The Ranger's Rodeo Rebel

by Pamela Britton

  “Now,” he continued, “sometimes people will try and grab you when they realize you can deflect a punch. I’m going to teach you some pressure points that will help deter anyone who tries to grab you. The first one is here.” He pointed to his wrist. “Right above the bone. If you dig your thumb in, you’ll bring a man down. Trust me.” He offered her his arm, motioning for her to try it.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “It’s okay. I’m going to swing again, only this time when you deflect, I’ll grab you, too. You clutch my wrist and press as hard as you can where I showed you.”

  For some reason, she crouched. He grinned, and she had the inexplicable urge to do something crazy—like laugh. Instead she waited.

  He came at her fast. She deflected. He grabbed. She pressed. Hard.

  “Ow, ow, ow.” He dropped to the ground. She released immediately. He sucked in a breath.

  Carolina gulped. “Oh, my goodness. Did I hurt you?” She closed the distance between them. When he stood and bent his head to examine his wrist, they were only inches away.

  “No, I’m good. You just surprised me, is all.”

  He looked up at the same time she did, and they were face-to-face, his breath on hers and her breath on him. His eyes peered down at her so softly, she couldn’t believe how it felt to have him there, next to her. Exciting. Reassuring. Peaceful.

  “Well, good,” she mumbled. “I’m glad.” She looked away, because her heart had begun to beat so hard she was sure he could see it. Or maybe he heard it thundering in her ears.

  “Okay. Yeah. Well.” He stepped back. “There’s one more maneuver I’d like to show you.”

  He clenched his hands, and she wondered if he’d felt it, too, that moment when the ground beneath her feet seemed to slide off the side of the earth and it was all she could do not to hang on.

  To him.

  She wanted to hold him.

  “Turn around,” he said.

  Did he still feel it, she hoped, as she blindly followed his instructions. And then he was there, right there, up behind her, and she could feel the heat of him and she almost groaned.

  Oh, holy hell.

  She bolted. Spun. Faced him.

  “What?” His expression was bewildered.

  She didn’t know what. Something crazy was going on, because she was never going to let a man get close to her again, not even one as nice as Chance.

  “I heard a bee,” she lied.

  He chuckled. “No bees. Just me.”

  It was no use getting attached to Chance. He was leaving soon. Colt had told her a half-dozen times that Chance would only be Stateside long enough to witness the birth of another nephew or niece. Then he was gone. So even if she did like his smile and the kindness in his eyes and the way he made her feel safe and protected, it was temporary.

  “Go on,” he urged. “Turn around.”

  She didn’t want to. She didn’t, but she had no choice. He came up behind her again, and everything around them retreated. The two trailers side by side. The people walking by on the road. The horses and dogs that wandered the rodeo grounds. Everything.

  “You don’t need to be afraid,” he whispered into her ear.

  She wasn’t afraid. Not even a little.

  “I promise not to hurt you.”

  No. He would never do that. She knew that with every fiber of her being.

  “This is what you do if someone grabs you from behind.”

  She tensed because she knew he would touch her, and a second later, his hands were on her shoulders and she almost gasped.

  “They’ll probably wrap their arms around you.” His hands slid down. She smelled his clean scent—a combination of talc and citrus—and it caused her to close her eyes.

  “You’ll never break free by trying to use your hands.”

  No. She’d learned that lesson the hard way. The thought was a sobering one, and it caused her to sharpen her focus.

  “The first thing you do is insert your foot between my legs.”

  She did as instructed, which meant their legs touched. Her sharpness faded again at the feel of his rock-hard limbs. Oh, dear goodness.

  “Now, take your elbow and jab it into my ribs.”

  “But I—”

  “Do it.”

  She jabbed. Hard.

  The breath gushed out of him. The scent of him faded as he moved away slightly.

  “Good,” he wheezed. “Now, this next time, take a step back. So it’s leg between, jab and step back. All in one move. Then as he’s falling backward, slip down and out of my arms.” He closed the distance again, wrapped an arm around her neck. “Quickly. Do it.”

  She hesitated.

  “Now.”

  She jabbed. He grunted again. She thrust herself back. They both went down.

  “Whoa,” he cried, somehow shifting so she landed on top of him. “You forgot the leg.”

  They lay belly to belly, breath to breath, and his eyes were full of amusement and something else. Something that made her whole world tilt and her heart soften.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “You’re doing great.”

  Everything warmed. Her face. Her skin where they touched. Even...

  She rolled away. “I’m no good at this.”

  “You will be.” He sat up. “It just takes practice.”

  She wasn’t talking about self-defense. She was talking about her. About her disastrous past. About how she seemed to pick the wrong man or the right man at the wrong time. She met his gaze, and she knew he was the latter. Any woman could see that, even someone as messed up as her.

  “Hey,” he said, clearly reading her distress. “It’s okay. You’ll catch on.”

  “I don’t think I’m cut out for this. My mom—”

  She stopped herself, but he’d caught the words.

  “What about your mom?”

  She shook her head.

  He scooted closer, using a single finger to turn her chin so she faced him.

  “What about your mom?”

  Carolina hated the fact she’d brought her up. That she was somehow blaming her for her troubles. She’d never been one to point the finger at anyone but herself, and she wasn’t about to start now. Still, Carolina couldn’t escape the need for the truth in his eyes, and she needed to tell him, if only so he would understand how messed up she was.

  “She wasn’t the best role model in the world.”

  “No?”

  “Apparently, I’ve learned a lot from her.”

  That was an understatement. Different men all the time. Some were nice. Some were kind. Some were old and wanted things no man twice her age should want, not from her.

  “Don’t blame yourself for James.”

  “He’s exactly the kind of man my mom would bring home.”

  “And he’s gone from your life.”

  “Not yet.”

  “But he will be.”

  Would he? These days it seemed as though the bad guys were in and out of jail faster than someone could change a tire. And if that happened, if James was arrested for assault and he went to jail and then got out on bail the next day, presuming he would even make it to jail, what then? Who would protect her then? Chance would be long gone. The district attorney had told her it’d be months before James went to trial. Suddenly, Carolina wished with all her might that Chance wasn’t going to leave.

  “Hey.” He must have read the fear in her eyes because his eyes softened. “It’ll be okay.”

  It would not. Nothing would ever be okay again. She had only to look into his eyes to know that.

  Carolina had fallen for the wrong guy. Again.

&nbs
p; Chapter Eleven

  He wanted to kiss her.

  With her eyes searching his, imploring, it was all he could do not to lean down and plant his lips on hers. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Shouldn’t.

  She blinked. He did, too, and the momentary break in eye contact was enough. He stood, held out a hand.

  “Let’s practice some more,” he said.

  She nodded, blond hair falling over one shoulder. She was so tiny. Too small to defend herself against a man like James, at least not without any self-defense training. That James had struck her, that he still taunted her—well, it started a fire inside Chance’s heart, one that he focused on instead of how appealing she looked at that moment.

  She took his outstretched hand. He pulled her to her feet, and she landed against him.

  God.

  If she had any idea how aroused he was with her against him, well, she’d probably call off the rest of their lesson.

  “Remember,” he said into her ear. “Step, wedge, thrust.”

  He didn’t give her time to comment, simply wrapped an arm around her. She didn’t hesitate this time, planting her leg between his own, thrusting back and using such force he didn’t need to fake falling down.

  Damn, he loved the way her eyes lit up with triumph. “That was easy,” she said.

  “Let’s do it again.”

  It was a form of physical torture. He came up behind her, his body buzzing and warming in places he wouldn’t acknowledge. She thrust her leg through his own—bringing to mind other things she could do with her legs—then shifted back up against him, her rear end coming into contact with his midsection, which made him groan.

  She froze. “Did I hurt you?”

  Not in the way she thought. “I’m fine. Just keep going.”

  She thrust back. He dropped to the ground, and he couldn’t take any more. It wasn’t like him to quit, but there was no shame in knowing your own weak spots. Caro Cruthers was definitely a weak spot.

  “I think we should call it a night.”

  It was a good time to do exactly that. The sun had dropped low, and they were quickly losing daylight. Soon the shadows would deepen, and he’d rather be inside when that happened.

  Inside. With Caro.

  It was a thought that repeated itself as they readied for the night. He managed to distract himself for a bit by cooking dinner, but all too soon it was time to turn in.

  “Thanks,” she said, standing by the bedroom doorway. “Really, Chance. I appreciate all you’re doing to help me.”

  “Think nothing of it,” he said, turning away, having to turn away, because if she stared across at him with her big blue eyes one more time he’d...

  What?

  He didn’t know, but he didn’t want to find out.

  “Good night,” she said, closing the bedroom door.

  Son of a—

  Don’t think about it. Don’t think about the fact that right now she’s on the other side of that door, stripping out of her clothes, tugging tiny little panties down over her hips.

  You don’t even know if she wears panties.

  That was the problem, he told himself. He had no business wanting to find out.

  He gazed out the trailer window. As he had so many times before, he told himself to focus on the job at hand. He doubted that bastard James would try anything. Not tonight. He knew they were on to him. After he’d shot Rio, the putz had probably headed back to Via Del Caballo, which was where they should be tonight.

  Chance sighed. He should have used Colt’s truck and taken her home. But no. She’d insisted on sticking around, wanting to be there for the team despite not performing.

  He busied himself with work. He had a new job, and DTS had forms for him to fill out. Fortunately, he could do much of it through his smartphone. There were emails to answer, too, notes from his former combat buddies. Messages on social media from people he’d met over the years. He had no idea how long he’d been on the couch when he heard a noise. It came from the other side of the door.

  Carolina.

  She groaned, a groan of fear, pain and anguish.

  Ignore her.

  She cried out again, and against his better judgment, he crossed to the door and opened it slightly. A light outside the trailer perfectly illuminated her face. Her blond hair contrasted with the dark brown pillows.

  Nothing would have convinced him to take the bed. The bed was for her, he’d insisted, especially since her body still ached from being bucked from Rio. Chance had been grateful when she hadn’t argued. He needed a door between them.

  “No!” Carolina flinched. His stomach sank to his toes. She was probably dreaming of James.

  How could someone hit a woman? He’d never understood the need to beat someone who couldn’t defend herself.

  Carolina’s head swung left, then right, as if she fought off blows in her dreams.

  Damn it.

  He didn’t want to. He really didn’t, but he couldn’t stop from entering her room. The bed was above the hitch of the trailer, which meant there was no way for him to walk along the side of the bed. All he could do was use his voice.

  But, man, did he want to touch her.

  He couldn’t believe how badly he fought the urge. He wanted to crawl up beside her, brush the fear from her face with his fingers, ease the pain of her cries and tell her everything was all right. Nothing would happen to her.

  She flung an arm up, but then she quieted and he continued to watch.

  He needed to leave. He turned before he could convince himself to do otherwise, but he didn’t stop at the couch. No. He burst into the cool night air before he could think better of it. There were chairs out in front. He settled into one of them. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d kept watch outside. And sitting in a canvas director’s chair sure beat propping himself up against a rock. He tipped his cowboy hat down and closed his eyes.

  It was the last thing he remembered.

  When he opened his eyes, Caro stood in front of him, holding out a mug. He shot up in surprise, but not even scrubbing a hand over his face helped to clear his mind. Son of a—

  He must have conked out. That wasn’t like him. Not when he was on watch.

  “Here.” She waved the mug in front of her. “You look like you need this.”

  He took the steaming cup from her, knowing a big sip of caffeine wouldn’t shake the cobwebs from his mind. “Sorry,” he said. “I had meant to keep watch, maybe get a little shut-eye, but not sleep until dawn.”

  She smiled. “Busy day yesterday.”

  “That’s for sure.” He took a sip of the coffee, wincing at its strength.

  “What’s wrong?” Her blue eyes widened with concern, and he marveled that she could read him so easily.

  “Strong.”

  “Sorry. I usually get the dark roast.”

  “I’ll go get some sugar.”

  “No, no. I’ll get it. I think there’s some inside.”

  “Stay,” he said, standing. “I saw it last night when I was cooking.”

  He didn’t give her an opportunity to respond. He needed to get up and stretch his legs. Inside the trailer, Chance headed to a cabinet to the left of the sink. The sugar was right where he remembered.

  He heard a noise outside.

  The hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He didn’t usually get such strong premonitions, but when he did...

  He set the mug down on the counter, turned and ran for the door.

  “Let me go!”

  Chance froze, but only for a split second because his instincts had proved right. James. He jumped off the steps at the same time Caro used one of the maneuvers he’d taught her yesterday, the one that allowed you to twist away from someone who’d grabbed your arm.
James, a big hulk of a guy, tried for her again.

  “Hey!”

  James glanced at him, and Chance plowed into him with everything he had.

  Oomph.

  James might be big, but he didn’t have years of combat experience. He didn’t know there was a pressure point on the side of the neck that would send spasms through your whole body and make you cry out in pain.

  “Don’t move,” Chance said, easing the pressure, but only a bit.

  “My neck.” Big paws tried to swipe him away.

  “I said, don’t move.” More pressure, more cries of pain, but the hands dropped.

  “Caro, call the police.”

  She ran into the trailer to get her cell phone.

  Enraged gray eyes met his own. James might be big, but his eyes were tiny. His lips were thin, though that could be because he grimaced in pain. Still, Chance didn’t know what Caro had seen in the man. She could do so much better.

  “I’m going to let you up.” He released the pressure again. “Slowly.”

  James didn’t move. Not when Chance slipped off him and not when someone—Chance didn’t know who—appeared and asked, “Need any help?” Chance wasn’t sure who the man meant—him or James. Chance glanced around. Other people were coming out of their trailers.

  “You broke my neck,” James said.

  “I didn’t.” Chance stood.

  James groaned. “My whole body feels numb.”

  “It’s just a nerve. It’ll come back.”

  Silver eyes snarled at him.

  Chance ignored him. He wasn’t going to get into an argument with the man. Instead he said, “Don’t get up. If you do, I’ll put you back down again.”

  “Piss off, ass wipe.” James tried to move. Chance grabbed an arm and twisted it. James yelled. He tried to get away, but Chance flipped him over onto his belly and then jabbed a knee into his kidneys.

  “Aaaah.”

  “I said. Don’t. Move.” Dumb-ass bullies. They always did the opposite of what they were told.

  “Chance, they’re on their way.”

  He looked up and spotted Caro standing above them, face pale, eyes wide as she gaped at James.

  “Caro,” James pleaded. “I just wanted to talk to you.”