by Drake, Laura
Crash!
Katya flinched, ducked, and covered.
“It’s just the band, hon.” Bree reached out, but didn’t touch. “They’re in the bar, through that doorway.” She waved a hand behind her.
The twang of a steel guitar followed the crash of cymbals.
Katya lowered her arms. The band swung into a rolling country beat. The wall vibrated with the bass.
Bree wiggled in her seat and cocked her head at her husband. “We’re going to dance, right, love?” She had to raise her voice to be heard.
The cowboy gave his wife a look that would melt plastic. “You bet we are.”
Katya pushed her chair back. “I’m going to catch a cab. I’ll see you in Tucson.”
Bree stood. “Oh, no you don’t. No better place to learn cowboy culture than in a country bar.” She grabbed Katya’s hand. “Max, honey, will you take care of the bill? I’m going to show this Yankee the lay of the land.”
“Be happy to, darlin’.” Max donned his hat and reached for his back pocket. “You ladies save me a dance now, you hear?”
“Bree, I’ve had a rough day—”
“That’s okay, Cinderella, we’ll have you home before your coach turns into a pumpkin, don’t you worry.”
It was easier just to go along. She’d have one drink, observe the local fauna, then call a cab. End of fairytale. She allowed herself to be towed along to the arched doorway to the bar.
Bree released her wrist when they stepped inside the low-lighted room. The long mirrored bar was familiar, as were the round wooden tables crowding the floor. Other than that, it didn’t look anything like the trendy bars back east.
Near the door to the street, men’s neckties hung stapled to the ceiling. A sign on the wall served notice that ties worn in would be cut off and kept as trophies. Sawdust and peanut hulls littered the floor. Past the generous, spotlighted dance floor, the band played. The men resembled the fans at the events: razor-creased jeans, cowboy hats, and huge belt buckles. The drums advertised the band’s name, Goat Rodeo.
She leaned over to shout in Bree’s ear. “They have rodeos with goats? Surely they’re too small to ride.”
Bree laughed for a long time. When she got herself under control, she yelled back, “Hon, that’s country for a screwup. Like a snafu.”
“Oh. Who knew?”
“Only everyone west of the Mississippi.” She patted Katya’s hand. “No worry. We’ll have you talking country in no time. You’ll be ‘ya’lling’ with the best of them.”
The band finished strong. The crowd noise that replaced it didn’t lower the decibels much. Bree eyed the few remaining empty tables, then grabbed Katya’s hand. They wended their way to the last one, standing front and center at the edge of the dance floor.
Katya recognized a few of the bull riders at the tables they passed.
“Hey, look, boys, it’s Magic Hands!”
Katya glared, searching for the source. Tucker Penny sat at a tiny table against the wall with Cam Cahill. Tucker raised his beer in salute. “How you doin’ tonight, ladies?”
Seeing no malice in his open grin, Katya waved before glancing to his sour-faced partner. A bit of malice there, maybe. She and Bree pulled out chairs and sat.
“Max will be here with drinks in just a minute, I’m sure.” Bree waved to a cowboy at the next table. “Hey, Brody, nice ride today. How’s Suzie?”
Katya was only half listening to Bree’s conversation when she felt a tap on her shoulder.
One of the bull riders at the next table leaned in and shouted in her ear. “Katya, what should I do for a strained hamstring?”
“Why didn’t you come see me after the event?”
“Too crowded. It’s not bad, I just strained it on the getaway.”
She shouted back, “Well, you should’ve come in. It’s too late for ice, but tonight take a hot bath. Do you have any liniment?”
He nodded.
“Rub that in good. When you get to Tucson, you come see me. Early. I’ll give you a deep tissue massage, and then I have a great poultice that should help.”
“I will. Thank you, ma’am.”
The band started up, cutting off any attempt at conversation.
Across the table of bull riders, a young kid who looked vaguely familiar put his hand over his heart and yelled, “Katya, I have a pain, right here. I think the only treatment is a dance. With you.”
The cowboys laughed.
“As ugly as you are, you’re gonna die before she dances with you, bud.”
“If you’re dying, call an ambulance. Your moaning is giving me a pain in the butt.”
Katya smiled, gave the cowboys a shooing wave, and turned back to the table. Max had arrived with three mugs of light-colored beer.
Katya didn’t drink often, but when she did she was a white wine girl. Beer tasted so heavy… and dusky. Oh well, in small quantities it was known to settle an upset stomach. She thanked Max and took a sip. Cold, with a light, earthy bite. Not as bad as she’d remembered.
Two beers later, Katya tapped her toes to the beat, watching Bree and Max dance. She’d never seen dancing like this. The couples made a big circle that rotated as they spun around the dance floor. No clinging and grinding here. Love and lust were reduced to smiles and tender looks. Not that the sexual tension was any less for the distance. In a less-is-more way, it was even sexier. Anticipation charged the air. Katya shifted in her seat.
“Would you like to dance?”
One more cowboy stood beside her, beer in hand. She would like to. But there was no way she was doing a dance she’d never seen, with a partner she didn’t know, in front of a room full of cowboys she would see at work tomorrow. “Thanks so much, but no, thank you.” She gave him a parting smile, and he wandered away. When the song ended, Bree and Max returned, hands clasped.
Sighing, Katya stood, enjoying the fuzzy buzz that had numbed her sore muscles and calmed her mind. Worries would be there tomorrow. Tonight she had enjoyed herself. “I need to get back to the hotel, and get some sleep. It’s been—”
“Oh no, you don’t.” Bree again reached for Katya’s hand. “I’ve been waiting for the right song. I’m going to teach you to line dance, girlfriend.”
Katya tried to retrieve her hand. “I can’t dance to this!”
Max sat, put his thumbs in his pockets, and leaned back. “You might as well go along. She’s got the bit in her teeth. There’ll be no stopping her now.”
Ladies in bright clothes flocked to the dance floor, their jewelry flashing in the lights. Only ladies.
It must have been the beer. Katya gave in and followed.
Bree pulled her next to her in a line, facing the crowd, but near the back. “Just watch what everyone else does, and follow them. You’ll have the Tush Push down in no time.”
“Tush what?”
The band drowned her out. A rollicking song with a strong one-two beat. Katya’s heart beat much faster.
Bree shouted the steps as she did them. “Step. Lift your heel. Step. Lift your heel. Shuffle, clap, rock. Back and forth.”
The women stepped in unison. Katya did her best to follow, a beat behind.
After three times through, she had it down. Maybe it was her Gypsy blood. Dancing, for her, was as natural as a swan swimming.
Bree laughed, and added a shimmy of her shoulders to the thrust of her hips. “See? Isn’t this fun?”
Katya tried the shimmy. It felt good. “Look at me, I’m a cowgirl!”
The women shifted, the front line stepping back, and her line moved to the front. Her eye caught a flash of gold hair next to the wall. Cam Cahill sat leaning back in his chair, legs crossed, watching with an appreciative gleam and a small smile.
When she faltered she looked down, concentrating on the steps. She added the roll of her hips as she turned, as she’d seen Bree do, knowing he watched. This was fun!
Cam couldn’t stop watching. Katya’s turquoise skirt pulled at his attention and the
crystals on her vest sparked in the lights. She looked like a Gypsy. So different than the cowgirls that surrounded her—a rare old gold coin in a pile of freshly minted dimes. And her hip thrusts had him sitting up and taking notice. Compact and curvy, her athletic body was fluid, made for dancing.
Made for sin.
“Hey, it’s Cool Hand Cam Cahill!” The tiny voice tried for sultry and missed. The blond buckle bunny sidled up, too close.
God, they get younger every year. “Howdy, miss.” He fingered the brim of his hat without actually tipping it.
“Buy a lady a drink?” She batted heavily mascaraed eyes, flashed two pert dimples, and teeth so perfect they must’ve set Daddy’s bank account back some.
Dimples like that had about done him in, last time.
“Well, normally, I’d be proud to, but Tuck and I are heading out in just a few. Maybe next time.” As the girl moved on to a rider at the next table, Cam craned his neck to catch a glimpse of turquoise, but the song had ended.
“Fancy that trainer, do you?” Tucker leered over his beer bottle.
“Not hardly.” He drained his beer. “That girl’s wound more than finger tight.”
“Maybe so, but wouldn’t you like some of that torque on your threads, partner?”
“Only on my shoulder. And if I tell Nancy you were looking at another woman, she’ll flat strip your threads, Tuck.”
He sought her out in the crowd. She leaned forward, arms on the table, hand in her hair. When Bree said something to her, she threw her head back and laughed, exposing her long elegant throat. What would it be like to bury his hands in all that hair? To kiss the hollow at the base of that neck, to pull in the exotic scent of her skin?
He looked away, shifted in his chair, giving him some room in his jeans and considered his next step.
And realizing that step would land him back in the dance.
Out of breath from the dance and laughter, Katya and Bree strutted back to the table.
“You’re a great dancer, a natural!” Bree fell into the chair.
“I could get into that line dancing thing, I’ll tell you that.” She reached for her beer and took a long swig, finishing it off. She snatched her purse from the back of the chair. “But I really need to get back to the hotel. I’ve got a long day tomorrow.” She raised her hand at Max, in a policeman’s “Stop.” “Do not get up. I’m getting a taxi, and I’m not listening to arguments. You two have a good time. I’ll see you down the road.”
Max shifted in his chair, but Bree put a hand on his arm. “We really enjoyed tonight with you, Katya. We’ll do it again, soon.”
“Thank you so much for dinner and the lessons.” She waved and walked away, picking her way through the crowded tables. Just short of the door, a feeling of being watched crawled over her. She glanced up.
Resplendent in a bloodred shirt with white roses on the yoke, Edward perched on the stool closest to the wall, glaring at her like a vulture on a branch. He raised his glass in a mock salute. He didn’t smile. Malevolence rolled off him so strong that his eyes glittered with it. A warning hiss and tail rattle sounded in her mind.
She looked longingly at the door, but forced herself to walk over.
He took a swig of beer.
“Edward, I hadn’t planned on coming. I ran into Bree and Max Jameson, and they insisted—”
“You’re saying that like I’d care.” His disdainful glance started at her hair, and ended at her shoes.
Well, she’d tried. She cut her eyes away, hit the access bar of the door, and walked into the chilly night. She was too tired and too happy to deal with him tonight. She’d explain in Tucson.
CHAPTER
10
The next Friday afternoon, Katya was first to the training room. She’d again chosen to drive to the venue in Tucson, avoiding the claustrophobia of the plane. She found she enjoyed seeing the country and the freedom of the open road. Still, this solution cut both ways. With so much time on her hands, her mind hopscotched between memories of Kandahar and worry for her future.
What if she couldn’t resolve her problems quickly enough to keep this job? She touched the outline of her dog tags, cradled between her breasts. What if she couldn’t pass the fitness for duty test to rejoin her unit? Idle time left her brain chasing nose-to-tail thoughts, which always ended in a spiral. A downward spiral.
Well, none of that was going to help her do her job today. She dropped her duffel in a corner and walked to the sink to wash her hands.
“Mr. Cahill, are you entering events at rodeos during the two-month break?” Buster’s high-pitched voice carried from the open doorway of the riders’ locker room.
“Yeah.”
“Which ones?”
“Haven’t looked at it yet.”
“How do you decide? There are some big purses in the Northwest, but it costs a lot to get there. I’m not sure—”
She heard the clash of metal as a locker slammed shut. “Listen, kid. I’m not here to wipe your nose. Figure it out.”
Cam strode into the therapy room wearing untied tennis shoes, cutoff sweats, and… nothing else. As he walked toward her, she watched his ropy calves flex, noted the corded muscles of his shoulders and arms. The short blond hair, baby face, and blue-sky eyes—Cam Cahill was killer-cute. She should be used to the fact by now. But the smile he’d given her last night was a far cry from today’s pinched lips.
And proof that the good-looking ones did have to be assholes.
Buster was sweet, star-struck, and respectful. He was only trying to figure out the big-league ropes. Much the same as she was. Her chest filled with the rarified air of indignation. She felt a serious huff coming on.
Cam lifted a hip onto the training table, dropped a forearm on his muscled thigh, and leaned in. “Hello, Katya.”
“Hello, Mr. Cahill. Lie down, please.” She snatched the generic, off-the-shelf oil from her duffel. She didn’t warm it in her hands first, just squirted it on the skin of his shoulder, and started the massage.
“Did you have a good trip out here?” His eyes swept her face and the corner of his mouth lifted.
The twerp was trying to flirt with her! “Well, I managed to figure it out.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Do you enjoy stepping on puppies, too?”
“Huh?”
His look was all innocence. Either he was a great actor, or he really didn’t get it. Neither prospect cooled the slow burn in her chest that worked its way up, tightening the cords of her neck and the muscle in her jaw. Noticing his jaw tighten, she relaxed her hands a bit. “Why were you so mean to Buster? He’s only trying to learn.”
His eyes changed. Hard, dark, and sharp. “Look, I’m fully aware of what you think of us, Miss—”
“Oh no, you don’t. It’s not ‘us,’ only you.” Luckily, her hands could work independent of her brain.
“You should leave stuff you know nothing about to those who do.” The hard words barely escaped through the firm line of his mouth.
“Oh, really? And how am I supposed to learn? Ask questions of veterans like you? That worked so well for Buster.” She lifted his arm, checking the range of motion of the shoulder. Not there yet. “Apparently you were born knowing this stuff. No one ever helped you on your way up, I’m sure.” That one zinged home. She saw it in the flick of his glance toward the ceiling.
“I just wonder.” She leaned over him, catching his gaze. “Buster won the last event, and you weren’t in the top ten. Could it be that you’re a little jealous?”
He sat up so fast his head almost collided with hers. Still, somehow he managed not to look at her. “I’m done.”
Hell. When would she learn when to shut up? She’d been in the right too, right up to the last zinger. That was just mean. Why did this guy get under her skin so easily?
When Cam hopped from the table, his knee wobbled. He grabbed the edge in a white knuckled grip. He shrugged off her hand on his arm, straightened,
and limped back to the locker room without a backward glance.
Four hours later, Katya sat folding towels in a closet-sized room separated from the training room by a swinging door. It was worth the niggling claustrophobia to be alone with her thoughts for a few minutes.
Thank God the event tonight had been… uneventful.
Except for the very real possibility of a trauma case at every event, she was enjoying this job. The cowboys were beginning to trust her. One had even agreed to try her heat-drawing poultice. He wouldn’t be sorry, Grand’s cure worked better than ice. She hoped this was only a beginning. She had ideas. Holistic healing could really help some injuries she’d treated, avoiding the need for meds and their unwanted side effects. She grabbed the next towel in the pile.
The cowboys’ polite deference was nice too. They acted as if they respected her as a professional, as well as a woman. She found it a welcome change from the macho, one-of-the-guys treatment that was the best she’d come to expect of every sports team she’d worked with in the past.
Then there was Mr. Big Man Cahill. She huffed a lock of hair out of her eyes. Maybe she’d gone a bit too far accusing him of jealousy. But she’d been so mad. Well, she wasn’t apologizing this time. He had so much knowledge he could pass on to the young riders. What would it hurt? He wasn’t going to be able to use his secrets much longer anyway. She felt badly that he was nearing the end of his career, but it happened to every athlete eventually. He had the opportunity to go out an ambassador, instead of a… weenie.
Then there was Edward. She’d tried to talk to him when, as usual, he’d arrived late. He looked down at her as if she were gum on his custom cowboy boot.
She sighed. Men and their egos. It seemed she’d done nothing but step on the fragile little things since she took this job. Which was odd, because, God knows, she had experience tiptoeing around egos. She’d have to wait to approach Edward when no one else was around. After all, she had a perfectly good explanation.
The door swung open, and as though her thought drew him, Edward walked in. He wasn’t much bigger than she was, yet when the door closed, he took up a lot of space. And too much air. Her breath came faster.
