Читать книгу A Saddle Made For Two - Roxann Delaney, Roxann Delaney - Страница 9

“Come on over here, sugar, and I’ll show you what a real man can do.”

Ignoring the remark coming from one of the drunken men near a row of stock trailers, Ellie Warren lifted her chin in an indignant gesture. She stomped past them, muttering to herself. “Stupid, brain-dead cowboy.”

The smell of whisky, sweat and animals—some of them the two-legged variety—drenched the night air around the Cedar Rapids, Iowa, rodeo grounds. None of the aromas were new to Ellie. She’d spent the past twelve years, since she was fourteen, barrel racing and the last six of those traveling across the country. She had put up with all manner of rude and crude cowboys, and it hadn’t taken her long to figure out the best way to deal with them. Ignore them.

Her muttering didn’t cease as she wound her way through the contestant campgrounds behind the arena to her camper. “Oughta have their mouths filled with manure.”

Exhaustion slowed her steps, and it took every ounce of energy she had to lift her dust-covered boot onto the metal platform at the back of her pickup camper. She needed a shower, but she’d rather wait until morning than go back through the huddle of men she’d skirted around in the darkness.

Sticking the key in the lock and turning the knob, she pulled open the door and stepped inside. She groped in the dark to switch on a light while she yanked her hat from her head. The hat fell to the countertop, and her gaze dropped to the floor.

Her blood-curdling scream, at the sight of the snake curled on the floor, bounced off the thin camper walls.

Thoughts skittered through her mind, but none made sense. Without taking her attention from the coldblooded invader, Ellie acted on instinct and eased open the door of the small closet to her right. After carefully pulling out a newly purchased, flat-bottomed shovel, intended for her horse trailer, she jabbed the edge onto the snake as close to its head as possible. Praying the critter would stay put, she gripped the wooden handle with both hands and jumped atop the metal. The snake flipped and writhed beneath the blade, and Ellie realized what she’d just done. Frozen to the spot in shock and unable to move, except to brace herself with one hand against the cabinet for balance, a shudder shook her body.

Now what? she thought, when the snake slowed its wriggling. If she got off and it came after her, she’d die of fright. Mercy, she hated snakes! But staying propped on the shovel for eternity wasn’t an option, either.

Her heart regained its beat, pounding ninety to nothing, and her breath came in quick, short bursts. Her knees were so weak and shaky she thought she’d fall off the only thing between her and her unwelcome guest. Taking a deep but unsteady breath, she tried to focus on her alternatives. There didn’t seem to be any.

When the door banged open behind her, she let out another ear-splitting scream.

“What the hell’s goin’ on?” a deep baritone barked.

The shovel wobbled beneath her as she craned her neck to discover a pair of bright-blue eyes staring at her from beneath a black Stetson. She couldn’t be certain if the cowboy’s gaze was sliding over her or the shovel, but for the moment it didn’t matter.

Swallowing the lump of fear lodged in her throat, she managed one word. “S-snake.”

“Sure is,” he said with a quirk of his lips. His gaze traveled back to hers. “You okay?”

Finding that her voice had deserted her, she nodded.

He stepped up into the camper and knelt down next to her. “Hang on.”

Unable to watch, she squeezed her eyes shut. She could feel him grip the handle, then both she and the shovel tilted to the left and back again. He brushed against her leg, and another shudder shook her, this one warm instead of cold.

“It’s just a bull snake, hon,” he said, standing.

“Right. Just a snake.” She gritted her teeth to keep them from chattering, but her terror eased when his soft chuckle swept through her like a hot, summer wind.

“You can get down, now.”

Uncertain if it was completely safe to remove herself from the shovel, and afraid to look, she stayed put. “Are you sure? Is it…dead?”

“Naw. You aren’t big enough to do that. You just kinda choked him up a little.”

He stood so close to her his warm breath whispered across her temple. The shovel gained her nearly a foot in height, but when she opened her eyes, she still had to look up to see into his eyes.

She nearly fell off the shovel when she recognized her rescuer as Chace Brannigan, the nation’s leading saddle bronc rider.

Sliding his arm around her waist, he held her steady. “One step at a time, hon.”

She took another deep breath, forcing herself to ignore the way her heart skipped a beat, and eyed his other hand. The snake’s body hung limp in his grip. “Get rid of that, will you?”

He glanced at the reptile before giving her a lopsided grin. “Soon as you get down from there.”

The soft, rhythmic thumping of his heart against her shoulder sent her own heart pounding. His scent— fresh air and rugged country male—surrounded her, making her slightly dizzy. She knew she should be scrambling down, but she couldn’t seem to set herself in motion. She’d encountered plenty of cowboys in her twenty-six years, but none had ever caused her heart to trip like a moonstruck adolescent’s.

Determined to gain control of herself, Ellie stepped off the shovel. He didn’t let go. The cramped interior of the camper was filled with the cowboy, making breathing difficult. Without room to take a step in any direction, she forced air into her lungs and out again until her head cleared.

“The snake?” she reminded him in a voice that didn’t sound normal.

“Oh, yeah.” He released her and took a step back to the door, tossing out the body, which had begun to move.

Shrinking away, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming again. While his attention was occupied, she pivoted around the shovel and put the implement between them, breathing only a little easier.

“Thanks,” she said, when he’d pulled the door shut and faced her.

He shrugged, crossed his arms on his broad chest and leaned against the closet. “That’s a dangerous weapon. You always keep a shovel handy?”

She kept her gaze averted from a pair of shoulders as wide as Texas, but she could feel him watching her. “It’s safer in here.”

“Couldn’t be too safe, considering that snake.”

She jerked her head up to stare at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Snakes can crawl through some pretty small spaces,” he said with a grin. “It coulda come up through a hole. Reckon you ought to double-check the place. Just in case.” He shoved away from the closet, shrinking the space between them.

Nodding, she propped the shovel against the wall. Bone weary from the loss of adrenaline no longer pumping through her body, she took a step back on wobbly legs and sank onto the cushioned seat around the small table. “I’ll do that.”

“And you might want to keep your door locked. If I can come in, anybody can.”

Ellie thought of the cowboy who had called out to her. “Dumb cowboys,” she muttered.

“’Scuse me?”

Her cheeks burned when she realized what she’d said. The cowboy in front of her had saved her from what she considered a fate worse than death, and here she was insulting him and his kind.

“Sorry,” she said, ducking her head. She managed to push herself to her feet. She didn’t like being beholden to anyone, but she’d been raised with manners. Keeping her gaze on the pearl snaps of his colorful Western shirt, she stuck out her hand. “Thanks for…rescuing me. I guess I owe you.”

One long stride brought him closer to her, and he took her hand, engulfing it in his. Being barely five feet tall had often put her at a disadvantage, but she’d dealt with it. Until now. He was one big cowboy. She reasoned that he wasn’t any bigger than a dozen other cowboys she knew, but he sure seemed like it. Strength radiated from him, overpowering her senses and leaving her tongue-tied.

“My pleasure.” His voice was a husky whisper.

When he didn’t let go immediately, she slowly raised her gaze past the solid, muscled chest she’d leaned against, over a strong, chiseled chin and jaw. Lingering on lips set in a crooked smile, she looked up into twinkling eyes. That was enough to remind her of what was happening. What was she thinking?

She jerked her hand from his, leaving a tingling sensation in her fingers. She had more sense than to be mesmerized by a hunky cowboy with cool pools of blue for eyes. She’d had enough of cowboys and ranches to last her the rest of her life. And all of it learned at the price of her parents’ lives. No, she was not looking for a cowboy. No way, no how.

“Well, thanks again,” she said, hoping to get him out of the camper in a hurry.

He didn’t budge. “You had a good ride tonight.”

She shrugged, trying to relax in spite of the way he was looking at her. “Not bad.”

“It was good enough to keep you ahead and win the first-place prize money. You’re standing pretty high in the rankings.”

Ellie nodded. A few more wins and she’d have a secure spot for the National Finals Rodeo in Las Vegas. Winning the Barrel Racing title wasn’t important. She only wanted to compete. Once. And then she’d be done with it. Retired. She’d leave her gypsy life-style behind for an easy life in the city. Easier than going from rodeo to rodeo, at least. Much easier than living on the Oklahoma ranch her parents had left her and her brothers. A ranch she didn’t want to return to. Ever.

“I’m really tired,” she told the cowboy, when she realized he was still standing before her. “If you don’t mind…”

“Oh. Yeah. Guess it is late.” Hesitating, as if he’d just been shaken out of a deep sleep, he finally turned for the door, opened it and stepped down.

Ellie let out a sigh of relief, welcoming the breathing space his departure gave her. She was ready to collapse into bed—clothes, boots and all.

“Be sure and lock up,” he reminded her, sticking his head back inside.

“I will.” She waited for him to close the door, but he stood watching her. “As soon as you leave,” she added as incentive.

“I’m Chace Brannigan.”

“I know.” Did he think she was deaf and blind? Who didn’t know Chace Brannigan? She’d heard of the three-time champion saddle-bronc rider and seen his pictures plastered in every rodeo magazine in the country, but their paths had never crossed. The roller-coaster ride her stomach was on made her wish they hadn’t this time, either.

“Yeah, well, lock up,” he said again.

With a sigh of exasperation, she glared at him. “I said I would.”

“Now.”

He disappeared, and the door swung shut with a thud. Ellie stared at it for a moment before forcing her feet to move. She always locked the door. Especially at night. She locked it to keep out cowboys like him.

“Lock the door,” she mimicked under her breath. She could take care of herself and didn’t need anyone telling her what to do. Peeling back the curtain at the window only enough to peek outside, she saw him standing on the ground less than a foot from her camper, watching the door.

“Just turn the little button,” he prompted from the other side.

“I am!” She let the fabric slip from her fingers and, with an angry snap, turned the lock. “Satisfied?”

“Yep.”

Even through the camper door she could hear his soft laughter, and the warmth of it spread through her. “Dumb cowboy,” she whispered to ward it off.

Chace’s shoulders shook with long-suppressed mirth as he made his way through the dimly lit campgrounds. It felt good to laugh. Damn good. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d found much of anything to more than chuckle over. But the sight of that little lady perched on that shovel, her eyes as big as silver dollars.…He laughed even louder. She’d reminded him of a stick of dynamite, ready to go off at any second.

The humor vanished, and a frown replaced his grin. How the hell had that snake gotten in her camper? It hadn’t been poisonous, but it was no laughing matter. Most women were scared to death when they got within ten feet of a snake. And it was obvious that she traveled alone. Nobody to look out for her.

The thought brought him down faster than snow in an avalanche. If he had to, he’d make sure himself that her camper was secure. Besides varmints like that snake, some rodeoers were a shade on the rowdy side, especially as National Finals drew nearer. Lately he’d noticed some of them erring a little too far on the side of trouble. Another good reason to get out while he had a chance to finish on top.

And that list of reasons grew by the day. Dragging his aching body from bed each morning without someone’s help was still possible, but it wasn’t easy. He’d been kicked, stomped, thrown and just plain busted-up enough to make a decision. This was it, his last year—last chance—to have a double championship by winning the Saddle Bronc title and the All-Around Cowboy title with team roping. He’d been here before, a few years back, a little younger and a lot less hampered by injuries, but he’d missed winning both titles by a narrow margin. Being older and more experienced could give him a slight edge over the younger cowboys. But slight was stretching it. His riding and roping would have to be better than ever with no distractions.

He could do it, and then he’d head home to Texas a big winner. He’d shirked his responsibilities to the family ranch long enough, and he was ready to fix that. Sending his winnings home wasn’t enough anymore. His brother needed help with the place. Chace needed to be there. He wanted to be there.

As he neared his truck and horse trailer, the memory of the little bit of a woman came to mind again. Caramel-colored hair blended with chocolate-drop eyes to create a confection that tempted his sweet tooth. But damn, he was on a diet. No women until he had those gold buckles holding his belt together.

“Hey, Brannigan.”

Squinting, Chace could see his traveling and team roping buddy leaning against the truck with one boot propped against the side of the door. “Ray.”

“That last ride of yours was the best yet,” his friend answered.

When he reached the truck, Chace pulled his bronc saddle out of the back. “Hope the next one’s as good. Thanks for taking care of Redneck.”

“No problem.” Ray moved away from the door. “We gonna get a room, or what?”

Chace peered into the darkness in the direction of the camper he’d just left. “That little barrel racer, the one who beat out Cheryl. What’s her name?”

Ray tipped his hat back. “Ellie Warren. She’s one little bitty package.”

“Good with the barrels, too,” Chace agreed, thinking of her winning ride that night.

“Damn straight.”

Chace didn’t believe she was in any danger, but he did know she’d had a bad scare. It hadn’t escaped him that the lock on her door was a sorry excuse for security. If one of the boys in the crowd near her truck had been tipping the bottle a few too many times…She might be dynamite, but she wasn’t big enough to handle a drunken cowboy.

“Think you can pull the truck into that spot over there?” He pointed to a space barely able to accommodate his stretch-cab pickup.

Ray scratched at a day’s growth of beard and shot him a curious look. “Might be a problem with the trailer.”

“Unhook it. I’ve got to check on something. I’ll make sure the horses are settled when I’m done.” He opened the truck door, tossed in the saddle where it would be safe from the elements and grabbed a piece of baling wire from behind the seat.

“I’ll throw the bedrolls in the back,” Ray offered as he opened the other door and slid behind the steering wheel.

“This won’t take long.”

Less than a minute later, Chace stood at Ellie’s camper door and rapped his knuckles hard on the aluminum. When he didn’t get a response, he pounded with his fist. From inside, he heard movement along with muffled curses that would make any cowboy proud.

“Who’s there?”

“Chace Brannigan.” The door flew open, forcing him to jump back to keep from being smacked with it.

Ellie stood in the opening with her fists planted on her hips and a scowl on her face. “Now what?”

Her choice of sleeping attire caught him by surprise and rendered him speechless. Boys’ cotton pajamas covered with brown bucking broncs on a tan background swallowed up her slight frame. The hem of the arms covered her hands, and the legs pooled at her feet where bare toes peeked beneath the too-long cuffs.

Movement forced his attention up when she crossed her arms. The action revealed a fair amount of smooth, tanned cleavage where the front gaped open, and he couldn’t stop looking.

“What’s the matter? Haven’t you ever seen a pair of pajamas?”

Chace swallowed.

“Well?”

“Not since I was eight years old. Not like…those.” He forced a grin and hoped it didn’t resemble a leer. Raising his gaze to lower the skyrocketing heat that threatened to cause him some embarrassment at any moment, he took in the angry line of compressed lips. Dark eyes flashed a warning, framed by unruly waves of silky hair from the braid she’d unleashed.

“What are you doing here, Brannigan?”

The ice in her voice brought him back to his senses. “The door.”

Her foot tapped beneath the loose pajama fabric. “What about it?”

“Close it and lock it behind me.”

“That’s the most intelligent thing you’ve said.” Her arms dropped to her sides, ending the display of suntanned flesh. Reaching out, she pulled the door shut, slamming it in his face.

He heard the snap of the lock and, “Good night, again, Mr. Brannigan.”

Chuckling, he shook his head. He stuck the wire into the keyhole and wiggled it while he turned the handle.

“What in the name of heaven are you—” the door pulled open to reveal her wide eyes and pale face “—doing?”

“That lock might as well be a piece of tape.” He removed the wire and held it up to show her. “Baling wire. Staple of any cowboy’s life.”

“I know that,” she snapped.

“You’re about as safe as—”

“I know that, too.” Biting her lip, she sank back against the counter and shook her head. Fear shimmered in her eyes. “Now what do I do?”

He stepped up and into the camper. “Long-term, we put a sizable lock on that door.”

“We?”

He shrugged. “Okay, I’ll put a lock on it.”

Her chin tilted up. “It’s my camper. My home.”

He considered her choice of words. “Maybe a home security system—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said in a huff, pushing away from the counter. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

The thought of someone so small sleeping unguarded made his head ache. “What about tonight?”

Her brows drew together in a thoughtful frown, and one finger tapped her full lips.

“Hell’s bells,” he muttered at an imagined possession of those lips with his.

“Bells!” She spun around and bent over to dig through a cabinet tucked at the base of the over-the-cab sleeping area.

He bit back a groan and pried his gaze from the view of horses galloping across her delectable behind. He didn’t look back again until he heard a loud, nerve-rattling clang.

With a wide grin on her face, Ellie held up a large, brass cowbell. She gave him a push toward the door. “I’ll tie it on the doorknob. If anybody dares to touch that door during the night, I’ll be up in a flash.”

Considering how hard he’d had to knock, Chace doubted a shotgun blast would be enough to wake her, but he kept his opinion to himself. His truck was parked close enough that if the bell did ring, there’d be enough commotion to rouse him.

Her hand at his back, she gave him another shove. “Go on. Try it. But give me a second to get it tied on.”

Clamping his mouth shut on the protest he knew she’d argue with, he stepped out into the quiet night and took a deep breath. Crisp air filled his lungs as he heard the far-from-melodic clunk of the bell hitting the door as it closed behind him.

“Okay, try it,” she said from the other side.

He turned around and grabbed the knob, shaking it gently.

Clang. Clang.

The door opened a crack, and she peeked out at him, the bell jangling loud enough to wake the dead. “It works!” Her smile dimmed. “I guess I owe you…again.”

“It was your idea,” he reminded her.

She opened the door wider, her smile turning grateful. “Yeah, it was. But thanks for checking on the door. I wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t shown me.”

He gazed at a figure that had to be a stretch to make five feet. His fingers itched to dip into the soft, buttery waves framing her face. Her features were as diminutive as the rest of her, except for the full, lush lips of her wide mouth and her enormous brown eyes. “My pleasure…again.”

He made his way back to his truck, wondering how such a pint-size woman could cause the way-too-tight fit of his jeans. Hell, he was thirty-three years old. Old enough to be her…A dozen words crossed his mind— brother, uncle, cousin—but only one stuck. Lover.

“Forget it, Brannigan. She’s a kid,” he reminded himself while he checked his roping horse and Ray’s. But his body told him she was a woman, in spite of her childlike size.

In the back of his pickup, he pulled his boots off and stretched out on the empty bedroll next to his buddy. Ignoring the snores, he folded his arms behind his head and studied the star-studded black sky. The night air held a definite chill he hoped would cool the flames licking at him. He needed to get his mind back on the business of rodeo. He’d never been responsible for anyone but himself. He’d be crazy to get involved with anything other than winning those buckles and saving his family’s ranch, the Triple B—especially a woman.

Hell’s bells, he thought with a sigh and a silent chuckle. What would the minibundle of trouble bring next?

The sound of pounding and a cowbell ringing jerked Ellie to a sitting position. With luck, she narrowly missed hitting her head on the low ceiling of the over-the-cab bed.

“What in tarnation is that awful racket?” joined the clanging of the bell.

A smile twisted Ellie’s mouth at the sound of the female voice announcing the identity of her visitor. “Hang on a sec, Reba.”

The noise ceased as she scrambled from her loft. She reached the door and opened it to offer an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.”

A head of garish red hair preceded the plump, middle-aged woman into the camper. Her suspicious gaze landed on Ellie. “What’s goin’ on here?”

“It’s a long story.”

Shoving back the too-long sleeves of the pajamas she’d snitched from one of her brothers, Ellie tried to decide the best way to explain the bell without going into details. Until she could wake up completely and come to terms with what had happened last night and her ridiculous reaction to the cowboy, she didn’t want to say too much.

Reba Tucker, kindhearted soul that she was, wouldn’t take the news of the snake lightly. The woman had traveled the rodeo circuit with her steer-roper husband for too many years to let the incident slide by with nothing more than a comment or two. No, Reba would make a big fuss over it, and Ellie didn’t want to deal with a hysterical mother hen.

And she didn’t want to mention Chace Brannigan. That’s all Reba would need to set her off on her favorite topic: Cowboys Make Great Husbands. Nate Tucker might be among the best of spouses, but Ellie didn’t want a man who had Wrangler across his butt, or Justin’s on his feet and a Stetson on his head. She didn’t particularly want any man. She’d never needed one yet.

Dragging her fingers through her sleep-tangled hair, Ellie sighed. “I noticed the lock on my door isn’t working right. Until I can have it checked out, the cowbell is a great alarm.”

Reba crossed her arms on her ample chest and leaned one hip against the counter. “That’s it? Dang, girl, all you had to do was say somethin’ to Nate. He’d have skedaddled as fast as a rabbit with a hound dog on his tail to the nearest hardware store and had you snugged up like a baby in a blanket in no time.”

With a grateful smile, Ellie steered the conversation away from her jerry-rigged alarm system. “Is Nate riding in Phoenix?”

Reba nodded. “We’re planning to stop at Laura’s for a day to see my new grandbaby. You gonna compete after the cutoff date for Finals?”

“I may stop at the ranch. I can get some practice in there. And it may be the last time I get to see the place.”

Reba’s mouth settled into a frown. “It’s your home, girl. Yours and your brothers. You aren’t still plannin’ to sell it, are you?”

But it hadn’t been her home since she’d left it six years ago, when Matt turned eighteen, to travel the rodeo circuit. She had only returned when it was absolutely necessary, avoiding the memories she had trouble dealing with. She refused to let the ranch take her brothers’ lives as it had their parents’. Once it was sold, maybe she could finally escape the past.

Gripping the edge of the counter with one hand, she gathered her determination. “I’m selling. There won’t be any more working themselves into an early grave.”

Reba placed her hand on Ellie’s. “That was a freak accident that took your folks. That sorta thing don’t happen—”

“Ranching is a back-breaking, money-sucking way of life.” Ellie pulled away as gently as possible and shoved aside the painful memory of her parents. She couldn’t bear to think about the accident except to remind her that she had to make sure nothing like it would ever happen to the boys.

“They’re adults, Ellie. Let them make their own decisions.”

“I know that. I finished raising them after the folks—” Ellie stopped and took a deep breath. “I know the dangers of ranching. I can’t let anything happen to them. Especially after Matt broke his collarbone last year. It could’ve been worse. Much worse.”

“You weren’t even lookin’ to sell the place,” Reba pointed out as she’d done several times.

Ellie sighed and looked away. It was turning into the same old tiresome argument. Reba couldn’t see the dangers she did. There were too many things that could happen to her brothers on the ranch. And too many memories for her. Next, Reba would ask what she planned to do. Other than move to the city, she didn’t have an answer. Getting the boys off the ranch came first. After that, she’d worry about how to support herself. If she could qualify for National Finals, she might make enough money to see her way clear. For a while.

“I guess I’d better get the trailer hooked up,” she said without looking at her friend. “It’s past time to get on the road.”

“Nate’s probably wonderin’ where I’ve got off to,” Reba said, letting the subject drop, and turned for the door. “You take care until Phoenix. We’ll see you there.”

“You bet.”

When Reba had gone, Ellie opened the closet door to reach for a towel. Catching her reflection in the full-length mirror on the inside of the door, she stared at the image looking back at her and grimaced.

“No wonder Chace Brannigan was gawking at you last night,” she announced to the rumpled figure before her. Turning sideways, she grabbed at the back of the excess pajama fabric to pull it tight across her body and scrutinized the effect.

With a disgusted grunt, she released the material. What did she care if she didn’t have the kind of curves men panted over?

She quickly changed into her clothes from the night before and grabbed a clean set, ready to hit the showers and eager to get on the road. But when she pushed open the camper door, the first thing she saw was the cowboy who’d rescued her the night before. He was obviously headed for the showers, a towel draped around his neck.

When he didn’t look her way, she breathed a sigh of relief and ducked into the camper. Ignoring the clippity-clop of her heart, she waited until she felt safe to leave.

She wasn’t interested in a cowboy, couldn’t be, even if he was the current leading saddle bronc rider in the country and sexy as sin, to boot. She knew all about his kind. She’d met too many “my way or no way” cowboys. Hadn’t she proven she could do it alone? Besides, rodeoers ended up on ranches. She wanted desperately to leave the past and that kind of life behind. Nothing would stop her. And she didn’t need anyone’s help. The sooner she got on the road, the sooner she could put some distance between herself and one particular, bossy cowboy.