by Tessa Layne
He held out his good arm, and she stepped into his embrace, wrapping her arm around his waist. “I’m taking you to the doctor.”
“Nope.” He shook his head. “I’m fine.”
She twisted, giving him an evil-eye that looked so much like her mother, he laughed outright. “This is not funny.” Her scowl could have melted a glacier.
“Darlin’, I’m sure you don’t want to hear this, but just now, you were the spitting image of your mother.”
She gasped, then turned bright pink. “You’re right, I don’t want to hear that.”
He leaned in, catching a whiff of her floral perfume. A welcome sensation among the sweat, hay, and manure that permeated the arena. “It’s okay, Lyds. I like it.”
“I’m still taking you to the doctor,” she said with a stubborn set to her jaw.
He had half a mind to let her. Not because he needed a doctor, but because her worry touched him. No one, not one person, had ever worried about him the way Lydia had. Even years ago, when he didn’t deserve it, she’d been there to take his keys, or to try and convince him not to get stoned. He’d viewed it as judgment back then, meddlesome behavior from the class goody-two-shoes. But it hit him like he’d been slammed into the rails – all those times? She’d been worried about him. His throat choked tight at the realization. Not once in his career as a rodeo professional had anyone insisted he see the doctor. Not once.
“Colt?” She clucked at him like a mother hen, and again, his chest tingled at the sound.
“How ’bout this? There’s a rodeo physician back here in the Justin Sportsmedicine Truck. I can have him take a look. Will that ease your mind?”
She looked dubious.
“I swear, he’s a real doctor.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “Lead the way.” They made their way back to where the enormous RV stood just outside the arena, and took a seat inside. Colt started to unbutton his vest, but Lydia pushed away his hands. “Here. Let me do that.”
He gave her a crooked grin. “So this is all I needed to do to get you to undress me?”
Her eyes lit, even as she scolded him. “Stop. This is serious.”
“Sweetheart, I promise you I’m fine.”
She eased the leather vest off his shoulders, and he winced as he moved his left arm. “See? You’re not fine.”
“Just shook up is all.”
Her hands pulled at the buttons of his shirt. And damn him for being a dirty dog bastard, but a lick of heat rolled through him. “Can you slip your arm out?” she asked, eyebrows pulled together so that two creases appeared above her nose.
At the moment, he didn’t want to move. Her hands fluttering across his chest acted like more of a healing balm than any medicinal salve. But he’d learned through experience, that moving was the best thing he could do after a hard fall. Bracing himself for the flash of pain, he shrugged out of his shirt, hiding a grin as he caught Lydia’s eyes going straight to his tattoo. He rolled his shoulders in a circle, ignoring the fire that shot across his shoulder. “See? I’m good.”
The doctor walked in and pulled up a chair. “I’m Doctor Mike,” he said with a slow Texas drawl. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
“A horse named Razzle Dazzle tossed him around like a rag doll,” Lydia interjected before he could open his mouth to speak. “His hand was stuck on the strap–”
“Rigging,” Colt corrected.
Lydia glared at him. “Rigging.” She turned to Dr. Mike. “The point is he got yanked around before he slammed into the ground, and I think he’s hurt.”
“I’m not.”
Dr. Mike chuckled. “You’ve got a firecracker on your hands there, cowboy.”
“She means well.”
Dr. Mike smiled at him appreciatively. “You’re a lucky man. Life is always better when you have someone in your corner. Now let’s take a look. Left arm?”
Colt nodded, consciously trying to relax his body as Dr. Mike took his left arm and started moving it. First the wrist, then bending and straightening his elbow.
“Ouch.” He winced as pain shot out of his elbow.
Dr. Mike squeezed around the joint. “Any pain here?”
Colt shook his head.
Cradling his elbow with one hand, Dr. Mike began to slowly move his arm in a big circle. As his elbow came level with his ear, Colt winced.
“Where does it hurt?”
“Front, just next to my armpit.” For the first time, worry clutched at him. If he sustained a serious injury this early in the season, he was pretty much done for the year.
Dr. Mike dropped his arm. “You can get dressed. No broken bones, but you’ve got soft tissue damage at your elbow and shoulder.” He reached for a notepad, scribbled something, then ripped off the paper, handing it to Lydia. “Call this guy in the morning. Tell him Doctor Mike recommended you get seen right away for an MRI.”
“Are you kidding me?”
Dr. Mike swung his gaze around. “Absolutely not. If you’ve torn your subscap, or your rotator cuff and don’t have surgery, you could ruin your shoulder. At the very least, I recommend you start using an elbow brace and tape your arm. If you ride in this condition, you could tear something, even on a good ride.”
Damn. He hated riding with tape on. He’d done it before, but had quickly abandoned it because he felt like it limited his movement and his ability to respond to the horse. But if it kept him in the game, he’d do it. Reluctantly.
CHAPTER 21
Dr. Mike’s diagnosis did nothing to put Lydia at ease. A shoulder injury could knock him out for the rest of the year, especially if surgery was involved. Worst? A severe shoulder injury could mean the end of his rodeo career. Brand ambassador for her boots be damned, after seeing him in his element – competing, interacting with the fans, giving interviews, she couldn’t imagine Colt doing anything else. The angry, self-destructive teenager she’d lost sleep over had grown into a self-actualized, confident spokesman not just for the brands he represented, but for rodeo itself.
She pulled out her phone and started searching for rodeo braces, amazed at how many sites came up. Her heart sank as she realized all the sites were for custom braces. “Doctor Mike, do you have anything Colt could use in the short term while a brace is made?”
Colt scowled at her, but she didn’t care. No way was she going to let him risk his career. Not when he had so much on the line.
“Let me go check our supplies. I’m sure we have something temporary.” Dr. Mike hurried out of the trailer.
“What the heck did you do that for?” Colt sputtered.
“Because maybe I cringe at the idea of your arm pulling out of its socket the next time you ride,” she spit back.
“I’m not gonna get hurt. I’m fine.”
“And where’s your medical degree from?”
Colt leveled his gaze at her. “I don’t need a medical degree. I just need a few days to recover.”
“Has anyone told you that you’re the most obstinate, thick-headed, frustrating–”
Colt waived his good arm, voice rising. “Keep going. Please. You ladies all sound the same when it comes to rodeo.”
Ooh, the nerve of him. Anger flashed through her so fast it felt like her hair was on fire. “Is that so?” Her hands flew to her hips. “And which ladies do you mean? The boob jobs who joined you in the hot tub? Sammy Jo? Someone else? Exactly how many ladies have expressed concern about your well-being?”
Gah.
She should walk out. Leave him to his hard-headed inflammatory statements. Let him wrap himself in the blanket of his over-inflated ego. But she couldn’t. She never could, and that would be her downfall where he was concerned. She closed the distance between them. “Answer me. Because it seems like having someone worry about you is a good thing.”
At least he had the grace to look shamefaced. For half a second. But then his bluster returned. “My sponsors worry about me all the time.”
“Of course they do,” she shot b
ack, jealousy raging through her like a Flint Hills burn in March. “Sammy Jo informed me in great detail how she ‘helped you recover’ when you broke your hand a few years back.” She air quoted with her fingers, still irritated at the woman’s smug smile as she’d recounted helping Colt button his shirt.
Colt leaned back, eyes suddenly snapping with glee. “Why, I do believe you’re jealous.”
That may be, but admitting it would only complicate everything. “Not.” She’d regretted on no less than thirty-two occasions over the last week and a half, that she’d been the one to insist on a business only arrangement. And she couldn’t change now. Not only would he never let her hear the end of it, but in the end, when he walked away in favor of the next flavor of the week, she’d be the one heartbroken and left to pick up the pieces in front of the whole town. Better to power through these pesky feelings and build a business.
Colt narrowed his eyes. “Liar.” Jeez, why did he have to look so damned sexy without his shirt? His tattoo made her mouth water. “Lydia…” he drew her name out soft and slow, like he kissed. Her panties grew wet as she immediately envisioned the last kiss they’d shared. She swore, his public kisses were becoming hotter and hotter.
She reached for his shirt and held it out. She would not give in. “Here, slip your hurt arm in first.”
The look he gave her melted her insides, made her heart careen wildly. She refused to be captivated by his muscled back as she pulled his shirt around to his good arm. Heaven help her, but she wanted to run her palms over every ridge and valley along his torso, ease his aching muscles. She could feel him smiling, as if he could read her mind. “Don’t even start,” she grumbled.
“I’m not saying a thing,” he answered with a barely concealed laugh.
“I mean it,” she warned, unable to keep her mouth from curling up, as he slipped his arm in the sleeve.
“Button me up?” he asked with a saucy grin.
“I’m pretty sure Dr. Mike said there was nothing wrong with your fingers,” she answered tartly.
“Nope,” he chuckled. “And I could show you exactly how healthy they are later.” His gaze turned molten. “If you like.”
The problem was, she did like. Too much. Her skin flushed under his gaze. “Stay here. I’ll get your bag.” She turned, but he caught her wrist.
“Lydia,” he rasped. “Say the word, and we can renegotiate everything.”
There was something so vulnerable, so honest, that flashed in his eyes, she stopped breathing. What power did he wield in the universe that he could pull at her this way? Say things that provoked her one moment, and the next speak from his heart? The change happened so fast, her head spun. “Can we? And which Colt would I get then? The cocky Colt, who hides behind a wall of bravado? Or the real Colt, who says things like “I like you,” and “you’re beautiful?”
About twenty-seven conflicting emotions passed through his eyes. He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut.
“I like you too, Colt. And God knows we have chemistry. But is that enough? What about when times get tough?” She waved at his shoulder. “What if you sustained a career-ending injury? What if my boot company never gets off the ground? Then what? Are you going to hide from reality in hot tubs with pretty ladies?”
“No,” he rasped, his voice a husk. “Never.”
She wanted to believe that with all her heart. She wanted to believe it so badly, she almost kissed him. “You have to show me, then.”
His face fell. “You don’t believe me.”
A knot formed underneath her ribs, so intense she felt a little woozy. “Your track record shows me otherwise,” she murmured, face overheating from the admission.
A muscle ticked above his jaw as he speared her with a look so intense, she might melt into the floor. “Then give me a chance, Lyds. Please. Just one chance.”
The knot shot up her neck, lodging in her throat. Could she do it? Could she jump off the cliff and into Colt’s arms? She reached for him, running her palm along the stubble of his jaw. “Colt, I–”
“Here we are,” Dr. Mike called as he stepped back into the trailer holding a bulky package. “I grabbed the strongest one I could find.” He handed another piece of paper to Lydia. “This is the name of an orthotist who can make you a custom brace. It will take a few weeks, so in the meantime, if you haven’t been sidelined, tape underneath this.”
Lydia bit back a sigh of frustration. Had the good doctor just cockblocked her? Or saved her from herself?
*
Lydia shifted uncomfortably in her chair as she stared at the clock next to the bed. Four a.m. Colton lay sprawled across the mattress, face turned toward the window. In the dim, his face looked soft. Childlike. Free from the cocky persona he wrapped tightly around him like a blanket.
At least he was sleeping.
In addition to the brace, the doctor had prescribed a strong anti-inflammatory and a muscle relaxer. “Even with these, he’ll be sore tomorrow,” he’d said.
She’d been surprised when Colton didn’t argue with her suggestion that she drive back to the hotel. Doubly surprised when he’d let her wrap his shoulder in ice. He hadn’t even made a smart remark when she’d removed his shirt. Only looked at her with something akin to gratitude. All that did was ratchet up the confusion roiling inside her.
She’d thought her heart was going to beat out of her throat when he’d gotten hung up in his rigging. And when he collapsed in the arena, her body had gone hot then cold with dread. She’d dropped her soda in her haste to scramble out of the boxes and get down to him, angered that the Carters had sat there like what they’d witnessed wasn’t that big of a deal. Sammy Jo snickered as she passed, but she didn’t care. A hang-up like that might be all in a day’s work for them, but Colton was hurt and she refused to sit back and wring her hands when she could do something about it.
At least the Carters had been waiting for them in the hotel lobby when they returned. That redeemed them a little in her eyes. But once they’d satisfied themselves he wasn’t seriously injured, they’d headed for the sponsor’s floor, only mildly disappointed that Colton turned down their invitation to join them.
Colton let out a deep sigh and shifted on the bed. The covers moved with him, slipping further down his torso to reveal the corded muscles across his back, tapering down to his hips. She marveled at his strength. The same muscles that dominated unruly animals held her with such tenderness. She ached to be in his arms again. For more than a public display of affection. It had been on the tip of her tongue to cave this evening, before the doctor had interrupted them, but the moment had passed, and they’d both retreated.
She replayed the moment for the hundredth time in the last four hours. Just one chance. The look in his eye when he said those words had pierced her straight to her soul. She didn’t doubt his sincerity for a second. She doubted his ability to stay sincere, and that was her hang-up. Yet, since they’d reconnected he’d given her no reason to doubt him. Not one.
But what about the hot tub ladies?
She’d had no claim on him then, given him no reason to expect that she’d show up in Las Vegas. It wouldn’t be fair to hold that against him. She twisted the enormous diamond on her finger.
What if?
Was she willing to renegotiate? It would make their fake engagement that much more believable. But what about when it ended? Colt wasn’t the marrying kind, and neither was she, at least not right now. They didn’t have to renegotiate for a happily ever after, simply a just for now. That seemed like a win-win.
Who’s living and who’s playing it safe?
Again, Colt’s words from Thanksgiving rattled in her mind. She was tired of playing it safe. She’d played it safe her whole life and still had things crumble around her ears. Heart pounding in the silence, she stood and shimmied out of her yoga pants, then stripped off her tee-shirt, the cool air puckering her nipples. Holding her breath, she crawled into bed next to Colton, settling in the crook of his uninjured ar
m.
Her heartbeat slowed as she inhaled the masculine scent of him. He shifted again, and she shifted with him, twining her leg with his, and adjusting so she rested her head on his pec. Surrounded by him, she shut her eyes and drifted into blissful sleep.
CHAPTER 22
Colt didn’t want to wake up, the dream was too good. He’d dreamed about Lydia before, hell, nearly every night. But not like this. She felt so real. She sighed, a sound like music, and stretched her legs against his. With a groan, he tried to move his arm, surfacing from the dream as the realization hit him that his arm was pinned to the bed.
Holy shit.
He struggled to sit, chasing the cobwebs from his brain. There was a woman in his bed. Lydia was in his bed. His pulse roared in his ears. Was he hallucinating? He hated muscle relaxers, hated the way they made him foggy. “Lyds?” he asked thickly.
“Mmm hmm,” she answered sleepily and stretched against him.
He definitely wasn’t dreaming. She was next to him, very much flesh and blood. Naked flesh and blood. “What happened to your pajamas?” His voice wavered like a teenager’s.
She turned her face to him, giving him a coy, albeit sleepy, smile. She pointed behind him. “Floor.”
His blood pounded through his veins. He had to be imagining this. “I don’t understand.”
“Renegotiating,” she answered burying her head into his arm. “Can we go back to sleep?”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.” He didn’t want to move anyway. He adjusted his arm to better cradle her, and dropped his injured arm to her hip. He only winced a little. So she wasn’t completely naked. She wore some lacy thing he’d enjoy removing from her at a later time. Sleep pulled at him, and with a happy sigh, he gave in. If the angels claimed him right now, he’d die a happy man.
*
Sunlight flooded through the windows. Lydia was still there, curled up against him, silky dark hair spread in short waves across his chest. Wonder filled him. He didn’t know what had brought about her change of heart, but he wouldn’t question it. Craning his neck, he tried to see the bedside clock without moving Lydia. It had to be past eight. His chest felt like lead. As much as he wanted to avoid the doctor, Lydia would insist he keep his appointment. Giving her a squeeze and placing a kiss on her head, he spoke. “Lyds, hon, wake-up. We’ve gotta get going.”
