by Em Petrova
West waved at the cameraman. The young guy gave an eager hop to reach the table, and West stifled a groan. When the guy leaned in to see what he wanted, West said, “See if you can find our sister. Only she can talk sense to Asher when he gets this way.”
After a wild nod, the crewmember disappeared into the crowd, making for the door.
Lane gave a gravelly laugh. “Good move.”
Asher ignored them and worked his way through another shot. West drank his beer more slowly and spent some time looking around the bar. It wasn’t until his gaze had rested on five dark-haired women that he realized who he was really searching for.
Malou. By the time he’d escaped the press and the damned Calhoun circle, which had become an occurrence several times a day now that the world loved it so much, the clinic had been empty. He wasn’t certain Malou was even the attending physician at this rodeo, but there was one more day of events and time enough for him to find out.
He’d be much more careful meeting up with her next time. No way did he want to splash her face across all the gossip magazines just for associating with him.
Suddenly, flaming red hair invaded his field of vision. He focused on his sister as she put her arms around Asher’s shoulders. “Come on, man. Your girls will need you to braid their hair in the morning. How are you gonna do that if you’re sopping drunk?”
Asher turned his attention to her, and West found himself holding his breath. Every man wanted Wynonna, and it would be a good fix if she and Asher fell for each other. But there didn’t seem to be more than sisterly irritation on Wynonna’s face.
“They don’t need me to braid their hair.”
“Oh yes, they do. Only Daddy does it right,” Wynonna mimicked the younger of Asher’s girls perfectly.
West grinned and raised his beer again. Right in front of him, several people parted on the dance floor, leaving a direct line to a woman shaking her moneymaker.
Wearing a short, floaty skirt and a loose cami that revealed her warm brown shoulders. He was half out of his seat before she’d twitched those hips to a full beat. Then another person moved, and he spotted the dreadlocks.
His beer hit the table with a clatter and fell over. Lane made a grab to right it with a “What the fuck, West?”
And the camera was inches from West’s face.
But he didn’t care about any of that as he watched that pinhead Jay Wallace make a grab at Malou. She danced out of his reach with a shake of her head. Jay closed his hands around her forearms.
In a rush, West’s conversation with Malou poured into his mind. An icy rush of fury smacked him.
She’d said, “I go straight to my truck and leave after every rodeo.”
“Why? All the fun happens after.” He’d nibbled his way over her collarbone.
She’d chewed her lower lip. “One guy was coming to see me at every rodeo. He got a little handsy. One time he pinned me to the wall and I was afraid he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
He’d vowed if he ever saw anyone treat her that way, he’d punch his lights out. West lurched into the crowd. Shouldered his way through. Was Jay Wallace the asshole she’d been talking about? The one who’d put a tremor of fear into her voice?
A woman squeaked as West stepped on her foot, but when she saw who’d done the stepping, she squealed in delight. West walked the next several feet to reach Malou with a skinny Buckle Bunny hanging off his neck.
“Get off. Find another cowboy,” he barked, shaking her away.
Jay’s hands were locked around Malou’s face now. She twisted as if to get away.
A black dread hit West’s system, and he clenched his fists. Two more steps and he’d be able to separate them.
Malou’s scent hit him like a wave. Through all these sweaty bodies and harsh perfumes around him, he picked out the subtle notes of her hair oil.
Malou’s body seemed wooden as Jay leaned in to steal a kiss, and West saw red. He caught Jay’s shoulder and whipped him aside in time to take the punch square on his jaw from West’s free fist.
“No!” Malou’s cry sounded above the bluesy country tune.
West allowed Jay time to recover from the blow. Because he was a goddamn good guy and the Calhouns hated an unfair fight.
He glared at the man. “You wanna take this outside?”
Jay threw a sideways glance at Malou. A red sheen coated West’s vision, and his temples pulsed. “Let’s go, asshole,” he grated out.
“No, stop it, West! What are you doing?” Malou pressed her sleek body between them, and West’s body fired a twenty-gun salute at her nearness. One of her dreadlocks slithered over his forearm, raising his protectiveness another notch. If this asshole was forcing her—
“What’s your beef with me, Calhoun?” Jay spat. He glared over Malou’s head at West. She stood between them, her eyes wide and frightened.
“I’ll throw you on the floor and beat your face in for stalking this woman for months,” West bit off.
“Stalking? What the hell’re you talking about?”
Malou gave a sharp cry that made up West’s mind. He was going to teach Wallace a lesson in manners. And he might not have a dick to force on her by the time West finished with him.
He grabbed the guy’s shoulder and whipped him to the side. He cocked his fist and punched him in the jaw for a second time.
Jay recovered faster this time and delivered a knee to West’s gut that shoved the air out of him. Screams erupted, followed by cheers and applause. A perk to being a Calhoun—everybody was on his side.
“Rope! Ride! Rope! Ride!” The chant overtook the guitar solo and people parted to make way for the spectacle.
West faced his adversary. “Keep your hands and mouth off her.”
“West, stop.” Malou spun to meet his gaze, and West’s heart gave a wild flip.
He gently pushed her aside to get at Jay, who was swinging his fist in a wide arc.
“Jay, your shoulder,” she cried.
West ducked the blow and jabbed the man high in the gut. His knuckles glanced off a rib just as he took an uppercut to the jaw that rattled his teeth, but it felt damn good, protecting a worthy woman. He’d fought many an asshole fan who’d touched his sister or one of his sisters-in-law. And Lord help the man who ever laid a hand on his mother.
Jay rushed him. Their bodies smacked with a wicked thunk, and they flew backward into a table. The air whooshed from West, but he recovered quickly and got to his feet. Jay rolled onto his side.
“You’re both idiots,” Malou cried loud enough for him to hear. She spun on her high wedge sandals and stalked away.
He automatically turned his head to watch her go. Damn, she was beautiful with all that hair bouncing on her back and the skirt floating around her thighs. His last thought before his teeth were smashed through his lip was that he didn’t have Malou.
But at least this stalker asshole didn’t either.
He grinned through the coppery flavor of blood and they threw themselves at each other in a brawl that would make all the viewers of Rope ‘n Ride—and the producers—very satisfied.
Chapter Two
After uncorking a bottle of patchouli and chamomile and dragging in a few deep breaths, Malou still didn’t feel remotely calm.
Damn that man. Who did West think he was? Going after a man for dancing with her was incomprehensible.
Maybe it was all a publicity stunt. A show taping. Well she had no desire to be part of West’s rising popularity.
She jammed the lid back on the oil and set it back into her box.
The rodeo crowd was rowdier today, and she could hear them all the way back here. Sometimes if she wasn’t busy, she’d go out and watch the events. While she couldn’t bring herself to watch the event that had killed her brother, she enjoyed the guys throwing lassos with such perfect precision. It always got her clapping with the audience.
That could be part of her obsession over West. The way he came off his horse, boots hitting th
e dirt as he ran forward to tie up the calf he’d just roped…
A shivery sigh left her, followed by a groan. How stupid could she be, crushing on a man who’d picked a fight with Jay just for dancing with her?
To clear her mind, she set about checking her supplies again. The nervous energy inside her made her want to run away, but she had to stay put in case someone got injured. And in this game, somebody always did.
She dumped out a whole box of gauze packaged in tiny rolls and started to reorganize them just to keep her hands busy. In her jacket pocket, her phone vibrated, and she abandoned her task to look at the screen.
I didn’t get my dance last night.
West.
She bit off a scream and rushed to thumb-text back, when she heard a step at the door. Around the white partitions, she met West’s stare. Electricity zapped her heart and made it skip.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, dropping her phone beside the gauze.
He sauntered in with slow, deliberate steps that drew all her awareness to his body. Broad shoulders, arms swinging lightly, his thigh muscles bulging and that precise way he set his feet down as stealthily as a big cat.
He wore his hat low, but there was no escaping his smoldering gaze, or the fact that he sported a few bruises where Jay had gotten in a blow.
“Did you get my text?” Damn, why did his low, grumbling voice have to turn her insides to jelly?
“What the hell was that about last night? Why did you beat up my date?”
His eyes flickered. “Date?”
“Yes, Jay and I were out for dinner and dancing. Why would you think it’s okay to come beat him up?”
His throat worked. “Why would you agree to a date with that guy who’d been stalking you?”
She blinked. “Stalk—”
All the puzzle pieces slid into place. After making love for the third time that night not so long ago, she’d confided in West about that cowboy making her very uncomfortable.
“I wasn’t talking about Jay.”
“You—” He held his hands up. “What?”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t talking about Jay. It was another man. I haven’t seen him in months. My guess is, I wasn’t the only person he was stalking and he was told to steer clear of the rodeos or risk charges.” She settled her hands on her hips. “You’d better find Jay and apologize.”
“Yeah, I will. Shit.” He scrubbed a hand over his face as if exhaustion had hit. She had a healing oil for that, but she wasn’t about to give it to him. He could just get out of her clinic. She wanted nothing to do with him or his behavior.
When he lifted his chin and speared her in his gaze, her solid plan flew out the door. One look and he lured her back in.
He stepped closer. “I’ll make things right with Wallace, I swear. It was a mistake. I was defending you, Lou.”
His heated breath washed across her cheek. She spun away, putting more distance between them.
“Believe me. I’m not a Neanderthal running around beating people up for the fun of it.”
“I-I thought it was because you didn’t want him touching me.” Now that the words were spoken, she couldn’t sound more full of herself.
He tipped his head. “That too, but it really was a mistake. Will you forgive me?”
The way he said this, with a hint of lost little boy in his tone, dissolved all her aggravation. But she needed that emotion to keep her wall up.
She swallowed hard against rising need and bit off, “Who are you with today, West? I’ve never seen you with the same woman twice.”
“Guess you can’t talk, Lou. Wallace had his hands all over you.”
“I could name any number of women you’ve had your hands on, including that country star at the CMT awards. Looking pretty cozy.”
“That was for the cameras. Our agents set up the date.” His stare intensified, and she squirmed, her pussy suddenly on fire and wetter than ever. “I see the way you’re looking at me.”
“What way is that?” she sputtered.
“Like you wanna get cozy with me, L’il Bit.”
His nickname for her shocked her silent, and he took immediate advantage. Sweeping his arms around her, he tugged her fully against his hard—hard everywhere—body. She gulped in air, but it wasn’t enough. He was overwhelming her senses, and she felt herself puddling in his embrace.
When he lowered his head by slow degrees and delivered the slightest brush of his lips over hers, her body trembled.
“Hey, Doc? We’ve got an injury here.” The voice broke through her sensual haze, and she ducked under West’s arm. He turned and grabbed at her again, but she shoved him behind one of the curtains.
“Stay there. Don’t talk.” She disappeared through the curtain to attend to the new patient, who’d strained a hamstring. She got the cowboy’s pants off and asked all the right questions, but her mind was far away.
She needed to get a grip, and fast. If somebody came in with a serious injury, how would she focus enough to, say, save a life?
“Lie down here and let me mix some oils. I’ll work it into the sore muscle and see how you feel, okay?” she asked the cowboy.
“Sounds good, Doc.”
While she worked, she grew aware of the curtain twitching, and she wouldn’t be surprised if West were peeking at her. She wanted to hurry and get back to him, but she needed to do her job first.
That misunderstanding with Jay… the fight… She’d been all wrong. West had just been protecting her.
After a few minutes of working the healing oils into the guy’s hamstring and trying to let the calming scents work their magic on her too, she lifted her hands off the man. “I’ll get some ice for you. Just lie there for a minute, okay?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he responded.
She got the ice pack and returned. Placing it on the injury, she said, “Keep this on for fifteen minutes. I’ll check on you soon.”
“I’ll be here.”
She nodded. Heart pounding, she stepped up to the curtain, hesitant to open it. She pushed it aside and gasped as two big hands shot out and reeled her in. She barely registered West’s intense stare as he claimed her mouth.
In a long, searing, tongue-tangling kiss.
She swallowed back her moans of bliss, too aware of the man a curtain away. West cupped the back of her head, dug his fingers between her dreadlocks and probed the seam of her mouth with his tongue until she opened wider.
He plunged inside while kneading her scalp. Waves of pleasure spread through her skin and raced down her neck and arms. She gripped his shirt front to steady herself, but she was as weak as a newborn kitten. If he let go, she’d fall on her face.
When he stroked a path down her spine and settled his warm palm over the small of her back, liquid heat oozed between her thighs. She pushed closer, needing more, out of her head with a craving she’d been denying herself for far too long.
Some law of attraction the Hopis had warned her about.
Her grandfather, who had raised her, had told her the tale of wolves taking a mate for life, and that they would return again and again to the spot where that mate had died, waiting for the wolf soul to find him.
In her youth, she’d thought the stories farfetched, having only narrative value, but now she couldn’t help but think of West’s soul standing guard, waiting for hers.
Unfinished.
She tore away. Panting, she met his gaze. His eyes narrowed, and he lifted a hand to cup her breast. Through the light cotton of her top, he found her nipple and closed his fingers around it.
Biting back a gasp, she batted his hand away. He cradled her face in his hands and looked deep into her eyes. “I’m not done with you, Lou.”
Heat pooled in her center at his shortened use of her name. In bed, he’d called her that as he’d spurted his release.
She shook her head and whispered, “Not here. Not now.”
“If you think you’re going out there and putt
ing your hands on that wimp’s leg again, you’re—”
She slapped her hand over West’s mouth, clamping off his jealous tirade and her own giggle. God, he smelled amazing. She rocked back on the low heels of her shoes.
A female voice jarred her. “We’re looking for West Calhoun. Anybody seen him in here?” Malou took three full steps away.
Go, she mouthed.
He shook his head and beckoned for her to come back. Sweet molasses candy, how she wanted to. He tempted whatever brains she had right out of her ear.
“Is West in here?”
Malou rushed to meet the person before she started whipping back every curtain looking for him. When she faced the woman, she found she wasn’t a groupie like she’d guessed but was holding a video camera. She wore a Rope ‘n Ride shirt. One of the crewmembers.
“He’s not in here. Please leave—this is a clinic.”
“Oh, sorry.” As soon as she’d walked away, a hand shot out of the curtain again. Fingers closed around Malou’s wrist. West dragged her back behind the curtain.
“I don’t want any part of your life, West.”
His eyes widened, and she wondered if she could actually hurt a big, tough guy like him. “Why the hell not?” he demanded in a harsh whisper that set her blood stomping to the beat of a mating dance again.
She pitched her voice to a furious murmur. “The women, the cameras, the fighting… And the sex tape. Now please leave.”
“Those girls didn’t mean a thing to me, Lou. I can’t get you out of my head. I’ve been thinking of you nonstop since I had you underneath me screaming my name.”
He was really playing his cards now. But West was a playboy, and he knew how to charm. He was practically a professional at getting women into bed.
“You’re not pulling me in with that load of horse manure. The temporary insanity I experienced that night with you is gone. And it’s not coming back.”
“You still kiss me like it rules you.”
She wanted to shut him up—by kissing the hell out of his sweet-talking mouth. She stared at the offending feature, digging her nails into her palms to keep from cupping his face and kissing him.
