuff around her on the cushions and arm of the hotel room love seat.

“You’re gonna end up buying that piece of furniture,” Missy Jo said, raising her voice so it’d carry over Johnny Cash’s. She walked to the boom box and turned down the volume.

“I’ve got towels. M.J., what are we gonna do if he won’t eat?”

“At least he’s drinking plenty,” M.J. said. “He’s had a shock and that Texas veterinarian warned you he might not eat. Let’s give him until tomorrow.”

Elle set one heel on the edge of her seat and started putting pieces of cotton in between her toes. “You sound bored with this conversation.”

“I don’t know why,” M.J. said. “This is only the tenth time we’ve had it in the past couple of hours.”

“I’m leaving that kibble in front of him until I get my toenails done and then I’m going to go get some cat food.”

“Good plan,” M.J. said in the same dry tone.

“I’ve never heard of a dog that wouldn’t eat cat food. Have you?”

“No,” M.J. said, “and I have been researching that question every free minute I can get.”

Elle took a second to decide between Bronze Baby and Sandstone.

“Sometimes you make me so mad,” she said mildly. “It is irritating beyond belief trying to worry when you, as my best friend, are always so sure everything’ll automatically turn out all right.”

“Not always. Think about it. I tried to tell you this dog would be trouble.”

“Could we talk about something else?”

She opened the Bronze Baby and carefully dipped the brush in.

“Yeah. Chase Lomax. That’s what I want to talk about.”

Elle kept her head down. She made three straight, steady strokes with the polish to cover the first toenail, and said, “Better not let Rodney hear you.”

“There you go, trying to be funny when all I’m trying to do is help you be happy. Why can’t you cooperate?”

Elle raised her head, threw her hair back over her shoulder, and turned to look her friend in the eye. “I’m happy, M.J. I am plenty happy. Haven’t you heard? A woman doesn’t have to have a man to make her happy.”

Missy Jo came around the love seat and sat cross-legged on the floor so they faced each other.

“R-i-ight,” she said slowly, nodding encouragement as if to a stubborn child, “but you’ve heard that sometimes it’s nice to have something else in your life besides work. Haven’t you?”

Elle dropped her head and painted another toenail. She couldn’t listen to this. Damn. Why hadn’t she told M.J. the truth a long time ago?

Because it’s too scary to say it out loud. What if that truth never changes?

“I haven’t noticed Chase Lomax ringing my phone,” she said. “And I am not a hermit. I had a date in Austin and one in Denver, too, if you’ll bother to remember.”

That torched M.J.’ s famous impatience. “I’m talking about a relationship,” she said, planting her fists on her hips. “A give and take where you really care about somebody and he cares about you.”

Elle put the brush back into the bottle and tightened the top while she cranked up her grip on her temper. She shouldn’t have to put up with this, even if M.J. was her very best friend and, in fact, the only close woman friend she had.

Except for Carlie, of course, who was almost more a mother to her than a friend.

“Why are you into this rant?” she asked. “You know and I know that a relationship doesn’t necessarily mean the guy cares about you.”

M.J. looked stricken and Elle raised her hand in apology. “You and Rodney excluded, of course. What I’m saying is that most of the time it means the woman gives and the man takes and if there ever was a man who’d be worse about that than Derek was, it’s Chase Lomax.”

“I just want you to be happy like I am,” M.J. said, her voice suddenly soft and thoughtful. “Even if Rodney and I don’t get married, or if we do and it doesn’t last a lifetime, I want you to experience this.”

Elle felt terrible because big tears were gathering in Missy’s eyes as she spoke.

“I know you do and I appreciate it, I really do. I just don’t know…”

“What I know,” M.J. said, “is that Derek ruined your marriage, right?”

I ruined it, too. He wasn’t the only one.

“So what’s your point?”

“Just this. If you don’t change your attitude, he’ll ruin your whole life. Here you are, comparing Chase to him when you don’t even know Chase.”

Missy wiped her eyes and Elle tried to change the mood. Somehow, M.J. was making her want to cry, too.

“Maybe you just need to pick a different guy for me,” she said lightly, fanning her toenails to dry them. “Why’re you so hung up on Chase, anyhow?”

When she glanced up, M.J. caught her gaze and held it. “Because I was there. Because I saw you two when you came back off the dance floor. And before that, when Robbie introduced y’all.”

Elle wouldn’t let herself look away, even though the memory was taking over her body again. She was afraid M.J. would see that, too.

“I never saw that spark with you and Derek. It’s a gift, Elle, honey. You should at least see where it goes.”

More of Missy’s truth cutting too deep. Elle wasn’t normally afraid of a little truth. Yet she couldn’t find a word to say.

Missy heaved an irritated sigh, unfolded her legs and got up without touching her hands to the floor. She headed for the door.

“I don’t know why you bother to paint your toenails, anyhow,” she said, throwing the words back over her shoulder like pellets of punishment. “Nobody’s gonna see ’em unless some hateful bull knocks you right out of your shoes.”

WHEN CHASE WAS satisfied with his bind, the way his hand fit into the rigging, he sat down on the bareback horse in the chute. He put his feet on the rails on each side of the chute and rested his free arm on top of it. He flexed his riding arm and thought about the horse underneath him.

She was old and full of tricks, the kind of bucking horse that had grown so ring-wise from being at many rodeos, she was smart enough to hum the national anthem. And she was feeling frisky tonight. At least, that was the definite impression he’d gotten when he petted her before putting the rigging on. Every horse was an individual and he always tried to get a read on each one before he ever got on.

Dawson Rodeo Company was rightfully proud of Full Tilt Boogie. Chosen world champion bucking horse twice and maybe on her way to a third time, she loved to buck more than she loved to eat. He’d drawn her twice before and she’d thrown him both times—once just out of the gate and the other at 7.5 seconds.

Not going to happen again. She was all his this time.

He waited for the horse ahead of them to leave the arena, glad that this new rigging felt right to him. It ought to—he’d worked it over when it arrived and it had been custom-made for him. Custom-made, and a thousand times better and safer than the ragged old piece of junk that was all he could afford when he started rodeoing all those years ago.

Remember that, Lomax. You’ve come this far by stayin’ on top of ’em.

Full Tilt came unwound, then, in a heartbeat, ready to boogie, trying to rear, slamming against the inside bars of the chute. Chase’s face hit the top one with his brow bone. The shock of the blow raced through him in an instant, waking every nerve in his body to anger and wariness and cold determination.

The announcer was calling his name.

He nodded for the gate. It swung open, Miss Boogie committed herself and he set his feet at the point of her shoulder on each side to mark her out with his dull-roweled spurs. The rule was that he had to mark her out of the chute for one jump, but he kept it up as he felt all the want-to in the world surge into his blood.

Chase rode flat with his shoulders against the horse’s rump, immersed in the rhythm of the spurring, starting on the front of the neck and coming up the neck to his handle with each jump, toes turned out. He tried to sense what Boogie might do next as she kicked in the hind end and dropped in the front, kicked and dropped.

She really bucked, this mare, and her front end was still in the air when her hind end kicked, so there was a lot of drop to get her front feet back on the ground again. But she did have a rhythm and Chase kept his feet set right, leaned back and lifted on his rigging. Bucking off was not an option.

His adrenaline was so high he forgot about his damaged bones jarring and his sore muscles wrenching. He rode for the whole eight seconds with his free hand high and away from his body and his spurs rolling, never losing his seat, even when Full Tilt tried changing directions and a spin or two. When the buzzer sounded, he sat up and kept on riding, looking for the pickup man to come alongside. That mare knew what the whistle meant, too, and her bucking fell into a halfhearted imitation of itself. Chase got his legs up, grabbed the cantle of the pickup man’s saddle and swung himself over his horse’s butt to land on his feet on the offside.

“Look at that, folks,” the announcer boomed to the cheering crowd. “The old man got ’er done! Yep, nothin’ but a day off for Chase Lomax, in spite of the fact that that horse can buck! And in spite of—or because of—the fact that she won the last couple of battles they had. You bet! That right there’s a sweet eight seconds for our five-time bareback world champion, Chase Lomax!”

Shut up and tell the score, won’t you? Forget all the blather.

“Ninety points! The judges tell me it’s a 9-0 for Mr. Lomax!”

He was happy with that. That was okay.

What the hell was he thinking? It was great. It ought to be incredibly exciting—like it used to be. Any rider had to be thrilled with a ninety-point score.

Chase took his hat off to the crowd, waved and smiled, the way he always did. He listened to the roar of approval for a second and then turned and walked along the fence.

No, to hell with the score anyhow. It oughtta be—it had to be—the ride that stirred the fire. The score meant nothing but money.

That curled his lips in a wry smile. Since when did the money mean nothing to the kid inside him who’d started out without a dime to his name?

“Good ride, cowboy!”

“Yeah, you really got ’er done, Chase.”

He accepted the high-fives and congratulations from the other cowboys with grins and jokes. But as he took his rigging from the pickup man who brought it to him and stepped out of the arena, the flat feeling came over him, longer and harder, in a smothering wave.

He stopped walking long enough for somebody from the Justin Sports Medicine team to look at his head and dab a little germ-killer on the cut but he didn’t hear a word the guy said. He was thinking.

Yeah, he’d got ’er done, and yeah, he’d kept his focus and made a textbook ride and a good score and some money, and it’d been great like it always was to get on an animal he knew would live up to its half of the bargain and really buck. But now that his adrenaline was draining away and his breathing was slowing, he didn’t feel any more excited than if it literally was a day off for him. His want-to might still be there, but the high didn’t stay with him the way it used to.

Was he getting old?

No. The bull riding proved it. He wasn’t too old to learn some new tricks and get some new thrills and he was proving it with every bull he rode.

He pulled his mind up short. There he went, worrying about his feelings again. Focus. He had to focus.

Chase spoke to people and answered greetings and accepted congratulations with half a mind as he headed on back to the pens behind the chutes to put away his rigging. He wished he was up in the bull riding tonight. That’d give him a shot of excitement for sure.

But he wasn’t, so he’d do the next best thing and go help his buddies get on their bulls. Maybe just watching them ride would lift him out of this mood.

ELLE FELT EXHAUSTION grab her legs for the second time, so she leaned on the barrel to rest them for a minute while the safety men moved in and pushed the bull to the gate. She was going to have to run more. Or work out with heavier weights. Maybe add a couple of repetitions to every part of her workout.

Excitement surged through her in such a steady stream, though, that she didn’t worry that her legs would give out completely. That couldn’t happen because this was her night.

“And he-ere’s our last bull ride of the evening, rodeo fans,” the announcer said. “This’ll be the twentieth great bucking bull to perform for us tonight. Don’t you think these fine animal athletes from Birch Creek Rodeo are some of the best in the world?”

Elle grinned to herself. Yes, they were, and she’d done a bang-up job on every one of them. She had learned a lot, she’d been skillful and she’d been lucky. Overall, this performance had been the best of her career, bar none.

The thought sent a shiver of excitement running through her. It would help her reach the top. That save she’d made for J. C. Taylor would get her talked about and it’d earn her a lot of respect. If she kept that up, some fine day she’d be going to the PBR, all right.

The next rider up nodded for the gate and adrenaline surged into her muscles as strongly as if the night had just started. She felt a huge smile take over her face, cracking a streak of mud that she hadn’t quite wiped away.

Nothin’ like a bull to pull a girl into focus. This one—an old, wily character named Skinny Dippin’—came spinning out of the chute pretending to be a tornado in a floppy skin and whirled like an F-5, away from the rider’s hand.

“Folks, this bull has been ridden on only ten percent of the tries since he’s been on the Birch Creek string, and that’s five or six years,” the announcer said. “And when he throws a man he takes off to go get him. We’ve got a real match-up here—a bad bull pitted against a good cowboy.”

The noise of the crowd began to build and he turned up the volume. “Jared Davison, folks, last year’s winner of the PRCA World Championship in bu-ull riding!!!”

After that, Elle didn’t hear another word. She stayed on the move, trying to feel what would happen next, trying to stay out of the way yet still be in the right place when Jared started to slip or the whistle blew, whichever came first.

He was wearing a helmet with a cage across his face, which interfered with their balance, a lot of cowboys said, and its weight might be pulling Jared a little to one side. Helmets limited peripheral vision, too, so she’d need to be right there when he came off because he might not be able to see the bull the whole time.

Riding a spin away from his hand was harder than riding one into his hand, and Jared was getting more and more out of shape, fighting with his outside leg to stay centered. If he slipped any more off his rope, the centripetal force of the spin would pull him down into the well—the circle made by the bull’s body. Skinny Dippin’ was a perfect example of what the cowboys called a “welly” bull.

Jared got his balance back and from then on, when the bull straightened out and started kicking high, the two of them were a picture of true beauty—two creatures in a ballet choreographed by the bull. Whatever he did, Jared made a move to counter him.

The dirt was deep and wet in spots and heavy enough to wear out an iron man. Jared had good natural balance and upper body strength, and he used his free arm as a pilot really well, so he was able to ride the new spin when it came and then react when Skinny Dippin’ stopped spinning and started bucking again. The old bull kicked high and twisted hard, leaping high into the air like the famous bull Bodacious used to do.

The announcer was yelling, the crowd was on its feet, and the seconds were ticking past forever. In the blink of an eye, almost so fast Elle couldn’t see it happen, the bull stopped and jumped again, way high, then he came back down to buck with a vicious fury that sent a chill down her spine.

“Stay with him, son, stay with him,” the announcer screamed.

The buzzer sounded.

Jared jumped or fell from the far side of the bull and as the animal turned toward him, Elle moved in to shoot the gap between Skinny Dippin’s head and the cowboy. But they weren’t separated. The bull spun fast away from her with the rider flopping and trying to stay on his feet and run alongside, his hand hung up in the rigging. She rushed toward him as the spin got faster.

Skinny Dippin’ was twisting, hooking back at Jared, wanting in the worst way to get a horn in him. Elle threw herself onto the opposite side of the bull and stuck there, running with him, then riding on him, amazed at the uncontrollable force underneath her, jarred and shaken so much that she couldn’t see but she wouldn’t let go, holding on with one hand and grabbing to free Jared from the bull rope with the other.

She and Jared nearly bumped heads, finally she jerked him free, and the force sent her falling headfirst over the back of the bull. Instinctively, she threw herself into a backwards somersault and landed on her feet.

The bull turned away from her, thank God, because for an instant she could hardly stand, much less run. Everything happened in a whirling instant but Elle saw Skinny Dippin’ fixating on his rider and going after him as he tried to scramble away on his hands and knees.

Her heart stopped when the bull flattened him faster than she could take a breath but she got there before he hooked him by running in to jump over Jared’s prone body, dragging her hand across the bull’s nose, grabbing the lowered, searching horn. She tried to turn the massive head, which was like moving a mountain, but she did succeed in getting his attention.

Skinny Dippin’ turned. He was interested in her, now. She took off her hat and slapped him in the face and he came after her.

Her blood singing with the thrill of it and with the satisfaction of getting him away from Jared, she ran toward the middle of the arena. Skinny Dippin’ came with her part of the way but then, as if he’d suddenly decided he was bored, he turned away and trotted toward the out gate, as docile as a calf.

Thank God. She’d used up nearly everything she had.

She heard the crowd, just for a second. Then the safety pickup men got behind Skinny Dippin’ to drive him on out and she ran toward Jared, although she didn’t think she could run another step. Before she could reach him, Junior was helping him to his feet and the Justin Sports Medicine people were coming in.

Jared got to his feet, looking for her. He took a couple of shaky steps toward her and as soon as she got there, gave her a huge hug. He let her go and they shared a big high-five. The announcer and the crowd were screaming now, but she hardly heard them because Jared was stepping back and taking his hat off to her. It was the rare accolade that was usually reserved for a victorious bull after a hard-fought ride.

The roar of the crowd grew even louder.

So. Take that, Chase Lomax.

The thought came out of nowhere and shocked her even more than Jared had just done. She hadn’t even known she was thinking about him.

ELLE’S STOMACH GROWLED as she punched the button in the hotel elevator and sent it gliding downward, toward a late-night snack. More accurately, a very late dinner. She was still so high on what she considered her career-best performance that she couldn’t come down, but she didn’t want to go out on the town and kick up her heels by herself, and nobody would go with her.

Her friends were all gone to practice roping or repair some rigging or lift some weights or work their horse on the barrels or to get some sleep. Or, in M.J.’ s case, to hang out with her boyfriend, who not only thought she was the funniest, cutest woman he’d ever seen, but couldn’t keep his hands off her. She was getting sick of hearing about sexy, wonderful Rodney.

Downright depressing is what it was. Somehow, every time M.J. got started raving about him, Elle felt really lonesome and neglected.

But why think about that when she could rerun the tape in her mind of Jared sweeping off his hat to her? She grinned at her reflection in the mirrored walls of the elevator and messed with her hair a minute while it was still damp from the shower. Then she bent over at the waist and tossed her head around to separate the curls.

The elevator stopped and she heard the door open. She straightened up to find some big guy in a ball cap and sunglasses right in her face, charging into the elevator before she could even get out of it. He had both hands full of carry-out bags—Mexican food, judging from the smell. She looked at them, her mouth watering. Yep. Enrique’s. The best in town.

He whirled around to punch the door-close button.

“Hey,” she said. “I’m getting off here.”

Some girl outside in the lobby yelled, “We know it’s you, Chase. You shouldn’t lie to us.”

Startled, Elle looked at the guy’s face and saw, just before he reached for her, that it really was Chase Lomax in ragged shorts and flip-flops.

He grabbed her up off her feet and bent his head. Found her mouth with his.

“Wait for us,” another girl yelled. The sound of running feet echoed off the marble floor, slid to a stop. “Oh, no!”

Kissing her, without so much as a “Hi, there, Elle.” Burning her up. She tried to struggle but he had both her arms pinned to her sides.

And suddenly she wanted to stay right where she was forever because the shock was wearing off and she was starting to feel. A lot more than she ever had before.

The door slid closed. The girls began banging on it.

“We know your room number, Chase, honey,” they yelled. “See you there.”

Loud giggles.

“We’ll show you a real good time.”

The elevator moved up, the voices faded away. But Chase kept on kissing her.

She had to make him stop it. Right now. Who did he think he was, anyway?

Somebody who could send lightning right through her whole body, that’s who. Lightning so strong it shook her to her toes.

He had to stop this now. But she couldn’t move any part of her body. Except her lips. And her tongue…

When he finally let her go she pulled back and away, fighting to get a handle on her breathing.

“What’s the matter?” he demanded.

Her blood rushed through her so fast it made her dizzy.

“You’re asking me? It’s more like, what’s the matter with you? How’d you get the idea you could get away with kissing me like that without even bothering to say hello?”

She touched her lips. They were still on fire.

“You have got a helluva nerve, Chase Lomax.”

He grinned at her as he took off his shades. He hung them in the neck of his huge, baggy T-shirt that had a bucking bull and rider with Git ’R’ Done written above it. He wore ragged denim shorts and flip-flops, for God’s sake. Chase Lomax was known for always being starched and ironed, custom-booted and hatted.

“I asked if you’re all right because you were bent over double shaking your head when the doors opened,” he said. “Like you were in pain or something.”

“I was drying my hair.”

He stared, then burst out laughing. “Oh, well, then.”

His laugh was contagious but she wouldn’t let herself join in. He could not get away with this scot-free. He’d shaken her up pretty good.

“Oh. I see. You thought I needed help, so you just grabbed me and kissed me senseless. Is that how you treat somebody you think’s in pain?”

He grinned that slow, charming grin of his again. “It made you feel better. Didn’t it?”

He held her gaze and wouldn’t let it go. She must be a sight. She could feel heat in her cheeks, so her face must be red. Plus she was gasping, trying to slow her breathing. And her heartbeat.

“You nearly scared me to death to try to get rid of those girls. And it was all wasted. They’re coming to your room.”

Something flashed deep in his brown eyes.

“Now you’ve hurt my feelings. I don’t think it was wasted,” he drawled. “I liked that kiss.”

She wasn’t going to let that kind of baloney into her head. She wasn’t even going to think about that kiss again. At least, not now.

“You didn’t kiss me like you were scared to death,” he said. “You kissed me back, like you were enjoying it just as much as I was.”

Something inside her shifted.

It was true. Her lips were still throbbing. Her whole body was throbbing. For the first time in her life.

And over one kiss. Was this proof that maybe she wasn’t so abnormal after all?

The mirror felt cold against her back, yet she was warm inside. Chase Lomax had done that to her.

Change the subject, Elle. Get away from this. You’ll have to analyze it later. Think about it later.

She looked at his gorgeous grin. He had a wonderful mouth. A really great mouth. And truly fine lips. Not just in the way they looked, but…

Stop it, Elle. Move on, Elle.

“Why are you running around dressed like an undercover cop?”

“Trying not to be recognized, of course.”

“Why? You had a ninety-point ride tonight. Don’t you want to celebrate? Hear how the fans love you? Sign autographs?”

He lost his grin as he shook his head. “I guess I’m kinda past all that. I’m just tryin’ to get my highs from the ride.”

“Well, don’t despair. In a minute you’ll have those girls waiting at your door to give you a ride.”

“Womanizing’s another thrill that’s kind of fadin’ on me,” he admitted. “My rep in that area is way overblown these days.”

A little silence fell.

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” he said. “I thought you knew it was me and you wouldn’t mind if I kissed you.”

“Why wouldn’t I mind being snatched off my feet and manhandled to save your great big self from some little bitty girls?”

“Well, after the way you danced with me the other night…”

“What do you mean? That I danced like I enjoy being… used?” Her tone of voice came out deadly serious.

He stepped back and looked at her until she thought maybe she was pretty abnormal, after all. Would a normal woman have taken offense at that kiss?

“No,” he said slowly. “You danced like you enjoyed dancing. With me.”

“So does it always follow that if you like dancing with somebody you also like to kiss them?”

He smiled a little. “Not always, I guess. I’m sorry if I upset you, Elle.”

He sounded so sincere that she said, “Okay. It’s okay.”

He gave her that grin again and damn, it nearly melted her where she stood. She didn’t even know if she could talk any more while his kiss was so fresh on her mouth.

The elevator stopped and he hit another button to make it move again. She gave herself a little shake to try and make her mind work.

“You can’t go up and down in this thing all night,” she said, “and neither can I, since I haven’t eaten since noon and I’m about to starve to death. Take me back down to one.”

He shook his head. “I’ve got enough Enrique’s here for an army. You need to help me eat it.”

“Thanks, but you just want my protection because your disguise didn’t work,” she said, finally lightening up a little. She grinned, looking him over. “You’re scared of some young, silly, slightly intoxicated girls when all they want to do is show you a good time.”

“They already showed me more than I expected to see,” he said.

“What?”

“That blond one’s wearing a buckle bunny thong. Black with the pink letters PBR written right across…the bunny’s head.”

She gaped at him. “How d’you…”

“She flashed me. In Enrique’s.”

“What?”

“Yep. In the hallway in front of the restrooms. Recognized me and dropped her jeans right there.”

He shook his head, remembering. “Said she sure does like bull riders, and I think she means it since her little bitty shirt says, ‘Wanna buck?’”

They were both laughing as the elevator stopped again.

“What floor are you on?” he said, his hand hovering over the wall of lighted buttons. “Can I come to your room for a little while?”

Well, no. Not now.

“In case they weren’t lying about having my number?”

“Look, I’m just trying to find something to eat,” she said. “I’m not even going back to my room right now.”

“I told you,” he said, shaking the bags with their delicious smells right in her face. “I’ve got enough here for six or eight people.”

“Why’d you buy so much?”

“Couldn’t decide what I wanted,” he said. “I’ve got enchiladas and mole and tacos and tamales and guacamole and rice and beans and nachos and sopapillas.”

He gave her a smile that could break a witch’s heart. “Any of that sound good to you?”

If she had a lick of sense, she’d go on to the coffee shop. She’d get out of here and leave him. She needed to think.

“What floor?” he asked.

But she really was hungry.

“I’d appreciate the favor,” he said. “I’m just not in the mood to deal with a gaggle of lonely, lustful women tonight.”

How about one lonely, lustful woman?

“You’d be flat-out savin’ my life if you’d take me in,” he added. “What floor?”

She hesitated. No wonder Carlie always said Elle was such a rescuer she ought to drive an ambulance.

“They must think I’m easy,” Chase said sadly. “Why else would the blonde flash me like that?” He flexed his hand—the one waiting for her to choose a number—and gave her a mischievous grin. “I promise,” he told her, “that girl doesn’t know the real me.”

She couldn’t keep from laughing at him, even as she shook her head over her own weakness.

“Seven,” she said.