Shawnee picked up her corn and munched the full length of the cob before setting it down, licking the butter from each fingertip in turn, then her lips, her tongue sliding over them, slow and thorough. Heat bloomed in Cole’s chest and trickled south as he stared, mesmerized.
“So there was this girl…” she prompted.
“Wha—oh, yeah.” He gave his head a slight shake to jiggle some brain cells back into gear. “She was pretty and popular and she paid attention to me. But eventually I realized I was just her backstage pass.” He cut a miniature potato into four precise quarters, then each quarter into half, then lined up the tiny wedges in a neat circle. “You can’t not know, deep down, when you’re being used. Not long term. Even I could tell.”
“How?” Shawnee asked, almost gently.
“Mostly…” He hitched a shoulder. “They never look for excuses to be with you. Just the two of you, alone.”
Shawnee was silent for a moment, waiting, but he didn’t go on. “And then you dumped her?”
“No.” He didn’t explain why not. Shawnee could put it together. There was her mother, after all, hanging on way beyond reason.
They both stared at their food, the air humming with Too Much Information, every word of it a weapon she could sharpen to a sarcastic edge and use to slice him to ribbons. But somehow he trusted that she wouldn’t.
“I would have watched you today anyway,” he confessed, glancing up.
She blinked. “Why?”
“I like the way you rope. The way you ride your horse. I learn things from watching you.”
“Oh.”
Their gazes caught for a beat too long, and the tension shifted into an entirely different gear. Before Cole could open his mouth again and dig an even deeper grave, Shawnee grabbed her fork to scoop up mangled potatoes.
“So,” she said. “What’s new with feed supplements?”
Chapter 16
That was a mistake.
But telling herself she never should’ve invited Cole to dinner didn’t stop Shawnee from leaning against the door frame and enjoying the view as he strolled back to his own trailer, Katie toddling along at his heels. Lord, the man had a set of shoulders. And arms. And a whole lot more that wasn’t nearly as apparent under his usual long-sleeved western shirts. That snug blue polo shirt wasn’t keeping any secrets.
Huge mistake.
Sure, she’d noticed Cole before. But now she was aware of him. She knew herself, she knew her body, and this was a form of heatstroke that was not going to be cured by a few glasses of sweet tea. Not when she had to be in close proximity to the energy source every single day. She’d just get warmer and warmer, until—
“He’s getting it from you!”
She jumped at the accusation, smacking her funny bone against the door frame as she whipped around to find Hank glaring at her from behind her trailer.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, rubbing the sting from her elbow.
“Me and the Leses went out for dinner. I just brought them back, and I saw Cole sneaking out of your trailer, looking all smug and satisfied.”
Oh hell. Just what they needed, Hank getting ideas. “He wasn’t sneaking. And we weren’t having sex.”
“Duh.” Hank rolled his eyes like an eighth grade girl. “He is not your type.”
And even though she’d been telling herself the same thing, Shawnee bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You date guys like J.P., who just wanna have some fun. Cole doesn’t do fun.” Hank braced one hand on the side of the trailer, the other on his hip. “But you’ve been feeding him…and holding out on the rest of us. That is cold.”
Shawnee felt her face go hot. Seriously? So what if she’d been caught trafficking in meatloaf? She worked up a powerful glare. “I did not hire on to be the camp cook.”
“Then why does he get homemade rolls?”
Oh geezus. Now Hank was gonna pout. She folded her arms. “We have a deal. He’s helping me out with, um, my horses.”
“More like one particular jackass.” Hank narrowed his eyes, his gaze uncharacteristically shrewd. “If you ever have a problem when Cole’s not around, just let me know.”
The offer, and the lump it raised in Shawnee’s throat, caught her off guard. Hank was immature, sometimes a total dipshit, but once in a while he surprised you.
Then he waggled his eyebrows. “And I’m really good at casual, if you need someone to pick up where J.P. left off.”
“Oh gah!” She actually gagged at the thought. “Stop before you make my brain puke. You’re Melanie’s little brother.”
Hank laughed, unfazed. “Fine. I’ll clean your horse trailer, or wash your pickup. There must be something…”
She started to shake her head, but then she thought about how they’d all come to the team roping to cheer her and Mariah on. How every one of them had made a point of wandering by to say, “Good job” or “Nice roping” afterward, while she was putting up her horse. Would it kill her to show a little hospitality in return?
“Okay, fine. Tuesday’s an off day. If everybody chips in a few bucks for groceries, I’ll make a big ol’ batch of Texas red.” She could grab a bushel of that excellent corn at the farm stand on the way out of town in the morning, and whip up some corn bread to go with the chili. “Good enough?”
Hank wrapped both arms around his belly and squeezed, grinning. “You are my hero.”
“Say that after you’ve chopped all the onions and peppers. Now go away.”
Hank did, hustling to his car as if he was afraid she’d change her mind. Shawnee leaned against the doorframe again and sighed, her troubled gaze tracking over to Cole’s trailer. Hank was a pain in the ass, but he was also right.
Cole wasn’t a casual guy. And he sucked at letting go. He’d practically said so when he’d admitted how he’d let that girl keep using him. Who blurted that out over dinner? The way he kept people at arm’s length wasn’t disinterest, or coldness. It was pure self-preservation. He had no internal walls behind the stony facade. Everything he felt was right there, exposed and vulnerable.
Which meant Shawnee had to keep her hands off, despite knowing Cole was aware right back. If Cole did crawl into her bed—her breath hitched at the thought of getting her hands on everything under that snug blue polo shirt—he would very possibly want to stay. Maybe forever.
And forever was one of many things she didn’t have to offer.
* * *
They started out early the next morning and drove until evening, into the heart of Texas’s hill country. Half an hour short of their destination, the audiobook Mariah and Shawnee had been listening to ended. They rode in silence for a few morose moments.
“Do we feel more cultured now?” Shawnee asked.
“Not really,” Mariah said. “Mostly we feel like people suck and civilization is doomed.”
“Are we done with your summer reading list, or do I have to suffer through more of this depressing shit?”
“We’re done.” Mariah pumped a fist in celebration. “Next road trip is gonna be all sexy guys and smart-ass girls.”
“Now that’s my kind of book. I could use a good laugh.”
Mariah contemplated the scenery for a couple of miles before asking, “Does it really suck, having your dad around?”
“Ace?” Shawnee corrected automatically. “Not so far, but he hasn’t tried to con me into or out of anything yet.”
“He’s scared of Cole.”
Or he realized Cole couldn’t be charmed, and hadn’t figured another way around him yet. Plus he was biding his time while his shoulder healed. Ace wouldn’t make his move until he had one foot out the door. Usually, Shawnee would have been on pins and needles, waiting for the chips to fall, but her conversation with Cole had actually helped. Go figure.
Or maybe Cole
was just turning into the bigger problem.
“Do you miss J.P.?” Mariah asked.
Shawnee thought about it, then sighed. “I wish it hadn’t ended that way. I may have lost a friend, and that sucks.”
“But you knew it was going to end?”
“Well, yeah.” And all of the sudden, she found herself treading delicate moral ground. Her lifestyle was well and good given her situation, but Mariah was sixteen years old with the whole world waiting for her. Shawnee couldn’t even remember what that felt like. She shook off the pang of self-pity and concentrated on choosing her words carefully. “J.P. is a great guy, and we had a lot in common, but neither of us was looking for a long-term relationship.”
“Because of his age?”
“Not really. He’s very mature.”
“People say that about me,” Mariah said. “They call me an old soul.”
The edge of triumph in her voice triggered alarm bells. She had a stubborn set to her jaw, as if they were having an argument. One Shawnee had lost before knowing she was in it. “Don’t be in such a rush to grow up,” she said, grasping at a feeble straw. “I guarantee, it’s not as much fun as you think it’s gonna be.”
Mariah’s chin came up and her eyes flashed. “I can handle it.”
Maybe, but like the inspirational poster in Shawnee’s doctor’s office said, You don’t know how strong you really are until strong is your only option. She prayed Mariah never needed that kind of strength because, truthfully, it wasn’t all that gratifying to prove how much you could bear.
It was just really fucking tiring.
Chapter 17
For the first time since he’d been sent out on his own, Cole felt like it might actually be okay. Maybe even good. He didn’t quite know what to do with the knowledge that Shawnee was a big part of his optimism, but he was working on it.
When they’d arrived at this week’s rodeo, she’d parked just across the road from the rest of the Jacobs rigs instead of over in the contestant lot. It was like a piece of needle-grass plucked out of Cole’s sock. He hadn’t realized how much her separation had niggled at his sense of order until it was gone.
Now his whole crew was gathered up for dinner. Even Cruz had abandoned his latest rawhide project. They lounged in camp chairs scattered under the trailer awnings exchanging the usual gossip, tall tales, and friendly insults. Hank had hooked up a portable speaker to his smartphone and he and Analise and Mariah were arguing over the playlist. Katie sniffed around, searching for scraps on the empty plates that had been left on the ground.
Aunt Iris would be proud.
Cole soaked it all in as he strolled over to refill his sweet tea from a jug on the folding table beside Shawnee’s door. He turned to tell her—again—how much he appreciated the effort, but hesitated when he saw her sitting with her chin in her hand, flip-flops kicked off, staring into the distance with a troubled crease between her brows. She had wadded her hair into a messy ball on top of her head, but long, curling strands had escaped, trailing across muscular shoulders and arms bared by her pale-green tank top.
His gaze gravitated down to equally powerful thighs and calves exposed by her khaki shorts. But her toes were…well, damn there wasn’t really another word for it. Cute. She had cute toes. And if she could read his mind, she’d gut-punch him.
Cole dragged his attention off her body and followed her line of sight to the source of her frown—Butthead, pacing an agitated rut along the south side of his pen. The gray paused to sniff at the bucket hung on the fence, grab it with his teeth, and flip it upside down, dumping the water on the ground. Then he commenced pacing again.
“He’s not getting any better,” she said, as Cole settled into the chair beside her.
“Not so’s you’d notice.” He fought to keep his eyes pointed straight forward instead of straying toward all that firm flesh. And those cute, bronze-painted toes.
“I thought exposing him to all of these different places would desensitize him. If anything, he’s getting more psychotic.” Her mouth dragged down at the corners. “Got any bright ideas? One of your magic feed supplements that’ll take the edge off?”
Cole had given it plenty of thought. He didn’t have much to offer. “Magnesium, maybe. I’ve used it on horses that stress out in particular situations. Not something you can feed him every day for the rest of his life, though.”
“By which you mean his condition is permanent?” She made a sour face. “I suppose you have a name for this, too.”
He dragged his attention off the satiny skin of her thighs and onto the conversation. Talking while ogling was just asking to blurt out something inappropriate. “Neophobia. The irrational fear of new places or situations. Documented in animals and humans.”
She gave him a side-eye glance without turning her head. “Something else you had reason to look up?”
“Yeah.”
He braced himself for a snide remark about how that explained so much about his anal tendencies, but she heaved a defeated sigh instead. “What am I gonna do with him? I can’t sell a horse that loses his shit every time he leaves the round pen in my backyard.”
“I suppose we could see if he’ll buck,” Cole said, without much enthusiasm. Rodeo broncs and bulls had to be road warriors, comfortable anywhere, or they burned out. The gray would never hold up.
Shawnee shook her head. “He doesn’t have it in him.”
They sat and watched him pace some more. The poor damn horse looked so miserable and anxious and there didn’t seem to be anything they could do to make him feel better, short of a tranquilizer dart.
“I don’t have room to keep him forever,” Shawnee said. “I thought about sneaking down to the Patterson Ranch and kicking him loose in one of their back pastures, but he’d probably panic and run off a cliff. Plus if the stupid rubbed off on any of their colts, Tori would hang me with my own rope.” She heaved another sigh. “I guess I’ll just keep fighting the good fight and hope for a miracle.”
She didn’t sound optimistic.
“I’ll pick up some magnesium paste when I go to the feed store tomorrow.” Cole frowned, puzzled. Shawnee was too horse-savvy not to have seen what she was getting into. “How did you get stuck with him?
“Some friends bought him for their ten-year-old daughter because he was so pretty and sweet. He must’ve been doped to the eyeballs when they tried him out. That is not a kid horse. The little girl begged me to save him.” She drove her fingers through the wayward curls at her temples with a groan. “She calls me at least every other week to see how he’s doing.”
“And you say…”
“I lie my ass off. Whatever I do with him has to be far, far away from Amarillo, or she’ll want to visit.”
Cole thought about that for a while. Then he said, “How about a distraction?”
“God, yes. How much tequila do you have?”
He laughed. “I meant for the kid. Have they found her another horse yet? Beni has decided Dozer is too slow, so he’s laid claim to Cadillac.”
“Violet’s good horse?” Shawnee lifted her chin off her hand to stare at him in amazement. “How’d he swing that?”
“Oh, you know Beni. He’s always got a plan. Since Violet hasn’t been able to ride, he offered to keep Cadillac in shape for her.”
“And she fell for it?”
Cole smiled. “Beni thinks so. Actually, her young horse is past ready to start earning his keep, and Cadillac is the perfect step up for Beni. He’ll take good care of our little man.”
Shawnee tossed a sullen glare at the gray. “That son of a bitch can’t even take care of himself.”
“Too bad we can’t put him on anxiety meds, like a person.”
“No kidding. They are a miracle.” The words were barely out before she sucked in a breath, as if she could pull them back. Then she gave an overly casual shrug.
“Imagine what a joy I’d be without them.”
Before Cole could respond, she slapped her palms onto her thighs and pushed to her feet. “I’ll give Violet a call about that horse. And if you don’t mind, I’ll ride along to the feed store tomorrow to see what they’ve got.”
She grabbed the empty chili pot and disappeared into her trailer, the door slapping shut behind her. Conversation over. Topic closed for discussion.
Cole thought about that bottle of little blue pills in his own medicine cabinet, for the times when his body and mind turned on him and none of his usual tricks could pull him back from the edge. Something else he and Shawnee had in common. But mutual dependence on pharmaceuticals didn’t seem like a great basis for a relationship.
A jolt ran through him like he’d been struck by lightning.
God help him. He’d just put Shawnee and relationship in the same sentence.
* * *
Two days later, Shawnee reined Butthead to a stop and stepped off, rubbing a hand between his ears. He cocked his head, enjoying the scratch of her fingers. And it had only taken most of an hour to get to this point.
“Better,” Cole called out from the fence. “It took four minutes less than average to get him to stop fighting and tuck his nose.”
“You’ve been timing me?” Though on second thought, she shouldn’t be surprised. It was classic Cole—his version of Butthead’s precious round pen. Instead of fences, he coped by surrounding himself with walls of logic and routine.
She’d like to know how that brain of his made sense of the way she caught him looking at her when he thought she didn’t notice.
Nothing was more illogical than her and Cole. Yeah, they worked well together in the arena, they were both horse trainers, and they came from similar backgrounds. But scratch a thumbnail across that very thin veneer and you’d uncover irreconcilable differences. Cole was a highway, cutting straight and true and solid, his destination mapped out to the nth degree. Shawnee was a cow path, meandering from one watering hole and patch of green grass to the next, letting the wind push her where it would.
Tougher in Texas Page 11
