Читать книгу Rodeo Dreams - Sarah M. Anderson - Страница 12

CHAPTER THREE

MESQUITE WAS NOT a bad town.

June kept telling herself this as she slowly cruised the strip with her laptop propped against her thigh, searching for a network connection. She had two days to finish the paper for her Twentieth Century American Frontier class before she had to muscle her way back onto a bull.

Five days after she’d driven away from Travis Younkin, she was still steamed. He might not be able to keep her out of the arena, but she knew he was going to fight her every single step of the way, the whole time thinking he was being chivalrous and protective.

The argument in the parking lot ran through her head again. What had he meant, warning her to be careful around Mitch? The one guy open to the possibility of a woman bull rider, and she was supposed to keep her distance?

And she wasn’t supposed to be worried about Travis? He was the best rider on the circuit and the one who most wanted her gone. There’d been a moment when she’d been sure he was going to press the issue in a physical way...

Except he hadn’t. He’d stepped back. Yes, he’d called her sweetheart, but he hadn’t kissed her. Because she hadn’t invited him to.

She shivered at the memory of how he’d looked at her when he’d said he was a man of his word. He’d wanted to kiss her, that look had said. Wanted to very much.

And yet he hadn’t.

She’d never been a buckle bunny—she’d get her own damn buckle, thank you very much—but in that moment, she’d felt like she was seventeen again, watching Travis Younkin nail ride after amazing ride and wondering what it would be like to chase just the one buckle—his.

He’d proven himself to be an honorable man. The wreck on No Man’s Land hadn’t changed that. If anything, it had made Travis, the bull rider, more fascinating. He’d survived something that would have killed a lesser man and come back for more. Clearly, he was something more.

He was an honorable man who didn’t want her to ride.

Fine. That was the way it was. He was another man she had to prove wrong. The only difference was, she was attracted to this man. And that was a problem. When Red hit on her, he was trying to put her in her place—let her know she was nothing more than a girl among men. But Travis? He took her need to ride as a personal insult.

All the more reason for her to get on a bull in two days’ time.

Finally, she spotted Apollo Coffee Shop. Coffee shops usually had free Wi-Fi. Free was the important point.

Jackpot! She had a connection. She parked as far away from the building as she could while maintaining the link.

It had taken a lot of planning to get permission to finish her final semester online. She’d taken several courses out of order, and curried serious favor with important professors to make sure the chips would fall in her favor. She’d even invited the Native Studies chair to a tribal wedding and funeral so that he could document indigenous ceremonies firsthand.

If there was one thing June hated, it was being documented.

But it had paid off. She would finish her final eighteen credit hours online. She’d left campus during spring break and driven to the Illinois rodeo to twist Mort’s arm into letting her on the TCB Ranger Circuit.

That had been the deal. Her boss, Joseph Yellow Robe, and the Real Pride Ranch he owned, would kick in the seed money if—and only if—she finished college. He hadn’t been happy about her long-distance learning plan, but she’d convinced him that the sooner she got on a professional bull and earned enough money to live above the poverty line, the sooner she’d be able to get back into the classroom as a teacher.

Right after she finished this paper.

After her quick purchase, with green tea in one hand, iced water for Jeff in the other, she settled back into her seat. The car was a disaster zone, what with Jeff shedding on the sleeping bag in the back and two days of fast-food wrappers all over the place, but it was easier to think about the New American Frontier out here than inside where hipsters and past-their-prime yuppies blew wads of cash she didn’t have on organic, shade-grown, fair-trade coffee.

At least tonight, she could crash at a friend of a friend’s—if they were home. No one had picked up the phone yet.

“Could be another night in the car,” she muttered. Another in a long string of nights in the car. On hot nights, Jeff slept on the floor, legs twitching as he chased prairie dogs and jackrabbits in his sleep. On cold nights, he hefted his bulk onto the backseat with her. “We can handle the car, right, boy?” The only response she got was his wet nose on the center console, and the thump of his tail in the back. At least one male liked her.

She dove into her work.

* * *

FOUR HOURS LATER, June was far more interested in getting a third cup of tea than in the sociopolitical tensions of the New Frontier. All she could do was watch the people and hope her eyeballs uncrossed sometime soon.

Even from the parking lot, the people-watching was good. Mesquite was a hopping place at rush hour. Standard pickups dominated the traffic, but there were also minivans and sedans.

Traffic hadn’t just picked up at the intersection. People were pouring into the Apollo drive-thru. Still, the actual parking lot was fairly empty. Not another car within four spaces.

Until a Bronco that sounded like it had left its muffler by the side of some dirt road pulled in three spaces down from her. The windows were tinted, but the passenger’s was down, and what sounded like old-fashioned country music wafted toward June. She had a clear view of the occupants and darn it, she couldn’t help taking a look.

The passenger removed his cowboy hat. The dark hair, the carved jaw—was that the Brazilian?

June watched in shock as the Brazilian leaned over and apparently kissed the heck out of someone. That someone was kissing him right back. She could only see the back of the Brazilian, but hands were everywhere as the two threw caution to the wind.

What little she knew of the guy said he wasn’t the kind who made out in the front seat of a Bronco in a parking lot. She knew she shouldn’t look, but she couldn’t stop. The kiss went on and on. And on.

She looked away to blot out the hot and heavy next door, and found herself thinking about the glimpses she’d had of Travis Younkin unbuckling his pants behind a see-through gate.

Not that she’d seen much—all the guys wore compression shorts underneath their jeans for support—but still, he’d been a whole lot closer to naked than he had been when the jeans were up. She’d seen the tail end of a wide, raised scar just below the bottom of his shorts. It’d made her hurt for him.

Despite the scar, he’d still had the kind of Wrangler butt cowgirls sang songs about. His legs were muscled, the tight bike shorts highlighting each curve—and bulge. Not that she was the kind of girl who stared at bulges. Not for very long, anyway. Just enough to know that he bulged in all the right places. Combined with the intense way he looked at her and that near-beard he wore? If she wasn’t so mad at his overbearing, Travis-knows-best attitude, she’d be forced to admit that the man was hot. Well, he’d always been hot. But now he carried a certain amount of smolder about him. She wondered if he even realized how attractive he was. Probably not. He hadn’t acted like a man who knew he could turn a woman on with one focused gaze.

Luckily, the chances of someone forcing her to admit that Travis Younkin still had it were slim and none. She couldn’t let her appreciation of the hotter things in life distract her. And she wouldn’t. She needed to ride to earn enough money to get off—and stay off—welfare, but more than that she wanted to prove she was good enough to ride with the big boys.

That she was good at something.

Finally, the action in the Bronco broke up. When the Brazilian turned to put his hat back on, she hoped to hell she was invisible. That didn’t stop her from watching the Brazilian in her rearview mirror as he walked into Apollo, next to—

Next to a tall, gangly cowboy?

Mitch?

Mitch Jenner?

June spun around in her seat, wondering if her eyes had crossed too far, but the image didn’t change. Two cowboys were walking into Apollo. They weren’t touching—they didn’t even look like they were talking, which was much more par for the course.

The Brazilian? And Mitch?

“Jeff, you stay put,” she said as she shoved her laptop back into her bag and crammed it under the front seat. Within seconds, she was out of the car, trying to look casual as she checked out the Bronco. The Brazilian had left the window down, and it was obvious there was no one else in there.

The Brazilian. And Mitch. Making out in the Apollo parking lot. And then acting like they hadn’t.

What the heck was she supposed to do now? If this were common knowledge, it would be common enough that she’d know it. After all, she knew that the Preacher was married, and that wasn’t nearly as scandalous as gay bull riders.

Her mind still reeling, June found herself walking into the coffee shop. She would have that third cup of tea. Heavy on the milk.

“Hey, Girlie!”

“Mitch! The Brazilian! Funny meeting you here.”

The Brazilian was watching her closely. Had he seen her sitting in her car?

“He likes to get here early, scope out the arena, get the lay of the land,” Mitch said, nodding to the Brazilian and answering the wrong unasked question as he ordered two black coffees. “Do the tourist thing. Buy postcards for the folks back home.”

“So, you two are travel buddies?”

“Sure,” Mitch said, still as casual as could be. “I’m trying to teach him English, but he don’t learn so good. I think he’s got a lousy teacher, though. What about you? You’re here early.”

That was a nice redirection. “Finishing my senior year online. I’ve been working on a paper.”

“And Apollo has Wi-Fi? Smart.” He reached over and playfully tapped her forehead, but then his finger trailed down the side of her face. Was he flirting? “You’re one smart cookie, Girlie.”

Girlie? Cookie? Maybe Mitch had a thing for Bogart movies.

The Brazilian tapped Mitch with the tip of his boot. She barely caught the movement. “Oh, yeah. He wants to know where you learned to ride,” Mitch said, dumping four sugars into his coffee. The Brazilian left his black.

Mitch got all of that from the nudge of a boot?

“On this ranch on the edge of the reservation where I grew up. Just some crazy kids with a whole lot of cattle to keep tabs on.”

“Ah, an organic cowgirl. I bet you run some mean barrels, too.”

June blushed. “Well, actually...”

Mitch looked her up and down, his eyes moving so slowly that June felt heat flush her cheeks. “So, if you’re an all-around cowgirl, what are you doing here riding bulls? I understood that there was a lot of money in barrel racing.”

That question. Again. It was always some version of, What’s a nice girl like you doing on a bull like this? She narrowed her eyes. “This is who I am and I don’t have to apologize to anyone for that, you know?”

Neither man moved. She saw the look that passed between the two of them. Then the Brazilian’s gaze darted out to the parking lot.

“So,” Mitch said, as he moved to a table by the window, “where are you parked?”

It was true. Mitch and the Brazilian were a couple. “The Crown Victoria out there. My mutt Jeff’s in the back. He’s my traveling partner.”

“Your mutt Jeff? Mutt and Jeff? Cute, Girlie.” He still sounded normal, but his eyes had an edge that said secret, loud and clear.

She needed to get this train back on track—and fast. Mitch and the Brazilian were the closest thing she had to allies right now. She couldn’t undermine that support. “Hey, just so you know, I really appreciated your help last week. I don’t think Travis would have let me on that bull if you two hadn’t backed me up.” She knew she still would have gotten on Hallowed, but thanks to Mitch and the Brazilian she hadn’t had to force the issue. “You said you’d seen me ride?”

Mitch appraised her for a second, his mouth still smiling and his eyes still not. After a quick glance over at the Brazilian, he followed her lead. “Last summer, I broke my arm in a few new and interesting places. I went home to Wyoming to heal up and spend some time with my momma.”

She’d been in Wyoming in August. “At Cheyenne?” Just some local rodeo, but five other women had shown up, ready to ride. The closest she’d come to a real competition yet.

“Couldn’t stay away, cast or not.” He snickered. “Downright painful to watch all those amateurs out there being bucked off fifth-class bulls in three seconds. I could have won that one, hands down.” He sighed wistfully. “I remember you. You and those other girls—on the same bulls. You made the eight seconds in both the long go and the short go—one other girl made six, right?” June nodded in appreciation. She was flattered he remembered. “You don’t forget a name like Spotted Elk,” he added.

“Can you believe I only got three hundred and fifty dollars and the hotel room for that? The winning guy went home with fifteen hundred dollars, and I had a better score!” Frustration bubbled up again. She was just as good as the men, but was always paid a fraction of the purse.

“I know. That’s why you’re here.”

“Damn straight. If I can get past the egos out there and get on the bulls, I can ride with the best of them.”

“Not gonna be easy,” Mitch said with a snort. “This is Travis’s comeback year—if Red doesn’t knock him out first.” The Brazilian nodded.

“Who’s the bigger problem?”

Mitch made a big show of blowing on his coffee and then testing it carefully. “So, how did you get your TCB permit?”

The flying lead change whipped June’s head back. “What? How do you know about my permit?”

“I know lots,” Mitch said, looking like the cat that had a cage full of canaries to choose from. “I know that you lied on the application, slept with Chet Murphy—”

“The TCB president?” These were the rumors floating about?

“—that Travis begged and pleaded with Mort to kick you out, and when that didn’t work, he beat the tar out of him, or was it that Mort had it coming after calling Travis a has-been?” The Brazilian wasn’t close to smiling, but his eyes were laughing even as June began to sweat. Had this all really happened? Mitch gleefully continued, “Right. Mort had it coming, and then Travis went to find you and finish the job, or sweep you off your feet, or was it to teach you a lesson?”

“What— Who— What—”

“Oh, Girlie, it was all over the bar. Everyone had a slightly different opinion on what, exactly, happened, but the general consensus was that Travis was upset, Mort showed him your permit and he stormed off to find you.”

She stared at him. “And?”

“That’s all anyone knows. No one has seen you until about twenty minutes ago, and Travis wasn’t talking.”

So no one knew about the argument in the parking lot? The best she could do was swallow down another sip of tea.

“Now, it seems to me that you’re suddenly a little too guilty-looking for your own good, Girlie. You’re acting like Travis did, in fact, come looking for you and I’m just dying to know how it went down. The rumors were getting pretty wild there by closing time. Now, he thinks that Travis tried to talk you out of riding, and you told him to shove it,” Mitch said with a tilt of his head to the Brazilian. “But not me. I think it got physical. I’ve got money on you putting him in his place, just like you did Red. I know you didn’t break anything, because he rode the next night, but he didn’t make the time. He lost. And then he left.”

“Holy crap,” she said in a rush. The mountain she had to climb suddenly seemed miles taller. Everything she was afraid of—summed up neatly by a cowboy in a coffee shop. People were already talking about her and Travis. About what had happened between them in the dark.

No one here knew about her violent father or her mother, who’d spent most of the past twenty years blowing their welfare checks on beer. June wanted a fresh start. She had grand dreams of being June Spotted Elk, Professional Bull Rider—to have everyone know she was good at something, good for something.

If people were already talking about her like this, her reputation on the circuit wouldn’t be any different from her reputation at home.

How the hell was she going to do this?

“You gonna tell me what happened?” Mitch prompted, his gaze focused on her face. “I like to get my gossip straight from the source.”

This was all just gossip. She could handle gossip. She took a deep breath and gathered her wits. “How do I know I can trust you? I tell you, you tell Red, and the next thing I know, I’ve got my own personal peanut gallery of ill-wishers.”

The Brazilian snorted in disgust as Mitch rolled his eyes. “Girlie, please. Like I talk to Red.”

“So you tell me who I have to worry about. Red or Travis?”

He didn’t hesitate this time. “Red. I’ve seen you twice now, June, and you are one hell of a rider—as good as anyone else out there, present company included.” The compliment sent her heart thudding. “Travis won’t like losing to a girl, but if you beat him fair and square without getting yourself killed, he’ll respect that.”

It’d sure be nice to have Travis’s respect. To have him look at her with those beautiful brown eyes and know he was on her side.

However, after last week, she didn’t think that would ever happen.

“But Red won’t?” she asked.

Mitch looked at the Brazilian, who rolled his hand as if to say go on. “When Paulo first showed up, his rope just happened to get cut right before his second ride.”

Paulo? So he did have a name. “Red did it?”

“No proof. It’s not like CSI makes arena calls for a busted rope.”

Whoa. Cutting a rider’s rope was lower than low. “The funny thing is, Travis warned me to watch out for both Red and you.”

Mitch snickered and then choked on his coffee. Yeah, the more time she spent with him, the more laughable that idea seemed to her, too. “Did he now? Well, I have a reputation to uphold. I am the Heartbreak Kid.”

“I gathered.” She glanced to Paulo the Brazilian, but he was pointedly watching some blonde in supershort running shorts.

As if he had to live up to his title, Mitch leaned forward and whispered, “Where are you staying tonight, Girlie?”

“I’ve got a friend I’m going to crash with.” She hoped.

“Oh?” His eyes danced.

She felt the blush warm her cheeks. “Actually, a friend of a friend. I’ve never met them before, but they said they had a couch. You?”

“All the finest that the Super 8 has to offer.” Paulo sighed.

“Mitch? Mitch Jenner?”

June looked up to see Running Shorts standing over them, her hands full of coffee. She had a look on her face that walked the line between shock and fury. Then she glanced down to June. By the time the woman had swept her eyes back to Mitch, the shock was gone, and there was nothing left but fury. “You’re back?”

“Bobbi Jean!” Mitch was already out of his chair, trying to spin her away from Paulo and June. “Wow! You look really—”

Bobbi Jean wasn’t having any of that. “You dared to show your face in this town again after—after—after—”

After what? Apparently, this was the Heartbreak Kid in action. And Bobbi Jean in her short shorts was not the sort of woman who took kindly to having her heart broken.

“Baby, let me explain,” Mitch managed to get out just before two cups’ worth of foam and espresso shots hit him full in the face. June waited for the screams of pain, but instead, Mitch said, “Aw, Bobbi Jean, honey—your iced mochas!”

“You—you—you!” Bobbi Jean couldn’t even get out a proper curse word. She hauled off and slapped him with enough force to send Mitch boots-over-butt onto the wet floor.

Bobbi Jean spun to face June. “He’s nothing but a lying, cheating bastard. Save yourself the heartache before he starts talking about taking you home to meet his mother.”

“We’re not—”

But June’s defense of Mitch was wasted on empty space. Bobbi Jean was peeling out of the parking lot as the rest of the patrons looked on in shock.

“Mitch! Are you okay?”

“I knew there was something about that girl I liked,” he said as June and Paulo hefted him up off the floor. “Her right hook!”

“Yeah, you’re fine,” June replied as she looked at his face. She didn’t see a red mark. “Didn’t she hit you?”

“She tried,” Mitch answered as they headed out to the Bronco. “I learned long ago that it’s best to roll with the punches. And the slaps.”

“You fell on purpose?”

“Sure did.” He grinned as Paulo popped the trunk, and Mitch stripped off his sodden shirt. “You don’t get to be the Heartbreak Kid without picking up some tricks.”

From his position in the backseat a few spaces over, Jeff whined. He wanted out. People tended to cower in fear at the sight of him running free in broad daylight, so June dug out his leash.

“That’s your mutt?” Mitch sounded properly impressed as he tucked in and buttoned up. “That’s a dog?”

“I said he was a mutt. I didn’t say what kind,” she replied as Jeff wagged his tail. Sheesh, fifty pounds of dog had Mitch more scared than eighteen hundred pounds of bull. “He’s a coydog. Part coyote, part something.” Maybe a coyote and a German shepherd, because Jeff had that long, thin nose and thick, shaggy fur that both animals sported, but everywhere a German shepherd was dark, Jeff was white and red. He was about thirty pounds lighter than most German shepherds, but close to the size of the coyotes that slipped through the Plains grasses in the dark, like Nagi spirit animals.

“Is he tame?”

Jeff answered the question by planting his paws on Paulo’s chest and licking him to within an inch of his life.

After he regained his footing and the shock passed, the Brazilian actually smiled. He pulled Jeff’s paws off him and set him on the ground, but then crouched down to eye level. “Oi, garoto,” he said as he rubbed Jeff’s ears.

She’d never heard Paulo speak before. His voice was soft and gentle, the mark of a man who knew how to handle animals. “He likes you,” she said, hoping to hear his Portuguese accent again.

“Or he’s just tasting you,” Mitch added from a safe distance.

“Trust me, I know the difference.”

Mitch’s eyes swept over her again with a look that she now recognized. She braced herself.

“But does Travis?” Mitch asked.

Travis did, but she didn’t think that “afraid of coydog” would do the man any favors. She needed Travis to be as much on her side as possible, and keeping the gossips at bay was the best way to do that. If Travis wasn’t going to talk about what had happened the other night, then she wasn’t, either. End of discussion.

“I guess you’d have to ask Travis that, wouldn’t you?”

The Brazilian looked up at Mitch and nodded his head to Jeff.

“Fine,” Mitch snorted, sounding unhappy with June’s answer. “Paulo wants to know where you got a half coyote like that.”

They had to be a couple. They were too much in sync, too easily understood with quick glances and quicker nods.

“Um, he found me—when I was twelve.” On the one-year anniversary of Dad being arrested for murder and the same day June got her first period, actually, but those were the sorts of details that made men green around the gills. “I trained him, and he’s never left me, not even when I went to college.”

“They let you keep that in the dorm?”

“Mitch. Don’t think coyote. Think mutt. A well-trained mutt.” To illustrate her point, she dropped the leash and snapped her fingers. Within seconds, Jeff was seated at her side. Another snap, and he was back in the car, patiently waiting in the front seat. “And they didn’t let me keep him in the dorm. He lived in the bushes around campus for a year until I got my own place.”

The Brazilian grinned, his normal reserve completely gone. Maybe it wasn’t too hard to understand a man who never spoke, because his eyes seemed to be saying, Can I pet your dog again?

June let out a low whistle and Jeff came bounding back out of the car. “Go on,” she said. He didn’t need another invitation. He and the Brazilian hopped up onto the Bronco’s tailgate and began to play-wrestle like they were childhood buds.

“He, uh, he ever bite anyone?” Mitch asked, cautiously moving in to pat Jeff.

“No one who didn’t have it coming.”

She imagined they made quite a sight, the Indian woman, the Brazilian and the Heartbreak Kid, all standing around a dog who looked like a wild animal and acted like a puppy in a coffee shop parking lot. Good people-watching, June noted with a smile.

“We’re getting dinner,” Mitch said as Jeff licked his hand. “You want to come?”

Dinner sounded good, in an expensive kind of way. She needed to keep her cash to get her through the rest of the weekend. “Nah. I’ve got dinner waiting for me.” She hoped. Still no messages on her phone. “You guys go on.”

“You going to be here tomorrow?”

“Probably. But I might swing by the True West store down in Dallas.” Mitch’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I want to get a better shirt for the Real Men Wear Pink thing—every Friday night, right? You want to come?”

Mitch’s mouth flopped open with the “yes” on the tip of his tongue, but the Brazilian shook his head no as he slapped Mitch on the shoulder. At the sudden movement, Jeff let out a low growl.

“That’s all right, Girlie. But if you find anything good, you tell me.”

“Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow night, okay?”

Paulo stuck out one hand, even as the other one was getting in a last rub on Jeff’s ears. They were all still friends.

Which Mitch confirmed when he said, “Super 8, Girlie. If you need anything.”