by Drake, Laura
But she’d taken up the challenge Cam had thrown, only partially to get answers to her bull-riding questions. Other questions had popped up after talking to him that day. Questions she couldn’t ask. Like, who is Cam Cahill, really? The tantrum-throwing toddler? “Cool Hand” Cam Cahill taciturn champion bull rider? The hard-ass puppy-pounder? Or the almost sweet guy she’d met last weekend?
Those questions bugged her a lot more than the bull-riding ones.
“Ah, civilization!” She slowed at a clapboard, hand-lettered sign announcing the “Rowdy Rhodes Invitational BBQ and Bull Riding.” A pole-fenced outdoor arena, complete with bucking chutes and bleachers, lay on the right side of the road. But the party was clearly on the left. Rows of pickups stood parked in a field and she could see the crowd farther out.
She carefully pulled her rental car off the road, bumping over crop stubble to an empty slot beside a huge, mud-spattered truck with dualies and a cattle guard bumper.
Stepping from the car, she smoothed her layered emerald skirt, making sure the ruffled neckline of her muslin blouse wasn’t dipping below decency. She ran her palms over her pulled-back hair to smooth flyaways. Tucking her shyness away where it wouldn’t show, she threaded through the trucks to the crowd.
Half-barrel barbecues belched smoke and mouth-watering smells of roasting meat. Kids darted everywhere and blankets lay like a huge patchwork quilt in the shade of an oak tree.
“Magic hands!” Tucker Penny crossed the grass to her, soda bottle in one hand, loaded plate in the other. “Cahill owes me twenty bucks. I told him you’d show.”
Not sure how to react to that bit of news, she only half smiled.
Tucker looked around. “He was just here…”
“Don’t bother yourself. I’m going to wander around a bit.”
“Be sure to grab some food. The beef was raised on this land. It’s amazing.”
“Thanks.” On her way to the food tables, she waved to several of the riders she recognized, surprised to see that, even young as they were, many had wives and children. She picked up a plate and utensils, eyeing the platters of meat. They looked wonderful, and smelled better, but the thought of eating a cow that had been grazing where she was standing… she grabbed a hot dog instead, picked up a cup of iced tea and looked for a place to sit.
There were one or two tight slots at the crowded picnic tables, but sitting that close to people sent claustrophobia skittering over her skin on spider legs. Instead, she walked to where a crowd of cowboys stood in a circle, under a tree.
She took a bite of her hot dog, watching a young man in a wheelchair at the center. He looked like the other cowboys down to the gut-digging belt buckle, except for the leg that stretched straight out, strapped in a brace, ankle to hip.
An onlooker said, “That’s crap, Rowdy! I was there. You slapped that bull four seconds into the ride!”
The guy’s blue eyes twinkled when he smiled. “Yeah, but it’s only illegal if the judges see it.” He winked, and the cowboys laughed.
“When I’m back next season, I’m picking Bone Dancer, first chance I get. I don’t see why none of you wimps have been able to cover him. He’s honest; has the same trip every time.”
Another rider spoke up. “That bull brings the goods. I made it one jump out the gate on him. Pulled me down on his horns.”
Rowdy took a glass of tea from a pretty woman who Katya guessed was his wife. “Thank you, darlin’. Sanders, if you’d brace your knees when he goes vertical—”
“That was a bad wreck,” a deep voice whispered next to her ear.
She started, tea sloshing over her hand. Cam stood beside her, watching Rowdy. She chalked up her rapid heartbeat to surprise. “What happened?” she whispered back.
Cam touched her elbow and led her away. “Bulls that don’t buck hard are more dangerous than rank ones. A good bucker will throw you out of the way. If you come off a slow one, you’re gonna fall right under his hooves.”
She didn’t want to hear the rest of the story and yet she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Is that what happened?”
“Rowdy’d have been okay, but his spur hung in the rope. He was underneath and the bull kept spinning over him, helicoptering his knee.” He winced, and sucked air through his teeth. “Seemed like it went on forever. The bullfighters tried to get the bull off him. By the time they managed to cut the rope, about the only thing holding Rowdy’s leg together was the skin.” He took her empty plate from her and tossed it in a trash can.
The ground tilted, and her stomach staged a hot-dog rebellion. “No more.” Dizzy, she bent over.
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry.” His steadying hand clamped around her upper arm. “Are you okay? I thought, you being in sports medicine, it wouldn’t bother you.”
When her stomach settled a bit, she straightened to his worried frown. “I’m fine.” She dropped her dog tags back into the neck of her blouse.
Cam noticed. His gaze followed them, lingering on what she realized was her overexposed cleavage. She yanked her collar up. No problem with blood flow now; her face felt swollen with it. She tugged on the hem of her blouse, trying to ignore the warm band around her upper arm where his hand rested.
“You sure?”
At her nod, he let go, but stayed close when they resumed their stroll. It seemed the sweet guy had shown up today. She so liked that guy. Too bad he wasn’t around more often. “Rowdy said he was coming back on tour next year. Unfortunately, he doesn’t look like he’ll walk again, much less ride.”
“Oh, he’ll walk again. Ride? We’ll see. I wouldn’t bet against him.” When she wobbled on the uneven ground, his hand found her elbow again, steadying her. “Maybe he’s got a better line open to God than the doctors do.”
They passed the oak tree, where women stood, folding blankets and packing up belongings. They skirted a woman who crouched, trying to wipe a struggling toddler’s face.
“Rowdy was adamant. How can he be so sure?”
Cam looked at the ground. “Because, until he has something to step off onto, he needs to believe he can still do this.”
Is he talking about Rowdy? Their gazes locked, but then he flushed, and looked away.
“Rowdy’s a fighter. He’ll do okay.”
They reached the lip of the depression at the side of the road. She felt Cam’s hand at her back, and his other took hers. She flinched away.
His hat shaded his face, but his white teeth gleamed when he smiled. He kept her hand. “Where are you from that a gentleman doesn’t help a lady over a bar ditch?”
His smile was contagious. “Where I’m from they don’t have bar ditches.” It would take a stronger woman than she was to resist country-boy manners. Not to mention his charm.
She remembered working with the football team, where her sex was ignored to the point that players strutted naked in front of her. Both as a trainer and a soldier, she’d struggled with the balance, as a professional and a woman.
Dare she hope that here she could have both?
She squeezed Cam’s hand as they trotted down the incline, then back up the other side. The road was deserted, but he held her hand all the way across anyway.
“I’ll have to leave you now. I’ve got to get ready to ride.”
She noticed he was only an inch or so taller than she was. “Do you guys need medical support? I could—”
“We’ve got it covered. Today you’re a guest. Just enjoy yourself, Smitty.”
The tops of her ears burned. Only a man who held her heart had the right to call her that. “Please, not Kitty, not Smitty. It’s Katya.”
Cam squinted at her. The question in his eyes told her he’d seen too much. Again. “Noted. I’ll catch up with you after the bucking, okay?”
She nodded. He walked toward the business end of the arena, where cowboys were congregating. Disappointment pricked her happy mood, deflating it just a little.
A guest. Not “my guest.”
She appreciated the con
tents of Cam’s snug Levi’s as he walked away. Get a grip, Katya. And yet she couldn’t deny the rush of warmth, like a wine buzz through her body.
A gallon pickle jar, half full of money, sat on a TV tray beside the bleachers, a “Hello my name is” label stuck to the side. “For Rowdy” was written in red marker. Katya looked around to be sure no one was close, then reached in her purse, pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and stuffed it in the wide-mouth top.
In spite of his bravado, he probably needed it a lot more than she did.
The stands were filling as families crossed the road from the barbecue.
“Katya!”
Bree waved from the top of the stands. Katya climbed the ten risers to sit beside her new friend. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
The sun glinted in Bree’s chestnut hair. “We were running late and I had to help Max unload the bulls.”
“You didn’t get to eat?”
“I’m good, I’ve got peanuts.” She lifted a bag of unshelled nuts from the metal slat at her feet. “Want some?”
Happiness settled on Katya’s shoulders like a silk wrap. Light, rare, and special. Just for now, she wouldn’t rather be anywhere in the world than sitting down on a warm Texas evening, shelling peanuts, and watching a rodeo event. And looking forward to the cowboy who promised to be waiting at the end of it. “I’d love some.”
Bree chatted about home and her daughter as they watched the cowboys at the end of the arena donning chaps and rosining ropes. The rider prep at events was serious business, but the mood here was different; the men moved slow and relaxed, teasing and laughing together.
Katya tipped her chin at the chutes. “I don’t get it. They’re risking their necks and their careers in an event that doesn’t count.” She selected a peanut and split the shell with her thumbnail. “Why don’t they just mail Rowdy a check?”
“Because, city girl, this is where these guys come from. They learned to ride in arenas like this.” Bree watched the men, a wistful smile on her lips. “The PBR is what they do for money. This they do for love—the love of the sport, and the camaraderie. They’re helping Rowdy tonight, but next time it could be any of them.” She leaned her forearms on her knees. “Rowdy’s too proud to take charity. They all are. But getting together for a meal and a bucking? That’s family.”
Bree was right. The stress of competition and glitz of a televised PBR event masked what lay deeper. She could see they were a family of sorts, like her unit in Kandahar.
Yet once more, here she sat, on the outside, watching. “Yeah, I can see that.”
She hated the wistfulness in her voice.
You’re doing what you can to get back there. For now, that has to be enough.
“Ah, there’s the man of the hour now.” Bree pointed. Rowdy’s wife wheeled him to the end of the arena, next to the bucking chutes. She locked the wheelchair in place then squatted beside it, looking up into Rowdy’s face. She said something that made him smile and he cupped her cheeks, bringing her face to his for a kiss.
A bubble of lonely filled Katya’s chest, pressing on her lungs, her heart.
When a few men walked up, Rowdy’s wife stood, and turned to go. Katya saw Rowdy’s lingering caress on the inside thigh of her Wranglers. “How do the wives do it, knowing that when their husbands leave for work they could come back broken, or worse?”
Rowdy’s wife walked to the stands, putting an extra wiggle in her hips, checking over her shoulder to be sure Rowdy was enjoying the show. He was. Fine-boned and petite, she didn’t look strong enough to bear what must be a smothering burden.
Bree shook her head. “I met Max after his bull riding days, but I imagine the wives handle it like army wives do.” She looked at Katya, then quickly away. “Or cops’ wives.”
News certainly traveled fast here. She worried at the thought of her past being a headline on the PBR hot sheet. It took her mind off worrying that tonight could be the night that Cam got hurt.
They watched the men climb the chutes, preparing the first bull. Bree turned to Katya with a smug smile. “Besides, you think you have a choice in who you fall in love with? Dream on, sister.”
The sodium lights on poles around the arena flicked on. A man’s voice boomed from a portable mic he held. “Okay, folks, let’s get this thing started. First up, the baby on the block, Buster Deacon.”
Buster forced his hat down on his head, pushing his ears out vertical, then climbed onto the back of the chute. When he looked up, his face was the color of an overripe tomato.
The announcer laughed. “Ah, Buster, we’re just joshing you.”
The gate swung open and a sheep bolted into the arena. Katya couldn’t help joining in the laughter. The surprise on Buster’s face had been priceless.
“Come on now, guys. Run a rank one under that rookie. He may be a kid, but he’s been outriding y’all lately.”
An hour later, Cam stood behind the empty chutes. He stripped the tape from his glove, getting ready to leave. His friends did the same, removing spurs, and packing up equipment.
“Nice ride, Cam.” A rider stepped around him, duffel in hand.
“Thanks. You’ll get ’em next weekend, Brody.” Cam unbuckled his chaps. The bull had spun into his hand, first thing out the gate. He’d found the sweet spot, and set to spurring. It had felt so good, so easy.
Yet the glow from his win was snuffed out with the cold-water fact—these bulls were a tier below PBR level. It wasn’t long ago he was riding this easy at events.
But not lately. Maybe never again.
“Screw that.” He’d had too much fun today to worry about that now. Denial would work for another hour or two. Katya was waiting.
“Could I hop a ride with you to Dallas?” Buster addressed Ben Carter, where he stood against the chutes, using a wire brush on his rope. “I rode out with Armando, but he’s staying with friends here tonight.”
“Rent a car, kid. I’m not here to wipe your nose.”
Buster kept walking. “They won’t rent me one until I’m twenty-one.”
Cam felt a stab, hearing the worry in Buster’s voice. He said good-bye to the guys and walked around the arena to the bleachers, where a few wives waited for their husbands.
And him. He felt a jolt like a low-level shock in his chest. Katya stood, hand on the bleachers, talking to Tuck’s wife, Nancy. The wind blew Katya’s pretty skirt against her, outlining her dancer’s legs
He walked up, a goofy grin he couldn’t wipe clean hanging on his face. “Hey, Nancy, Tuck will be here in just a few. He was looking for someone to tie his shoes, last I saw him. Hey, Katya. You ready? I’ll walk you to your car.” Her welcoming smile did warm things to his insides. He tipped his hat to Nancy and, ignoring her wink, led Katya away.
In the parking lot, they passed a knot of riders. “Can I hitch a ride to Dallas with any of you?” Buster asked, hanging on the edge of the group.
Katya craned her neck to see past the men. “Buster, is that you?”
He walked over, red hair catching the light. “Yes’m.”
“I’ll give you a ride.” She smiled. The same smile she’d just given Cam.
“That would be awesome, Katya. Thanks so much.” The kid beamed like she’d bestowed him with knighthood. “Let me get my stuff.”
Oh, hell. He knew Katya had a soft spot for the kid. If Cam objected, they’d end up arguing again. Besides, who was he to say who got in her car? And why hadn’t he thought to hitch a ride first? “Take your time, kid.”
Buster trotted off.
Katya laughed at Cam’s growl and, linking her arm in his, steered him to a white compact with rental plates. “Too late, Cahill. Today I’ve seen that there’s the possibility of a nice guy hiding under all that…”
He took off his hat and fingered the brim. “Asshole. I know.”
She laughed again, delighted. Her face shone pale in the lights of the arena, in stark contrast to the dark parking lot behind her. In her eyes, light sparke
d, dancing like moonlight on choppy water. He didn’t mean to lean in, but the carefree joy on her face pulled him there.
The smile slid. Her eyes got bigger, the closer he got. Her lips parted, just a bit, and she sucked in a breath. She looked so innocent. So why did he want to pull her into the grass, and have his way with her? Blood abandoned the rest of his body, pounded to his hips, as his Johnson snapped to attention. He slid his hand under her hair to the silken skin of her neck. Her sweet exhale brushed his lips.
“I’m ready!” Buster loped up like a big puppy, his manners about as refined.
Cam swore under his breath.
Katya chuckled, then whispered, “See you in Dallas, cowboy.” She gave him a chaste peck on his cheek, and turned to unlock the car.
He watched them pull out, touching his cheek, cursing puppies everywhere.
CHAPTER
12
Blackness hurtled by the car window, broken by only an occasional barnyard sodium lamp. The curved horizon ahead glowed white with the lights of Dallas. Buster’s face looked ghostly in the dashboard light.
“Mom isn’t really happy about me traveling so much. She’s always fretting about me getting hurt. But mostly they’re happy that I’m getting to live my dream.”
Between Buster’s explanations the past hour, and her experience at Rowdy’s Invitational today, Katya was beginning to understand. The hype that PBR was one big, extended family wasn’t hype at all.
And here she sat, once more on the outside, the hole in her life yawning as vast as the Texas sky in the moonroof.
She didn’t belong in DC with her parents. She never had.
She didn’t belong in the Medic Corps. Not now, anyway.
And she sure didn’t belong here. In a world where macho, testosterone-crazed young men gambled their future for bragging rights and a gaudy belt buckle.
Still, she’d enjoyed Buster’s company. He was just as polite, guileless, and as earnest as his red hair and freckles suggested. She could ask him anything. Questions she couldn’t ask Cam, who looked too close and saw too much.
