by Drake, Laura
“Buster, aren’t you afraid? Every time you get on a bull, it could go horribly wrong. How do you manage the fear? Is there some kind of mental exercise you do, or what?”
“No, ma’am. I’m not afraid.”
His matter-of-fact tone brought her head around. “Ever?”
He sat sprawled in the seat, elbow resting on the ledge of the closed window, too relaxed to be lying. “No’m.”
“You’ve been injured before, right?”
“Sure. Nothing really bad, thank the good Lord, but I’ve had my share of doctor’s visits and Epsom salt baths, I can tell you that.”
If this kid is right, I’m doomed. Maybe courage, once tested and broken, didn’t come back. Like a badly burst eardrum, you just learned to live with the loss. After all, she’d yet to see fear in any of the riders. Even Rowdy Rhodes, who’d almost lost his leg, talked of coming back on tour. He hadn’t seemed afraid.
That can’t be right. Lots of people are afraid, of all kinds of things. “So, you guys are immune to fear. Is it a skill, like riding, that you can learn? Or is it something you’re just born with?”
“That’s a good question. I couldn’t tell you. All I can say is that all I feel before a ride is jumping-outta-my-skin excited.”
You had to like Buster and his wide-eyed view of the world.
Unless you’re a jaded, bitter old bull rider. “Something else I don’t get, Buster. Why are the other riders so mean to you?”
“Oh, they’re not mean. That’s just part of the deal. You can’t expect to walk in and have them hold your hand and sing ‘Kumbaya.’ You have to earn your place.”
“But you did. You earned the points to get to the big leagues.”
“No’m. That’s just riding. It takes a lot more than points to be a cowboy, and that’s what I have to show them.” His voice went hard. “What I will show them.”
The following Thursday, Katya dropped her shopping bags and collapsed on her hotel bed. Another perk of this job was the downtime. Driving to the venues allowed her to see more of the country, and the weekdays between events allowed her time to explore the host cities. This week she’d visited the Dallas Arboretum and Botanical Gardens, the Texas School Book Depository Museum and the Aquarium. Today, she’d hung out at Billy Bob’s to watch the mechanical bull riding, and to her slight embarrassment, even bought a T-shirt.
Staying busy helped to push away the clouds of worry at the thought of this weekend’s event. But when she sat still, or tried to sleep, black thunderheads obscured her mood. First responder duty. It rolled like thunder in her head, getting closer. The hair on her arms stood up, and she scrubbed her palms over them.
“You’re going to do fine. You’re a soldier. You’ll do your job.”
But the words rang hollow. She hadn’t last time. Or the time before. Or, God knows—
Buzzzzz.
She leapt from lying to standing in one startled move. Her phone vibrated in the pocket of her skirt. She pulled it out and read the text.
Can I call you?
She didn’t recognize the number. Edward? Her heart slammed the confines of her chest.
“Get a grip, Katya. Edward would hardly ask permission.” Just the same, no way she was acknowledging a text from an unknown source.
She walked to the desk and picked up Grand’s mortar and pestle, then dug through her bags of herbs. She felt Grand close when working with her tools. She’d grind and talk to Grand in her head. Sometimes her grandmother answered.
Okay, so probably she was talking with her own brain, but it soothed her worries and that was the important thing.
Buzzzzz. She jumped then snatched her phone again.
By the way, this is Cam.
Her heart sped up this time for a different reason. She saved his number into her contact list, then hit speed dial.
“Hi Katya. Did you enjoy your week in town?”
Her traitorous body reacted to his deep, familiar tone, her muscles slackening. “You know you scared the crap out of me, right? Did Doc Cody give you my number?” Annoyance leaked into her words.
“No. Dusty did. He told me he was going to text you about it.”
“Well, he—hang on.” She took the phone from her ear and scrolled through the texts. Sure enough, she’d missed one from Dusty. She raised the phone back to her ear. “Okay. Sorry. Guess I’m a bit jumpy.”
“Well then, you’re in luck. Nothing settles jumpy like food. I was just fixin’ to head out to my favorite restaurant in Dallas, and I thought of you. Are you up for some adventurous eating?”
For what? A date? Or as a friend, tagging along for dinner? The night of the Invitational, she’d felt his interest, sliding smooth and warm over her skin. If Buster hadn’t loped up when he had, she’d already know if those lips were as good at kissing as she’d imagined about ten times since then.
Okay, a hundred times. But she had to know. “Cahill, are you asking me out on a date?” Her boldness crumbled in the onslaught of silence. “Or not?” she squeaked.
His soft chuckle loosened the knot in her stomach. “I forgot. This is the lady full of questions. For clarity, let me reword that.” He cleared his throat. “Ms. Smith, would you do me the honor of coming out with me tonight? On a date?”
She ignored her own grin. And the sparkly fountain in her chest. “Well, Mr. Cahill, that depends. It’s going to cost you.”
“Oh man, everybody has an agenda.”
She hadn’t realized it was possible to hear an eye roll. “And you don’t?”
“Point taken. What’s it going to cost me?”
“You have to try my healing tea.”
More silence. This guy was good at silence.
“Oh, come on. Buster said he’d try it.”
“Good. Then you don’t need me.”
“No one listens to Buster. The riders look up to you. If you endorsed it, they would try it too.”
“Why does it matter so much?”
She sighed. “Because there is a better way. Holistic healing predates modern medicine by several thousand years, and—”
“And you care.”
“What? No I don’t, I mean, no, I don’t mean—” Shut up, shut up, shut up. “I’m trying to do my job to the best of my ability, that’s all.” She blew out a breath.
“Okay.”
“Okay? You mean you’ll try it?”
“I’ll try it, Katya.”
“Oh, Cam, thank you. You won’t be sorry. This is going to help your pain.”
“Maybe you should wait to thank me. You haven’t seen the dinner menu.”
“Hey, I eat anything.”
“I’ll remind you of that. Can you be ready in an hour? I’ll pick you up.”
CHAPTER
13
Katya looked around the restaurant. Surrounded by trees outside, the interior was exposed timber and glass, giving The Wild Side the feel of a hunting lodge in the woods. The fieldstone fireplace with its cheery gas log fire and the trophy animal heads on the wall carried out the theme.
“Well? What do you think?” Cam smiled at her from across the linen-covered table, the dimple in his cheek deepening.
“That gazelle looks pissed. I think he wants his body back.” The unblinking stare of the animals on the walls gave her the willies, so she kept her eyes on Cam. Well, maybe that wasn’t the only reason. His royal blue Western-cut shirt showed off his washed-blue eyes. The candlelight fractured in them, and she had a hard time looking anywhere else. He’d taken off his hat when he sat down, but it left a mark in his short, hollow-gold hair. She took a sip of her white wine to cool off. God, if he were on the menu, this place would be overrun with women.
He chuckled, and when the waiter walked over with menus, he held up a hand. “Will you trust me to order?” He gave her a one-sided smile, an eyebrow raised in challenge.
“I guess I’ll trust you that far.” Not much farther though. She had no doubt that smile had separated dozens of women from the
ir panties. Don’t forget, you don’t belong here. Why did she have to keep reminding herself of that lately?
He ordered something called the Hunter’s Feast for Two. When the waiter walked away, Cam turned his attention back to her. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Smith. It cost me dearly to get you sitting across the table from me. Are you sure you aren’t a horse trader on the side?”
She snorted. “I should have warned you, it’s in my blood. My great-great grandfather made enough money trading horses to bring his family to America.”
“Literally?”
Might as well get it out in the open. In spite of the modern push to accept “cultural diversity,” there was still a lot of prejudice against her kind. “I don’t just dress Gypsy, Cam. I am Gypsy.”
“No kidding?” The touch of his regard settled on her. “I know so little about you. Where did you grow up?”
Well, he’d answered her questions. No harm in answering a few benign ones of his. “In DC. But my summers I spent with my Gypsy family, in Chicago.”
“What was that like?”
“It was heaven. I’m an only child. But in Chicago, my huge extended family took me in every summer and folded me into the clan.” She smiled, seeing Grand’s apartment in her mind. “It was like stepping into another world. Like I lived two different lives.”
“When did you join the army?”
“After nine/eleven. A lot of people joined then.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed you for a soldier, but once I knew it, lots of things made sense. Did you like it?”
“I loved it. In a way, it was like Chicago. Another kind of family. We rely on each other under hard times and stressful circumstances. It forges a strong bond.”
“You miss it.”
Once again, his eyes made her nervous, seeing too much. “Something happened over there, didn’t it?”
“I miss it.”
The waiter brought their salads, breaking the pull of his gaze. That gaze made her want to talk, to spill her dark story all over the pristine tablecloth, staining everything.
She lifted her fork. “Tell me about your family. Where are you from?”
They chatted about safe subjects until their meal arrived: a huge platter of unrecognizable meat without a vegetable in sight. Unless fried potatoes qualified.
He looked it over. “I’m torn. I’m afraid if I tell you what’s here, you won’t eat it, and you’d miss out on some great food. But I don’t want to ambush you either. So you tell me. Do you want to know?”
She picked up her fork, stabbed a deep-fried Rocky Mountain oyster, and popped it in her mouth.
His eyes got big. “Wait, that’s a—”
“Cow testicle, I know.” She licked her lips. “I have to say, it’s better than sheep, but not as good as camel.” She glanced around for the waiter, then back to him. “Do you think they have hot sauce?”
His eyes got bigger. “I think I’m in love,” he breathed.
Katya enjoyed the dinner. She’d had buffalo and venison, of course, but rattlesnake was new to her, and the ostrich. The food was great, but the company was better. They’d laughed through dinner, Cam regaling her with funny stories of his sisters and of being on the road.
The sweet guy was firmly in residence. She’d read the term “dazzled” in books and knew the definition, but she’d never felt the word before. When the normally tight-lipped cowboy opened up, he opened all the way, sparking with so much humor, light, and charisma, she wished she’d brought sunglasses. She found the dichotomy of his hard cheekbones, paired with soft, baby-face features, endlessly fascinating.
And he liked her. He showed it in his focused interest when she told a story, or laughed at his. He hadn’t physically touched her since they sat down, but his eyes—she’d felt their touch everywhere.
Damn, it’s hot in here. She fanned her face with her napkin.
Cam handled the check, then signed an autograph for an older woman who stood beside their table, gushing like a teenage fan girl.
Katya couldn’t blame her. After hanging around the sweet guy all night, she was feeling a bit like a fan girl herself.
He finished writing, thanked the lady, then turned those baby blues on Katya. “Are you ready?”
She slipped out from the table and stood. “The question is, are you?”
He settled his hat on his head and took her elbow, leading her to the front door. “For what?”
“My tea, of course.” She rubbed her hands together and lowered her voice to spooky. “I’ll get you back to my room, and you’ll be trapped, my pretty.”
He smiled, holding the door for her. His teeth flashed white against his tanned face. She stumbled just a bit, over the doorsill. His arm came around her waist, steadying her.
His breath brushed her ear, making her shiver. “You can trap me in your room anytime you’d like.”
Heat shot through her body. She wasn’t about to glance down, but she thought maybe her pubic hair had just burst into flame.
Cam waited for Katya to unlock the door to her hotel room. She’d left the light on by the bed, and he looked around as they stepped in. The room was exactly the same as his, except for the rainbow colors shot onto the walls by the silky scarf thrown over the lampshade. It softened the harsh, rubber-stamp room, making it more personal, more intimate, more… Katya.
Not Katya the soldier, or the therapist, but the woman under those that he’d glimpsed tonight. This was the Katya he sensed behind her professional touch: sensual, sensitive, passionate. He was hoping to see more of that woman.
“Have a seat. It’ll take me a few minutes to put it together.” She moved to the backpack lying on the desk. She dug through it, pulling out sandwich bags of herbs. “Really. Sit, Cam. I promise this won’t hurt.”
He perched on the edge of the bed. “Cowboys drink coffee, not,” he mimed picking up a teacup, his pinkie outstretched “tea.”
She turned on the coffeemaker, then poured water from a carafe into the back of it. “Yeah, well, the smart ones will.” She dropped leaves from a few baggies into a small porcelain bowl and used a tool of the same material to grind it. “There’s no magic here. Prickly ash and comfrey control pain, and the marigold and chamomile help the inflammation.”
He studied her profile as, head down, she concentrated on her task. Wisps of hair had pulled loose from the thick ponytail held in place by a complicated woven-wood fastener. Her olive skin glowed in the dim light. Soft and feminine. A deadly combination.
“The World Health Organization estimates that eighty percent of the developing countries use herbal medicine for their primary health care. In the United States and Europe, it’s become increasingly popular in recent years, as scientific evidence of its effectiveness mounts.”
He winced. “I agreed to take the medicine orally. Do I have to take it verbally, too?”
She glanced at him then laughed. “You look like a little boy waiting to have iodine put on a cut.” She poured the steaming hot water into the cup, and set it aside to steep. “Cowboy up, big guy. Did I say that right? Why is it that you’re not afraid of a ticked off bull chasing you down, but you’re afraid of a cup of tea?”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” he said in his “Cool Hand Cam Cahill” voice.
She sat on the edge of the bed. “Really? Are you not afraid of anything?”
Now she was the one who looked like a little kid.
“Afraid? No.”
Her face fell, as if she’d been looking for a different answer.
“Of course, I’m not going to say that I don’t have a few… concerns.”
“About what?”
Time to lighten it up. “Oh, politics, global warming, world peace, you know.”
She rose, picked up the coffee mug and handed it to him. “Oh, wait. Don’t drink that yet.” She rummaged in her backpack, then with a smile, raised a bottle of honey. “You know the song about a spoonful of sugar.” She poured a generous dollop of honey in
his mug and stirred it with a plastic spoon. “It would be better if you ate the leaves too. But if you don’t want to, that’s okay.”
He took a tiny sip. Warm, sweet, and a bit minty. It was okay. He blew away the steam and took a deeper sip. “I can choke it down.”
“Gee, glowing praise. Be sure you drink it all. You should start to feel better in about an hour.”
He drained the mug, even managing to swallow most of the tea leaves in the bottom. He stood, and set the mug on the edge of the desk. “There, I took my medicine. Do I get a prize?” He turned and spread his arms. “A good-night kiss, maybe?”
“Well, you were pretty grumpy about it, but if I take into account that you’re a big bad bull rider, I guess allowances could be made.” Smiling, she stepped into his arms.
Just where he wanted her.
He could see when buyer’s remorse hit. Her eyes danced around the room, lighting everywhere but on him. He slid his hands up to cup her cheeks. That got her attention. “It’s not a commitment, Katya, it’s just a kiss.”
When he brought her face to his, her eyelids drifted closed. Still watching, he kissed her, a tentative “hello.” But that wasn’t enough. The smell of her spicy perfume filled his head, bringing visions of foreign bazaars and dusky, exotic women, dancing in firelight. Something about Katya intrigued him, enticed him closer, made him want to know more.
To want more. He dipped his head to sample her lips again.
This time, she relaxed, her lips opening to him. He closed his eyes, took what she gave, and gave everything he had, his tongue twining with hers. It had been so long. His blood pounded up his neck, behind his eyes, rushing to his crotch. His Johnson throbbed. He stifled a groan. It was everything he could do not to snatch her against him and grind into her. He wanted to back her to the wall, lift her and have her wrap those dancer’s legs around him—
Her whimper brought him to. He pulled back. Had he hurt her? Jesus, he’d been so lost in her, he didn’t even know. Frank need churned in her smoky eyes, her lips red and swollen from his kisses.
