by Diana Palmer
He’d been having more trouble sleeping lately than he ever had in his life—and more cold showers. He opened the window, needing air, and glanced at Allison.
“Do you mind?” he asked.
She leaned her head against the seat and studied his face warmly. “No.”
“It’ll keep me awake. I haven’t been sleeping well. Too many things on my mind.”
“What things?” she asked gently.
“Life, Allison.”
The sound of her name on his lips made her tingle. She liked the way he said it.
“It’s been difficult for you, I know,” she replied. “The important thing is that you’ll get through it. Nothing lasts forever. Not even pain.”
He scowled, darting a glance in her direction. “Don’t bet on it,” he replied.
Her eyes fell to his firm jaw, to the cut of his lips. She liked his profile. It was strong, like the man himself. “It’s early days yet, though,” she reminded him. “You can’t expect to have your life torn apart and put back together overnight. I don’t imagine that waiting comes easily to you.”
He smiled in spite of himself. “No. It doesn’t.” He was quiet for a minute before he spoke again. “But in this case, I don’t have a lot of choice. Are you impatient, Allison? Or do you find it easy to wait for the things you want?”
“I was always taught that patience was among the greatest virtues,” she said simply. “But sometimes it’s very difficult to stand back and not try to force things into place. Accepting things isn’t much easier,” she added, thinking of her parents.
He nodded. “I guess we’re all human, aren’t we, cupcake?” he asked quietly. “And there are times when it seems that we can’t manage any control over our own destiny.”
“You don’t go to church, I guess,” she asked softly.
He shook his head. “No.” His face hardened. “I can’t believe in a God who torments people.”
“He doesn’t,” she said. “We do that to ourselves. He watches and helps when we ask Him, but I think we’re somewhat responsible for our own destinies. When we have choices, we make them. Life takes care of the rest.”
“And where does God enter into it?”
“He gave us free will,” she said, smiling. “Otherwise, Eve would never have handed Adam that delicious, succulent juicy apple.”
He burst out laughing. “Do tell?” he chuckled.
“Besides, there are other forces at work in the world. Balance means evil exists with good. Sometimes it’s hard to win against the darker forces.” Her eyes clouded. “That doesn’t mean you quit trying. You just work harder.”
“You sound like a minister we used to have,” he mused without looking at her, which was a shame. The expression on her face would have fascinated him. “He wasn’t a bad sort. I used to enjoy listening to him.”
“What stopped you from going to services?” she asked, curious.
“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I guess it was because it didn’t seem to make any difference. Going to church didn’t solve my problems.”
“It doesn’t solve them. It helps you cope with them,” she said with a gentle smile. “Being religious doesn’t automatically make you immune to hard times and hurt.”
“That’s what I discovered for myself. I expected miracles.”
“Miracles are all around,” she said. “They happen every day.”
“Do they really?” he asked, unconvinced.
“Oh, yes.” She could have told him that she was one. That she was alive was truly through divine intervention. She glanced out the window. “We aren’t going through Shoshone Canyon again, are we?” she asked, changing the subject delicately.
“No. I took you on a wide Western detour to show you the canyon and the tunnel. We’re going northwest straight into Cody this time. Have you ever been to a rodeo?”
“Once or twice, down in Arizona. It’s very dangerous, isn’t it?”
“More than one cowboy has lost his life in a rodeo arena,” he agreed. “All it takes is one small lapse of concentration, or carelessness. You can be gored by a bull, kicked by a horse, trampled, bitten, thrown so hard you break a bone... It’s no game for city cowboys.”
“Have any tried?” she asked, curious now.
He chuckled softly. “We had this guy from back East at one of the Cody rodeos last year,” he began. “He’d been riding those mechanical bulls in bars and figured he was plenty good enough for a hick rodeo. He signed up and paid his entrance money. They put him up on one of the bulls we’d supplied. Old Scratch, by name.” He grinned at her. “There he sat, waiting for the buzzer and for the gate to open, when the announcer gave Old Scratch’s history and mentioned that in seventy-eight rides, not one cowboy had stayed on him until the horn sounded. The look on that dude’s face was worth money.”
“What happened?” she prompted.
“He and the bull parted company two seconds out of the chute. He broke his arm and one rib. Last I heard, he’d given up bull riding in favor of his old job—selling shoes at a department store back home.”
She gasped. “Oh, the poor man!”
“Poor man, hell. Anybody who thinks riding almost a ton of bucking beef is a picnic ought to have his rear end busted. It’s no game for shoe wranglers.”
She studied Gene’s lean, hard face and let her eyes fall to his tall, fit body. “Do you ride; in rodeos, I mean?” she asked.
A smile touched his thin lips as he shot a quick glance her way. “Do you think I’m too old, cupcake?”
She smiled back. “No. I was just curious. I guess what you do at the ranch takes up most of your time.”
“It used to,” he recalled bitterly. “Until control of it passed to Dwight.”
“Dwight doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’d take over everything,” she said slowly, not wanting to offend him. “I’m sure he was as upset as you were by what came out.”
He scowled. She hit nerves. “I guess he was, at that,” he said in a slow, even tone. “He inherited the business side of the ranch, which he hates, and I wound up with the day-to-day operation of it, which I hate. I don’t mind physical labor, you understand, but while I’m helping load cattle into trailers, Dwight’s committing financial suicide with the accounts.”
“Haven’t the two of you talked about that?” she probed.
He tilted his hat across his brow. “There’s Cody up ahead,” he said, discouraging any further comment.
When he parked the Jeep and helped her out, it occurred to him that he’d told her more about himself than he’d shared with anyone in recent years. And in return, he’d learned nothing—not one damned thing—about her. He looked down at her steadily as they waited in line for tickets.
“You don’t talk about yourself, do you?” he asked suddenly.
She lifted both eyebrows, startled by a question she hadn’t expected. “Well, no, not a lot,” she admitted.
“Is it deliberate?”
She shrugged. “I can’t learn very much about other people if I spend my time talking about myself.”
He tugged at her long ponytail mischievously. “I’ll dig it out of you before I’m through.”
“I’m shaking in my boots,” she assured him.
“You aren’t wearing boots.”
“Picky, picky,” she said, and laughed up at him. He was easily the most physically impressive man in the line, and the handsomest, to her at least.
“Well, hello, Gene,” a soft, feminine voice drawled beside them, and a striking raven-haired beauty with flashing blue eyes attached on to his arm.
“Hello, Dale,” he replied with a stiff nod.
“It’s been months. Why haven’t you called me?” the woman asked. She was dressed in rodeo clothes, with a white Stetson and matching boots. She was beautiful and younger than Allison b
y about three years.
“If I’d had anything to say, I would have,” Gene replied curtly, irritated by Dale’s possessive manner and the blatant way she was leaning against him.
Dale’s blue eyes glared at Allison. “Is she the reason?” she demanded, giving the older woman a hard appraisal. “She’s hardly a beauty, is she?”
Gene took her arm roughly and moved her aside, his eyes as threatening as his cold tone. “Get lost. Now.”
Dale tore away from him, glaring back. “You weren’t so unfriendly once.”
He gave her a mocking, icy smile. “I wasn’t sober, either, was I?”
She all but gasped. Realizing that they were attracting attention, she turned and stormed off toward the back of the arena.
“I’m sorry about that,” Gene told Allison, angry that she’d been embarrassed and hurt by Dale’s harsh remarks.
Allison only nodded. So his conquests weren’t in far-flung cities. She had a glimpse of how it might be if she married someone like him, and had to be constantly reminded of his wildness. Only a few months ago, the woman had said, and he was already resentful at having to see her again. Allison shuddered, thinking that she might have just seen herself in the future. She couldn’t look up at Gene again. She was afraid of what she might give away.
But he sensed her discomfort. When they were seated in the bleachers waiting for the first event to start, he stared at her until she looked up.
“I’m sorry,” he said curtly. His pale green eyes searched her wan face quietly. “That couldn’t have come at a worse time, could it?”
“She’s very pretty,” she voiced involuntarily.
“Yes. I was drunk and she was willing, and I thought that would be the end of it. But she’s tenacious. I’d forgotten that she was entered in the barrel-racing competition tonight.”
“Is she good?” Allison asked.
He glared at her. “In the saddle, or in bed?” he asked, taking the question at face value.
She averted her eyes. “In the saddle, of course.”
His face hardened. “You take some getting used to,” he said after a minute. “I always expect sarcasm from a woman. It’s hard to acclimate to honesty.”
“Maybe it’s your choice of women that’s at fault,” she replied, trying to smile. Hearing him talk so casually about one of his conquests made her uncomfortable.
He had to admit that Allison wasn’t like any of his other women. She appealed to a lot more than his senses. He scowled, because that bothered him. He clenched his hands togther as he stared toward the chutes. “Okay, honey, here we go,” he said, nodding toward the announcer, who’d just started speaking.
It was the best rodeo Allison had ever seen. Gene knew most of the contestants and most of the livestock, so he pointed out the strongest riders in each competition and the worst bulls and broncs.
“Now that son of a mustang leaped flat-footed into the backseat of a convertible on a neighboring ranch,” he informed her as one of the worst bareback broncs trotted away after unseating his would-be rider. “He doesn’t belong to us, and I’m glad. He’s a really bad customer. All but unridable and bad-tempered to boot. I’ve been kicked by him a time or two myself.”
“You said you didn’t ride,” she remarked.
“Not often,” he corrected. “Now and again when I’ve had a beer too many, I get the old urge to try to break my neck in the arena,” he chuckled.
That didn’t sound encouraging, either, as if he liked to go on binges. Allison knew so little about men and their habits. She really had led a sheltered life.
“Look, here comes one of ours,” he said, nudging her. “That’s Rocky Road. He can outbuck most of the others hands down.”
Sure enough, the bronc unseated his rider in jig time and sashayed off without a care in the world. The cowboy he’d unseated slammed his hat down in the dirt and jumped on it repeatedly while the audience laughed at the unexpected entertainment.
Allison laughed with him. She really couldn’t help it.
“Oh, the poor man,” she choked.
“You pay your money and take your chances,” he said without much real sympathy. “It happens to all of us. The name of the game is to keep down the number of winners. A rodeo exists to make money, not to give it away, you know.”
“I guess I didn’t think. But I still feel sorry for the men who lose.”
“So do I, actually.”
The next man stayed on and Allison thought he’d done extremely well, but he didn’t score at all.
“He didn’t get thrown!” Allison protested on the man’s behalf.
“The horse didn’t buck enough, honey,” Gene explained patiently, and then went on to point out that a cowboy was judged on much more than just staying on the horse’s back.
“It’s so complicated.” She shook her head.
“That’s the name of the game,” he replied. He smiled down at her. “If you watch rodeo enough, you’ll get the hang of seeing how it’s judged. That’s an art in itself.”
She smiled back at him, tingling from head to toe at the warm, intimate look in his eyes before they averted back to the action down in the arena. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt happier or more alive. Especially when Gene appropriated her hand and clasped it warmly in his while they watched the rest of the competition.
The last of the bareback bronc riding finished, with the winner and second and third places announced. Then came barrel racing, and the woman named Dale was competing. Allison noticed that Gene didn’t applaud or pay much attention to the pretty young woman in the arena. He didn’t even react when his ex-lover won the race. Dale Branigan, they announced, and Allison stared down at the younger woman with envy. She was pretty and young and full of the joy of life as she reacted to her win by jumping in the air and giving out a loud, laughing yell. So that was the kind of woman who attracted the taciturn man at her side: young, aggressive, eager for intimacy and fancy-free. She didn’t really have much of a chance. That might be a good thing, considering how he seemed to treat women he’d slept with. She felt suddenly sad. She was daydreaming, and it was no good. He might be wonderful to kiss, and delightful as a companion, but it was all just means to an end, she was sure of it. The thought depressed her terribly, although Gene didn’t seem to notice. He was quiet after the barrel racing.
He felt Allison’s gaze, but he didn’t meet it. Seeing Dale again had disturbed him. He remembered very little of the night he’d spent with her, and now he was ashamed of his part in it. The old Gene wouldn’t have had any qualms at spending the night in the arms of a pretty, willing woman. But since he’d been taking Allison places, the ease of his old conquest disturbed him. He couldn’t sort out the confused feelings he was entertaining for Allison, or the guilt she aroused in him sometimes. She seemed to look for the best in everyone and everything, as if she wouldn’t even admit the existence of evil in people. She was caring and kind and gentle, and sensuous in a strange, reserved way. He was surprised at her inhibitions when he kissed and held her intimately, and he wondered why her own conquests hadn’t taught her more. Perhaps she’d been sleeping with the wrong men. He thought about sleeping with her himself, and his body vibrated with excitement. It would be like having a virgin, he thought, and his heartbeat increased fiercely. He didn’t dare look at her until he got himself under control again.
Unaware of his thoughts, Allison concentrated on the arena. But there seemed to be a distance between Gene and herself, and she didn’t understand why.
In no time, the competition was over, the prizes awarded and it was time to go home. Allison followed Gene down from the bleachers, noting his dark scowl as he saw Dale coming toward them with her award.
“Going to congratulate me?” she asked Gene, apparently having recovered from her bad humor, because she was smiling seductively.
“Sure. Congra
tulations.” He slid an arm around Allison’s shoulders and drew her close, glancing down at her possessively. “We thought you were great, didn’t we, cupcake?” he added, his voice low and caressing for Allison.
She smiled with difficulty, going along with the pretense. “Yes.” She looked at the younger woman with kind eyes. “You were very good.”
Dale shifted restlessly under that warm, easy smile, which showed no trace of antagonism or hostility. She didn’t know how to react to a woman who didn’t behave like a spitting cat. “Thanks,” she said uneasily. “Going to the dance?” she added.
“We might,” he said.
“Going to introduce me?” she persisted, nodding toward Allison.
“This is Allison Hathoway,” he said, glancing down at her. “She’s an old friend of Winnie’s. You know Winnie—she’s engaged to Dwight.”
“I know her. Nice to meet you. I’m Dale Branigan.” She extended a hand and shook Allison’s firmly, her blue eyes unwavering. “Are you just visiting?”
Allison nodded. “For another week or so,” she said, hating to put into words how little time she had left. But she couldn’t impose much longer on the Manleys, and she had to go to Arizona and finish tying up the loose ends of her parents’ lives. It was a task she didn’t anticipate with pleasure.
Gene stiffened. He hadn’t realized how soon she planned to leave. It disturbed him to think of her going away, and he didn’t understand why.
Allison felt the sudden stiffening and looked up at Gene just as he glanced down at her. The tension exploded between them so that it was almost visible. Dale said something and left and neither of them noticed her departure. Allison’s lips parted under the force of the shared look, the impact like lightning striking. Her heart raced.
“Do you want to go to a dance with me?” he asked huskily, his body suddenly on fire. “It would mean going home very, very late.”
