Unridden: A Studs in Spurs novel

by Cat Johnson

  Mustang raised a brow. “Is that a challenge, my friend?”

  Slade let out a short laugh. “No, it’s the truth.”

  “Well, I think you’re wrong. Sometimes it’s the quiet ones that are the wildest once you get them naked.”

  “And you think you can get her naked?”

  Mustang nodded. “Yup. I do.”

  “Well, I’d like to see that.”

  Grinning, Mustang slapped his friend on the back. “Don’t worry. You’ll be there too.”

  Slade shook his head. “Maybe, and that is a big maybe, you might be able to get that woman naked, with enough alcohol and bullshit, but no frigging way will she agree to both of us. Never in a million years.”

  Feeling cocky and never one to resist a challenge, Mustang said, “We’ll see. You willing to make a bet on that?”

  Slade crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, we will see and, yes, I am. What do you want to bet?”

  Mustang grinned. Slade was showing more interest in their extra-curricular activities than he had in weeks. Maybe he had really just been bored like he said. Perhaps what they both needed was a good challenge. Mustang knew to his core this woman would provide at least that, but more than likely, so much more.

  Now, for this bet… “How about loser has to buy the winner a new pair of chaps?”

  Slade grinned. “I could use me a new pair of chaps, so you’re on.”

  Glancing back at the stands to search again for the object of their discussion, Mustang frowned. Where the hell was she?

  “She’s gone! Shit! Where did she…” Mustang spun back to Slade and found guess who standing right there.

  “Excuse me. I was wondering if I could ask you two a few questions.”

  His angel in black spoke with the sexiest voice he’d ever heard. And yeah, by the sound of her, she was from back east. Mustang only hoped the other part of Slade’s theory, about her being a reporter, was wrong.

  He saw Slade raise an eyebrow and cockily turn to him, waiting expectantly for Mustang to answer her question—what had that been again? Oh, yeah, she wanted to ask them questions. Interesting.

  Suddenly face to face with her, Mustang stumbled over his usually smooth tongue a bit. “Um…yeah…sure, darlin’. What do you need?”

  She extended her hand and broke out into a smile. “Great. Let me introduce myself first. I’m Jenna Block.”

  Not remembering the last time a woman had stopped to shake his hand before they’d fucked, Mustang smiled. He took hold of her hand, noticing how her hazel eyes had tinges of both gold and green in them.

  She had a good, strong grip, too. He liked that in a woman. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Mustang Jackson.”

  He turned to introduce Slade, only to find the man was in the midst of a visual full-body sweep of Ms. Jenna Block.

  Oh yeah, now which one of them wanted to get her drunk and into bed naked?

  Slade studied Jenna, from the tip of her brunette ponytail to the tops of her shiny black, pointy-toed cowboy boots—and if those boots of hers had walked anywhere besides the concrete sidewalks of a city street before tonight, Mustang would eat his hat.

  After the quick visual sweep of his own, he continued the introductions. “This here’s Slade Bower.”

  Jenna turned and shook Slade’s hand as he mumbled a greeting and barely wrenched his gaze up from the outline of her sweater-covered tits in time before she caught him with his eyes where they shouldn’t have been.

  Mustang grinned. Yup, Slade didn’t seem bored anymore.

  “Wow,” she breathed, shaking her head and glancing from one to another.

  Mustang raised a brow at that. “Wow what?”

  She blushed prettily. “Sorry, I’m being silly. It’s just that I recognize your names from television. It’s quite the coincidence I saw you on TV yesterday and now I’m talking to you in person.”

  “You watch bull riding on television?” Slade sounded shocked.

  “Mmm hmm. Well, I mean not usually but I have recently. It’s a long story. Look, would you be willing to let me buy you both a drink so we can sit down while we talk and I ask you a few questions?”

  The shock on Slade’s face at her proposing they get a drink together nearly made Mustang laugh out loud. Oh yeah, those new chaps were as good as his, and it was Slade’s wallet that would be a little lighter after the purchase.

  Mustang controlled his glee and answered for both of them, forcing himself to sound casual. “I guess we could sit down with you…for a few minutes, anyway.” Before we go back to the trailer and I show Slade that there is no stick up your ass, though there easily could be some Mustang in there if you’d like…

  Ooh, he was a dirty boy. Maybe Ms. Jenna Block should spank him. Mustang had never tried that. Could be interesting. He’d keep that in mind for later.

  Mustang enjoyed that vision as the woman in his newest fantasy flashed him her perfect smile again. “Great. Is there somewhere walking distance we can go? I came in a cab.”

  “Well, there’s our trailer. It’s close and the drinks there are free,” Mustang offered with a smile, waiting for her reaction to that, all while knowing there was no way she’d fall prey to them that easily. What would be the fun if there weren’t even a little bit of a challenge?

  She didn’t prove him wrong as she raised one brow cockily. “Is there someplace public we can go?”

  Mustang smiled at her sidestepping the invitation as Slade offered helpfully, “There’s a nice public bar across the street, and we can walk there.”

  “Wonderful.” She looked around at the rapidly emptying stands. “Is this thing over for the night or is this an intermission?”

  “No, we’re done for tonight. We just have to stash our gear.” And shower in case we do all end up naked. Mustang had never wanted to get a woman naked this badly. “Can you give us ten minutes then we’ll meet you right over there by the exit?”

  She nodded. “Sure.”

  As she waited safely behind them by the entrance the two headed out of the public part of the arena, grabbing their ropes from where they’d looped them over the railing along the way.

  “Okay, admit it. You like her,” Mustang accused Slade once they were out of hearing range.

  Slade scowled at him as they walked. “Doesn’t matter either way. We’re not taking her back to the trailer because I’m telling you I’m convinced now more than ever that she’s some kind of reporter from back east. She shook your hand for God’s sake.”

  Mustang considered that as well as her odd choice of the turtleneck when the rest of the females in the crowd wore t-shirts or boob-baring low-cut numbers. Her dark blue jeans had an actual crease down the leg as if she’d ironed them. And then there were those shiny black boots that city folk wore for fashion not utility, the huge black leather satchel slung on her one shoulder that most likely carried the notebook he’d seen her writing in before, the way she carried herself, with confidence and polish…

  The fact she seemed to know their names but knew nothing else about bull riding confused Mustang a bit. If she was a true fan or a sports reporter she would have known that with Slade ranked third, barring any re-rides, the second and first place riders that followed him were the final two rides for the night and the competition would continue tomorrow.

  Mustang shook his head. “She’s something, I’ll give you that much, but I don’t think it’s a reporter.”

  “We’ll see.” Slade shoved his vest and rope into his gear bag.

  “Yes, we will.” And in just a few minutes too. This could be the most fun he and Slade had had in a long time, and Mustang couldn’t wait.

  Chapter Six

  “I don’t even know where to start.” The sophisticated, pretty brunette sighed and stared down at the yellow legal pad covered in chicken scratch. Slade assumed they were the notes she had scribbled during the competition.

  “I find it’s best to start with beer and move on to the hard stuff later.” Mustang
grinned, his entire body turned toward her as the three sat at a small, slightly sticky table in the rapidly filling bar across the street from the arena.

  She laughed at Mustang’s lame joke and Slade shook his head amazed, as always, at how Mustang could charm females of any age including, apparently, even city slicker reporters.

  Leaned way back in his chair, Slade ignored the interested looks they, as an unlikely trio, were getting from the other bull riders slowly filtering into the bar. Instead he watched as the mystery woman, still smiling, rolled her eyes playfully at Mustang.

  “I meant I don’t know where to start with my questions, but yeah, let’s order a pitcher, if that’s all right with you two.” She glanced from Mustang to Slade.

  “You drink beer?” Slade raised a brow at her.

  “Yes. Why?” She challenged him with a raised brow of her own.

  Slade didn’t hide how he let his gaze roam over her. “By the look of you, it seems to me that you’d be more the Chardonnay type.”

  She pursed her lips at the veiled insult. “Actually, when I do drink wine, I prefer a nice Merlot.”

  Beneath the light of the neon beer sign, Mustang signaled the waitress for a pitcher before he turned to stare at Slade. “In all the years I’ve known you, I don’t think I’ve ever once heard you say the word Chardonnay.”

  Slade scowled at his friend. “Hey, I know stuff. Just ‘cause I don’t choose to share it with you—what the devil are you writing?”

  Slade turned back to the damn woman, who had flipped to a clean page in her pad and was scribbling furiously as he and Mustang bickered.

  She paused and looked up at him. “Um, I’m taking notes.”

  “Of our conversation?” Slade sputtered.

  Pen poised above the page, she nodded. “Yeah. This is great dialogue.”

  Slade’s mouth twisted in a scowl. “It’s not dialogue. It’s two friends talking over drinks after a ride.” And he wasn’t so sure he wanted her writing it all down.

  “Well, it will be dialogue once I write it.”

  Slade leaned forward in his chair, across the table and closer to the woman and her infernal notes. “About that. Before we go any further with this, I think we need to know exactly who you are and what you are doing here.”

  “I’m Jenna Block and I’m a writer—”

  “A writer.” Slade shot Mustang an I told you so look.

  She nodded. “Yes. I write romance novels.”

  With a huge grin, Mustang returned Slade’s I told you so look times two before turning back to her. “Romance novels. Really? Now, that sounds interesting.”

  Jenna Block, romance writer, shrugged. “It can be, but the research on this one is killing me. I’m writing about a cowboy and I decided to have him ride bulls in the rodeo.”

  “Well, that explains the notes.” Mustang looked pointedly at Slade. “My suspicious friend here thought for a minute you might be a reporter writing an exposé about the two hottest bull riders on the circuit.”

  She giggled. “If I were, then I’d probably know what the hell I was writing about. As it is, I’m totally lost and I’m afraid if I’m not accurate with the facts, I’ll get killed by the reviewers.”

  Mustang’s patented chick magnet grin appeared again. “Well then, it’s a good thing you found us, because you won’t find two more knowledgeable cowboys anywhere when it comes to bulls.”

  Or bullshit . Unnoticed by Jenna, who beyond all reason seemed completely enthralled by Mustang’s charm, Slade rolled his eyes.

  Jenna. At least the woman didn’t have a name that ended in a “y” or an “i” and sounded like it belonged to a stripper. Slade might even have a chance of remembering it for the rest of the night. At least he remembered it now while he was here talking with her. That was more than he could say for the last half dozen or so girls he’d had sex with.

  Slade’s train of thought regarding female names was interrupted when Jenna surprised them both by asking, totally out of the blue, “What ever happened with Ballbreaker?”

  Mustang nearly choked at Jenna’s question. “Excuse me?”

  “You were having trouble getting on Ballbreaker in Kansas City. The announcers said he was,” Jenna shuffled to a printed page of white paper and read, “unridden after sixteen times out. Whatever happened? Did you ride him?”

  Slade enjoyed being able to give her the answer on Mustang’s behalf for that question. “Nope. Mustang hit the dirt in two seconds. Ballbreaker’s still unridden after seventeen outs.”

  “Hey! He was all bunched up in the back of the chute. I never did get myself seated on him right.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Slade grinned.

  Mustang scowled.

  Meanwhile, Jenna scribbled furiously and then looked up at them both. “Thank you so much for agreeing to help me. I mean I hear the announcers talking about ‘the draw’ and then ‘the draft’ and I don’t know the difference. Then there’s the ‘short round’ and the ‘long round’ and ‘into his hand’ and ‘away from his hand’.” She hesitated. “And I have other more…personal questions too.”

  Intrigued, Slade couldn’t stop himself. “Like what kind of personal questions?”

  Beneath the blue neon, as the waitress slapped down the pitcher and three plastic cups, Slade could have sworn Jenna blushed at his question.

  “Like, um. I see some guys wear helmets and some don’t and you all seem to wear those thick, stiff, protective vests, but do you also wear, um, cups?” She whispered the last word.

  Across the table, Mustang choked again on the beer he’d poured and taken a gulp out of just as Jenna asked that question. You’d think the man would learn not to drink while this surprising woman was talking.

  Slade grinned at how embarrassed she’d become. Knowing exactly what she meant, he played dumb and asked anyway, “Cups? What d’ya mean?”

  Red-faced and looking ready to crawl under the tiny cocktail table, Jenna mumbled, “You know, like a jock strap?”

  Mustang, finally recovering from his coughing and sputtering, shook his head. “No, ma’am. We don’t wear cups.”

  Taking a gulp of his own beer, Slade enjoyed seeing Jenna’s eyes open wide at Mustang’s answer. “You don’t? But there’s a lot of…bouncing and… I mean, it looks really dangerous. What if you get stepped on, you know, down there?”

  “First of all, no little plastic cup is going to help any anyhow if a two-thousand-pound bull steps on you. Besides, I’ve been riding for six years and been stepped on plenty of times in many places and all my parts are still in perfect working order. Wanna see?” Mustang reached to release the well-worn Rookie of the Year belt buckle at his waist, teasing her.

  “That’s okay. Maybe later.” She cocked a brow, bouncing back from her temporary bout of shyness to shoot Mustang down, which Slade enjoyed a bit too much.

  Abandoning his belt, Mustang raised his plastic cup to her in salute. “Okay, later then. It’s a date. Oh, and in case you’re wondering, Slade here’s parts all work too. Most of the time, anyway.”

  Slade frowned and narrowed his eyes at his supposed friend over that remark.

  Avoiding eye contact with Slade, which he was kind of grateful for at the moment, Jenna nodded to Mustang. “Good to know. Thanks.”

  Was she blushing again?

  “You’re such an idiot,” Slade mumbled, before noticing she was back to writing. He pointed at her. “See, Mustang! Now she’s gonna write all that shit down.”

  Jenna directed her attention back to Mustang. “Mustang. About that. How’d you get that name anyway?”

  Jumping at the chance for revenge, Slade dove right in. “That’s simple. It’s because he’s hung like a horse.”

  “Yeah, right. Very funny.” Jenna scowled at Slade and then turned to Mustang. “Come on. Really. How did you get the nickname? Do you own a Ford Mustang or something?”

  “Nope.” Mustang grinned wide.

  “Your first horse was a Mustang?�
��

  Still grinning broadly, he shook his head at her once again. “Nope.”

  “You are really named for the size of your…” Her eyes dropped to Mustang’s crotch before she yanked them back up.

  Slade laughed at her. “Well, it’s not like his mama took one look at him naked in the hospital and named him that when he was born. His given name is Michael Jackson, but would you want to be a cowboy with the same name as that freaky pop singer?”

  “Slade! Jeez. Thanks a lot.” Mustang scowled at him over the rim of his beer cup.

  “What? I’m allowed to tell her about the size of your dick but not that your real name is Michael Jackson?”

  Mustang scowled. “That’s right.”

  Slade rolled his eyes and turned back to Jenna, who appeared to still be having trouble finding a safe place to look when he made eye contact with her. “Anyway, once Mustang here started riding he tried to go by Mike Jackson, but once we found out that everyone in his high school used to call him Mustang because one of the girls he had nailed commented on how big he was, the name stuck.”

  Slade noted Jenna’s cheeks flush again as she listened to him before recovering her composure and saying, “Okay. Thanks.”

  Mustang, apparently over the anger that Slade had outed him about his real name, turned to Jenna. “I’d be happy to show you, if you’d like. For your research.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” Still pink-cheeked, Jenna stared hard at her pad, flipping through the pages of scrawl again.

  Slade sipped his beer and waited for her to find whatever she was looking for while he enjoyed watching her flustered.

  “My head is spinning. I don’t have much time here in Tulsa, but there’s so much great stuff you two can give me.”

  Mustang shook his head and laughed. “Oh, darlin’. You have no idea.”

  She shot him an indulgent look. “I meant for the book.”

  “Sure, for that too.” Mustang grinned charmingly, sliding her untouched beer cup toward her not so subtly.

  “What do you have so far for this book of yours? Maybe we should start by taking a look at it,” Slade offered, anxious to get the conversation off of Mustang’s dick.