by Tessa Layne
Trace's eyebrows flew skyward, and he stepped back, hands open. The tall grass, huh? Was this the equivalent of the Prairie Mafia? The Cowboy Code of Honor? All for one and one for all? "I swear, dude. I would never... I like her, man."
Tony's face remained hard. "Good. Just so you know."
"Message received." He stepped around Tony, heart slamming against his sternum. Tony had always seemed so easygoing, so laid back. Someone he could count on to be on his side. But it was clear whose side Tony was on when push came to shove. Not his. It left Trace wondering the entire time he readied himself - taping his wrist, donning his chaps and protective vest... when push came to shove, who was on his side?
Chapter Twenty-One
Izzie nudged Cecilia and leaned over. "Hey, does Trace look okay to you?"
Cecilia swiveled, looking over toward the barn where the guys put on their gear prior to practice. She cocked her head, studying him. He didn't look any different to her. Maybe a tightness in his jaw? "Probably just jitters. He mentioned he's a little nervous to make his public debut tomorrow."
"Hmm. Okay," Izzie said with a frown. "No, not okay. Oh no," she gasped, burying her face in her hands. "Look."
Directly in front of them stood Tony Cruz, giving her the thumbs up. Cecilia looked back at Izzie. "I don't understand."
A string of profanity flew out of Izzie's mouth. "Tony gave Trace the talk. Robbie put him up to it, I'm sure of it."
"What do you mean, the talk? I don't follow."
"The 'I'll woodshed' your ass talk?" she said with finger quotes. "Ugh, you don't have brothers, you don't understand. Every guy I ever dated got the woodshed talk from my brother."
Cecilia gaped at her. "Oh you poor thing. No wonder you never dated in high school."
"Right? It was even worse in college."
"It's kind of sweet, when you think about it," admitted Cecilia, secretly tickled that one of her oldest friends had cared enough to stand up for her.
Izzie stared at her, scandalized. "For real?" she asked with a shake of her head. "Let me tell you, it gets old."
"What, that people are looking out for your happiness? That there are men in your life who care about you?" Cecilia's voice caught. "If only I'd had someone looking out for me. By the time I was old enough to date, Papí was already gone." Grief knifed through her as fresh and painful as if it had been yesterday her beloved grandfather had passed, and not nearly fifteen years ago. She puffed her cheeks, blowing out a heavy breath.
Izzie's eyes softened, and she reached for Cecilia's hand. "Jeeze, Ceece. It never occurred to me, but you're right. I should have sic'd Robbie and Tony on you back then," she said with a guilty laugh. "It could have saved me so much trouble."
"Well, glad I could help out now," she said wryly. She eyed the arena, then looked over at Izzie. "Looks like Jaxon's up first."
"Did you know he's going to start breeding roughstock bulls?" she said with a note of pride.
"Does that mean he's going to retire from competition?"
Izzie shrugged, looking everywhere but at her. "I don't know. He's squawking about settling down."
"Izzie, what aren't you telling me?"
Her best friend turned as pink as a summer sunset. "Gooo Jaxon," she hollered, suddenly standing as the chute opened and Jaxon burst out on a black bull that Cecilia could swear snorted. She counted silently to eight, heart hammering. How could these guys think this was fun?
Next to her, Izzie jumped up and down, yelling like she was at a rodeo, not a practice session.
"So... tell me about Trace?" she asked when they were seated again. "What's he look like when he's not wearing hug-me-tight jeans?" She smiled too brightly.
Cecilia knew better than to push. Izzie had always been tight-lipped where Jaxon Boyd was concerned. She knew there was far more there than met the eye, but Izzie was notorious about playing certain cards close to the vest, especially the cards that concerned Jax. She let herself be pulled in a different direction. "Let's just say you really can bounce a quarter off that perfect ass," she confessed, trying her damndest not to grin like an idiot.
Izzie squeezed her hand. "Well, it's obvious you're blissed-out."
"It's pretty nice," Cecilia agreed. "But it still bugs me I can't place him."
"Could be he's a doppelgänger, and nothing more. If he's being sweet to you, why not let it go?"
"Because what if I fall for him and he turns out to be an asshole?"
"Are you worried you're falling for him?"
She nodded solemnly, butterflies taking wing in her belly. "You know that saying about being too good to be true?"
Izzie scoffed. "And maybe he's just prince fucking charming." She arched a brow, looking every bit the English teacher she was. "And maybe you deserve it. Don't fight it Ceece." Izzie turned back to the action in the arena. "Trace is up." Izzie jumped to her feet.
Cecilia followed suit, concern for Trace growing as the bull he was assigned to bucked in the chute. Trace stood over it, and ran a foot over the bull's spine again, to let it know he was there. But his foot only set off another round of snorting and bucking. "You think he's okay?"
"Of course," Izzie assured her. "These bulls aren't rank the way the big crazy PBR ones are."
Cecilia made a face. "I don't know... he looks pretty rank to me."
Trace tried again, and this time the bull stayed calm enough he could climb on. As the seconds ticked by, worry grew in her chest. What if something happened to him? Cody Hansen, Colton's business partner, had nearly died from a bull riding accident. Jaxon had broken bones and landed in the hospital a handful of times before he retired from the big leagues to become a math teacher at the high school. Trace was still new to bull riding. She'd seen him hang on as much as she'd seen him go flying, but this bull was ornery. Trace tightened the bull rope then looked up, searching for her. That tiny action spoke volumes, and she waved back with both hands, giving him a thumbs up. "You can do it, Trace," she shouted.
"You've got this," Izzie added at the top of her lungs.
He flashed his million-watt smile and gave the signal, moving forward in the chute as the bull burst out. The second the bull leaped, Cecilia could tell something was wrong. Trace's weight was in the wrong spot because the bull had twisted as it lunged. She counted under her breath, shaking her head as the fear inside her mounted with each jump and turn. "Oh god, he's falling," she muttered as she clutched Izzie. Trace looked sideways. How was he staying on? "He's going to land on his head," she hollered to no one and everyone. When it happened, it went like a slow-motion movie. For an awful moment, Trace hung suspended in the air, feet above his head before crashing to the ground like a rag doll.
The scene flashed to warp speed. Cecilia was on her feet, taking the bleacher steps by two as Trace lay motionless, surrounded by the other guys. "Trace," she screamed, fear slamming into her with the force of a cement truck. Nightmare scenarios flashed through her mind, one after the other, as she clambered over the rails and hurtled across the dirt, pushing through the men to fall at her knees by Trace's side. She took his hand, searching for a pulse. "Trace, can you hear me? Talk to me." She glanced up at the men surrounding her. "Do you need to get the backboard? Have you checked for breaks?"
Behind her, Jaxon cleared his throat. "Uh, CiCi?"
"Which one of you is the first-aid guy?" she demanded going into full-on crisis mode. Next to her, Trace groaned and shifted, grabbing for his helmet. "Don't move. Just stay put. Can you wiggle your toes?"
"CiCi." Colton spoke sharply. "You're in the way. Give us some space."
She nodded, hands trembling, and scooted back to let the men take care of him. Her throat felt so tight, it was hard to breathe. She couldn't seem to catch her breath, no matter how much air she sucked into her lungs. Robbie's hand landed on her shoulder. "He's fine, Ceece. He just had the wind knocked out of him."
"Are you sure?" Cecilia's voice rose to a feverish pitch. "How do you know he doesn't have a concussio
n?" She'd written articles about post-concussion syndrome. She knew the awful statistics.
"He landed on his shoulder. He's fine." She recognized Robbie's firefighter voice, but it didn't do a thing to calm her. Robbie stepped in front of her, grabbing both her shoulders, dark eyes staring into hers. "CiCi, I'm giving you my EMT's opinion. You need to take a slow breath or you're going to pass out."
Cecilia shut her eyes and pulled in a slow breath, counting to eight and slowly blowing it out.
"See? He's standing now."
She scrambled to her feet, not ready to trust Robbie's words. She had to see for herself. "Trace?" His eyes swung to hers and the rest of the world fell away. His gaze was at once reassuring and confident with an undercurrent of heat that acted like a magnet. Cecilia stumbled forward, not caring what the others thought. As long as she could feel his heart beating strongly under her palm, she'd be okay. He caught her in an embrace. "Tell me you're okay," she murmured.
"I'm fine. Just landed wrong, is all."
She lifted her eyes, fingers fluttering over his face, checking his cheekbones, skimming over his beard, feathering across his mouth. "Are you sure?" she whispered, "I was so scared."
His mouth tilted up. "Don't worry sweetheart. The crown jewels are still in working order."
She socked him in the shoulder, not that he even felt it through all the padding in his vest. "Maybe I was worried about more than the crown jewels," she retorted.
Colton clapped his hands. "All right, gang. Back at it. I want all of you in the money tomorrow at the rodeo. Trace, if you need to take a few, go right ahead. But after a tumble like that, you're not leaving until you ride again. I want your last ride of the day to be a good one. And CiCi." Colton narrowed his eyes. "Next time leave the first-aid to the professionals. This ain't our first rodeo."
"I overreacted, didn't I?" she said low enough only Trace could hear as they walked out of the arena and toward the barn. Now would be a good time for the earth to swallow her up.
Trace slung an arm across her shoulders. "Oh you totally overreacted, darlin'," he said with a wink. "But I don't mind. Just means you can't resist me."
"Oh stop with that."
"It's true, you can't, can you?" Trace dropped his helmet on a bench just inside the barn door, then led her all the way back through the practice bulls and gym equipment, to the locker area. He unzipped his protective vest and draped it over a broomstick that was suspended like a curtain rod. Then, not taking his eyes off her, he slowly rolled up his shirtsleeves moving closer to where she lurked in the doorway. "Why'd you come running? It's not like you haven't seen me get bucked off before. Hell, I got bucked off yesterday."
"It was different this time." Cecilia's heart caught in her throat. How could she even begin to explain the icy fingers of dread that had slithered through her? The fear of losing what was so new and different? They'd only known each other for a few weeks. These feelings roiling through her were... ridiculous.
There was an almost feral light in his eyes that turned her body to liquid heat as he kept pressing into her space until she'd backed into the wall. "Why was it different, Cecilia?"
Oh lordy. He was saying her name in that gravelly, deep way that made her panties damp. He braced an arm above her head, so close now she was enveloped by the pure masculine scent of him that never failed to short-circuit her brain. She itched to run her palms over his chest, grounding herself in the hard chiseled planes of his body, just to reassure herself he was okay. "Cecilia. You haven't answered me." His voice acted like truth serum. When he started talking in that way, gruff and bossy, her defenses disintegrated. Slowly, she lifted her eyes, breath catching in her throat as she held his intense gaze. He stroked her face with the back of a finger, and like a kitten she leaned into it, using the touch to muster all her courage to speak the truth she could no longer avoid.
"I... I could fall in love with you Trace Walker," she admitted, cheeks burning. It made no sense at all. It was too soon, he was too dangerous, it was too risky. She knew too little about him. Yet every fiber in her body knew her statement to be true. She was falling for him.
His mouth twitched, forming a ghost of a smile. "Have you ever been in love before?"
"Not like... not like-" She shook her head. "No." The admission came out barely a whisper. This was sure to put the skids on everything, and maybe that was for the best. She wasn't one of those rodeo widows that could follow a man from town to town while he took his life in his hands for another eight seconds.
He pulled a finger down her nose, tapping the tip. "So you're saying I'm irresistible?"
Cecilia had to hand it to him - the man's sense of timing was something else. "Does your ego ever quit?" she said making a noise of pure astonishment.
He tipped his forehead into hers. "Not where you're concerned, sweetheart. And I think you like it that way," he added, mouth brushing against hers.
He wasn't wrong. Her stomach fluttered as he teased little kisses across her cheeks, her jaw, the corner of her mouth. She fisted his shirt. "Trace."
"Cecilia?"
"Kiss me like you mean it."
He took her mouth with a possessiveness that surprised her, tongue tangling with hers as he grabbed her hip, pressing her into his hot, hard erection. "See what you do to me?" he muttered before kissing her even more deeply.
She moaned, tilting her hips, needing more friction.
He edged back, breathing roughly. "We can't. Not here." He looked at her with a wild gaze. "God, Cecilia. I can't get enough of you. I want nothing more than to strip you bare and take you against this wall, but we've been in here too long."
She nodded, lips tingling from the scratch of his beard and drew in a ragged breath. "You're right."
"Tonight," he promised.
Chapter Twenty-Two
"You want me to do what?" Portia shouted through the phone. "Are you out of your mind? No, wait. I'll answer that. Yes. You are."
"Look, it's too big for me anyways," Trace answered defensively. "And you said I should make some changes."
"Since when is that house too big for you? Six months ago it was too small."
"That was six months ago." Before he'd spent months in a cabin the size of his master bath, and more importantly, before he'd told Cecilia that he'd sold it. "Look, are you going to help me sell it, or not?"
"Does this have anything to do with the reporter I've been hearing about?" she accused.
"She's a journalist, not a reporter," he said hotly. "You of all people should know that." How had she heard? Of course... Jason Case. Or had her sister spilled the beans? His neck heated as he paced the length of his tiny cabin. He wasn't any freer here than in Malibu.
"Listen to yourself, Trace. You of all people need to stay away from media types - whatever you want to call them. This could go badly for you. Very badly."
Trace could hear the concern in her voice. "I get it, I do, but this is-"
"Different?" Portia filled in. "I told you to make friends, not hop in the sack with the first pretty girl who turned your eye."
"It's not like that. I swear. I didn't mean to... mean to-" he stuttered, throat closing. Holy shit. Holy. Holy. Shit. He'd been about to say fall in love. Cecilia's confession this afternoon combined with his hard fall must have rattled his brain. He didn't fall in love. He wasn't capable of it. He didn't know the first thing about falling in love except for the lines that he'd said in a handful of movies. In fact, the last time he'd felt anything remotely close to falling in love was when he was seventeen, and it had been Portia. Three years before she'd come out to him. He raked a hand through his hair.
Fucking hell.
"Look, it just... happened. I can't explain it." His mind reeled. Yeah, Cecilia was different - hard and prickly where other women were soft, soft where other women were hard. Above all else, she'd come running this afternoon, for him. Leaping over fences, pushing through and threatening to move mountains. For. Him. No one chose him. He might have h
ad the Midas touch when it came to movie contracts - because he was the beneficiary of good genetics and a quick mind. But for thirty-four years- with the exception of his late grandmother, he hadn't mattered to anyone. No one had chosen him, no one had fought for him, no one had cared. Not really, not in the way it mattered. He swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat. Hell yes, he'd do what it took to make her happy, Tony's threats aside. He'd tell her as much truth as he could, so that when he finally confessed who he was, she wouldn't bolt.
"Don't tell me you've gone and fallen in love," Portia interrupted his thoughts with more than a note of exasperation. "You're supposed to be in Prairie to work on yourself."
He ground his molars so hard his teeth squeaked. "I am working on myself, Porsh," he gritted, clutching the phone so hard his hand ached. "Jeezus, I've told her things I haven't told anyone. Not even you."
"Are you insane?" Portia's voice rose to decibels he'd never heard from her before. "What do you think she's going to do when she finds out who you really are? She'll cash out and retire to a beach in Mexico. Did you even think for half a second before you boinked her? Or were you just back to your old shenanigans?"
"I have to go," he said flatly, stomach sinking like a stone.
"Mark my words, Trace. This is going to bite you in the ass. Hard. And I won't be there to fix it. Not this time."
"Will you help me sell my house, or not?"
"Fine."
"Fine."
"Just... be careful, okay?"
Trace sighed heavily. "I will." He ended the call. "Goddammit," he shouted, throwing his phone. It bounced off the wall and slid under his bunk. He was trapped between a rock and a hard place, and he hated it with every cell in his body. Wanting Portia's approval and not having it, wanting something from Cecilia, and not being able to ask for it. And fuck... wanting something, anything for himself. Something that everyone else in his world took for granted.
