Reckless in Texas

by Kari Lynn Dell

  When he parked at the rodeo grounds, she slid out of the pickup only to discover her leg muscles had gone on strike. Joe caught her, propped her up, and steered her in the direction of her trailer. Violet yelped when something popped out from under the fender and went straight for her knee. Katie jammed her head under Violet’s hand, stubby tail doing double time. Joe scratched the dog’s ears while Violet turned her head one careful degree at a time. Where Katie went…

  Cole unfolded from one of the lawn chairs in the black void under the awning. He looked at Violet, frowned, then looked at Joe. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She’s got whiplash and she’s zonked to the eyeballs on pain meds.”

  “And they left her with you?”

  Joe made a face as if he couldn’t believe his bad luck, either.

  “How’s Delon?” Cole asked.

  “Good enough to ask if he won a check,” Joe said.

  “Guess he’ll live then.”

  The rigid set of Cole’s shoulders relaxed a touch, which was the equivalent of a normal person’s giddy smile. Violet ground her teeth. Of course he hadn’t come to the emergency room. Instead, he’d sat alone in the dark, brooding. The big dumbass. She shrugged free of Joe’s arm and stumbled over to plant a hand square in the middle of Cole’s chest, both for balance and emphasis.

  “You are a jerk,” she said, giving each word its own space.

  “I know.”

  She slid her arms around his waist and burrowed her head into his shoulder. “I love you anyway.”

  He stood, stiff as a statue, as she clung to him. After a few seconds his hand came to rest on her back, patting awkwardly. “You scared the shit outta me.”

  “Join the club.” She gave him another squeeze then let go and turned on her heel, sending her head spinning off into hyperspace again.

  Joe grabbed an arm and swung her around to face the steps. “Up you go. Say good night, Violet.”

  “G’night, Violet,” she repeated, then giggled.

  “Geezus. She’s wrecked.” Cole whistled to his dog. “Let’s get outta here, Katie.”

  “Appreciate the help, buddy,” Joe called after him, then manhandled Violet up the steps and through the door, propping her against the nearest wall while he found a light switch. “Which bed is yours?”

  “I need to clean up first.”

  Joe made an exasperated noise, but helped her to the bathroom door. He inspected the interior and grunted. “It’s so small you probably can’t fall over.”

  But she could faint, and almost did when she got a look at herself in the mirror. She peeled off Joe’s coat, hung it on a towel hook and shrugged off the hospital gown. A shower was beyond her. She’d have to settle for combing the mud out of her hair and swabbing her face and neck with a washcloth. First, though, she had to lose the sports bra. The clammy elastic dug into her shoulders and rib cage like steel cable. She hooked her fingers under the bottom band of the bra and tried to peel it up. The bra didn’t budge. She pulled harder, gritting her teeth against the arrow of pain that shot down her neck. Her fingers popped loose and her hand flew up to cold-cock her square in the chin. She stumbled and the toilet hit her legs, buckling her knees. Her shoulders slammed into the wall and she slid down like a bird on a windshield.

  Joe yanked the door open as her butt hit the toilet lid. “What the hell—”

  Violet squinted up at him. Them. Multiple versions of his face wobbled though her field of vision. “I believe I’m gonna need a hand here,” she said.

  Chapter 31

  A hand. Or two. On Violet. When she was half naked and getting more so. Somewhere the devil was laughing his ass off. Joe eased her into the bedroom and braced her against the wall, trying to study the bra while trying not to study what was inside the bra. What in the hell were her parents thinking, sending him to tuck her in?

  First he had to get her out of that god-awful bra—steel gray and industrial strength. Joe wouldn’t have been surprised to see rivets.

  Violet squeezed her eyes shut, sliding past the fun part of the Toradol high and into exhaustion. “Just get it off of me.”

  “With what, a cutting torch?”

  “Hah. Jokes. Very helpful.”

  “Fine. I’ll use a pocketknife instead.”

  Violet’s eyes popped open and she clapped her hands over her chest. “No! Do you have any idea how much these things cost?”

  “I’ll buy you a new one.” Hell, he’d buy her two if it meant not having to strip that thing off and force himself not to catch what fell out.

  Violet got her mulish look. “You have no idea how hard it is to find good bras.”

  Thank God. Joe could see why women were tough to figure sometimes. It must be hard to be reasonable when you were being tortured by your own underwear.

  Violet slumped a little farther down the wall, a breath away from passing out. “Don’t have all night.”

  “Pajamas?”

  “Drawer.”

  He found a nightshirt—dark blue with a silver Dallas Cowboys star—and laid it on the bed. Then he peeled Violet off the wall. “How do you want to do this?”

  She wobbled around until her back was to him and lifted her arms. “Pull on the bottom, out and up.”

  He reached around but stopped short of grabbing anything. “I’ll close my eyes if you want.”

  “You’ve seen it all before.”

  And thanks so much for the reminder. Joe took a deep breath, which wasn’t the best move, since his face was buried in the curve of her neck and oh, man…oranges again. He worked his fingertips under the elastic, which was no small feat since it seemed to be the same stuff used to tie down oversized loads. Her flesh was warm and soft against the backs of his fingers, the full weight of her breasts resting on the heels of his hands. He had to remind himself how to breathe.

  “Out and up,” Violet ordered.

  He did, and all that soft, warm flesh spilled out. He scrunched his eyes tight and pushed the bra up to her elbows.

  She lowered her arms to cover her chest. “You can go now.”

  He went, shutting the bedroom door behind him. When she opened it a minute later she was wearing the nightshirt and a pair of sweatpants. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for an ice pack.”

  And shoving his head in the freezer before his brain boiled over. He pulled out the gel pack, then reconsidered and put it back when he saw Violet was hunched into herself like she was cold. Her eyes drooped but she fought them open again.

  A shot of something a whole lot more dangerous than lust hit Joe square in the chest. He took her shoulders, turned her around, and guided her to the bed. “Lay down, Violet.”

  He flipped back the comforter and she eased down, letting him pull the blanket up to her waist. He perched on the edge of the bed like his mother used to when he was sick, smoothing the hair off her forehead.

  “Thank you for all your help, even if you were a pain in the ass.” Her smile was a little sloppy. “It’s your turn to kiss it better.”

  Geezus. She was killing him. He leaned down, intending to give her a quick peck on the cheek, but she turned her face and caught his mouth with hers, pulling him into the sweet, soft heat. He had to force his palms to stay flat on the bed when they would much rather have curled around what was running loose under that nightshirt. Hunger churned through him, leaving him spinning in its wake. He ignored the need but let the heat roll where it would, thawing the corners of his soul chilled by how unbearably close she’d come to getting seriously hurt. Or worse. God, what would he have done if it had been the worst?

  He buried his face in her neck, trying to smother the unthinkable in her smell, treasuring the steady beat of her pulse against his lips. When he finally dragged himself away, Violet looked pretty toasty, her cheeks glowing. She reached up and brushed
her fingers over his hair. “I liked it long.”

  “I was trying to look respectable.”

  Her fingers drifted down, traced his eyebrow and skimmed over his cheek, her gaze following their path. “Don’t. It doesn’t suit you.”

  He caught her hand and kissed the palm. “Go to sleep, Violet.”

  He started to stand, but her fingers curled around his. “Stay with me.”

  His body screamed, Yes. His brain said, She’s high as a kite, moron. Don’t even think about it. “I can’t. It’d be taking advantage.”

  “Not the naked kind of stay.” Her eyes were huge, dark with the shadows of the same fear that lurked in his gut. “I don’t want to be alone. I might not wake up if something happens.”

  He hadn’t thought of that. There could be another storm. And what if she got up during the night and keeled over in the bathroom again? Or worse, wandered outside. He’d heard of people on medication walking in their sleep. She could stumble into one of the stock pens. Fall in the mud and get hypothermia. In fact, now that Joe thought about it, there really was only one way to be sure she was safe.

  He toed off his boots and turned out the lights before he climbed over her to settle on the inside half of the bed—on top of the blankets. He wasn’t a total glutton for punishment. He slid his arm around her waist and kissed her shoulder because he didn’t dare go anywhere near that mouth again.

  “Happy now?” he asked.

  She sighed, wiggling her butt up snug against him, killing him all over again. “Yes.”

  “Good. Go to sleep, Violet.”

  She closed her eyes. Joe watched her face sharpen from a pale blur into identifiable features as his eyes adjusted to the orangish glow of the arena security lights filtering through the blinds. Beneath his arm, the rise and fall of her rib cage slowed as she finally surrendered. He relaxed, too, all the odds and ends flying around inside him settling like a pile of dry leaves floating back to earth after a dust devil passed through. He eased his arm up until it pressed against the weight and warmth of the bottom curve of her breasts. A man could only take the gentleman thing so far.

  He tucked his body around her, filling his nose with the scent that was so thoroughly Violet. Dirt and horses and fruit. Feelings he couldn’t—wouldn’t—name swelled inside him. He pressed a kiss to her temple, and then he settled in to savor the only night he’d ever get to spend with Violet in his arms.

  Chapter 32

  Violet shifted, then groaned at the dull clench of pain at the base of her skull. Her muzzy brain dredged up images from the night before. Delon. The ambulance. Those awful, scary minutes when they’d feared the worst. And Joe. He’d been the first to reach her side in the arena. The first to arrive at the hospital. Taking charge, taking care of her, tucking her in and holding her so close, so gently…

  And then leaving. She slid a hand across the empty bed beside her. When? Outside, one of the trucks roared to life. Sunlight stabbed through the blinds and voices called. Cole. The truck driver. Hank. Loading up to go home. Violet rolled onto her side, then pushed up slowly until she was sitting, feet on the floor. Her mind felt fuzzy and her tongue was cemented to the roof of her mouth. After a minute, she tried standing. Her whole body ached, but as long as she didn’t turn her head there was no serious pain.

  She braced one hand on the wall as she shuffled to the bathroom, wincing at her reflection in the mirror. Dear Lord. She looked like death, only grubbier. She sat on the closed toilet seat and eased her nightshirt over her head, suffering only a few sharp twinges in the process. She could shower sitting down in the tiny bathroom, and she sure wasn’t letting Joe see her like…

  The nightshirt fell from her hand. Oh hell. It was Sunday. She popped the bathroom door open and squinted at the clock. Her heart dropped to the pit of her empty stomach. Eight forty-seven.

  Joe had to leave by eight.

  She pulled the door shut and sat, stunned. So that was it. Just…poof! Gone. She could still feel his body curled around hers, still smell him on her skin, and he was already halfway to the airport. Hadn’t even bothered to kiss her good-bye.

  Well. It was probably best. Like ripping off a bandage with one quick yank.

  She’d like to call bullshit on that theory. Faster didn’t hurt one damn bit less.

  She cranked the taps and let the tears flow fast and hot with the water. She’d give herself ten minutes to wallow in self-pity, then she had to suck it up. Fifteen minutes later, she was scrubbed and dressed in a sleeveless blouse and shorts. Her eyes were only a little pink and the hot water had helped loosen her neck muscles, reducing the pain to darts instead of flaming daggers.

  She glared at the prescription bottle strategically placed in the middle of her table. There was a note propped against it. Take me. What was this, Alice in Wonderland? She picked up the note, turned it over to see it had been scribbled on a chunk torn off last night’s rodeo program. No signature. No Nice knowing you. But hey, it was probably more than most women got from Joe after he’d snuck out of their beds at the crack of dawn. She tucked the paper into her pocket, ignored the medicine bottle to reach for the door handle, then jerked back when a knock sounded under her hand.

  “Violet? Are you awake?”

  She shoved the door open so fast she would’ve knocked Joe flat on his back if he weren’t quicker than the average cat. “What are you doing here?”

  He held up a foam cup and a paper bag. “You didn’t eat last night.”

  “But your flight—”

  “I changed it to the same one tomorrow.” He started up the stairs, forcing her to step back. “The last thing anyone needed to worry about this morning was getting me to the airport.”

  She snatched the coffee out of his hand and sucked down the first three swallows, craving the kick. Plus it hid her idiotic smile. He stayed, he stayed, he stayed!

  Joe fished breakfast burritos out of the bag and dropped them on the table, careful not to look her square in the eye. “Your parents and Beni are up at the hospital. Cole even stopped in long enough to see with his own eyes that Delon was gonna live. He and the trucks are headed home as soon as they’re loaded.” He shoved a burrito toward her. “Eat your breakfast. Then take your medicine. I’m gonna go help Cole load the trucks.”

  She didn’t want a damn burrito. Or her medicine. She wanted a smile. A touch. A kiss. Something. She folded her arms, feeling her face settle into a sulk worthy of her son. “Who made you the boss of me?”

  His smile flashed, quick but real. “Your mother.”

  The hell she did. Violet glared after Joe until her stomach growled at the scent of sausage and eggs. Okay, fine. Maybe she did want a burrito, but she was not taking the muscle relaxants. She couldn’t wander around in a rubber-kneed haze all day. She ate both burritos, polished off the coffee, then shoved her feet into her muddy boots.

  Hank cut her off at the gate to the stock pens. “Can’t let you in here.”

  “Says who?”

  “Miz Iris. She left strict orders. And Joe said he’d kick my ass if you set foot anywhere near a horse or a bull.” He gave an apologetic shrug, but didn’t budge. “We’re almost done anyway.”

  Violet glared at Hank, then over his shoulder at Joe, who swung open a gate to let Blue Duck into the alley. Mud caked the roan’s side and hip and hung in clumps from his mane, a stark reminder of the previous night’s misadventures. Hank followed her line of sight.

  “Someone in the crowd recorded the whole thing and posted it online.” He fished his phone out of his pocket, poked a few buttons and handed it to Violet. “You should go sit down and watch it.”

  Violet resisted the temptation to snatch the sorting stick out of his hand and whack him. Little punk, telling her what she couldn’t do. Instead, she stomped back to plunk down under her awning and squint at the palm-sized screen. The action played out as Violet rememb
ered it—the ride, then the slip and the rear, Blue Duck falling onto his side. She watched herself spur Cadillac up from behind, into the gap between bucking horse and fence, coming straight at the camera.

  Her breath caught as Delon fell, Cadillac’s feet and legs pummeling him. The big horse stumbled and fought to recover, scrambling on his knees with his nose plowing into the mud as Violet was launched over his head. The picture wobbled, the person holding it gasping as Violet’s skull missed a post by less than the width of her hand, her body sandwiched into the impossibly narrow gap between the fence and Cadillac’s hurtling mass. Holy shit. Violet’s vision blurred, then went white. She’d almost…she’d come within inches of…it could have been gone in that instant. Her life. Everything. Oh God, Beni would’ve…

  Her chest heaved, but still there wasn’t enough air. Never enough air. The phone fell from her hand and she grabbed the arms of the chair as the earth tilted beneath her.

  “Violet!” Joe’s face loomed out of the haze, his voice echoing from far away. “Slow down, darlin’. You’re hyperventilating. Just…slow…down…” His fingers stroked her cheek in time with his words, giving her a point of focus. “Slow. Calm. That’s it. Easy now.”

  Her lungs took up the rhythm of his caress and the words he continued to croon. Her vision gradually cleared, but all she could see was Joe. He was definitely looking at her now. From three inches away.

  “What happened?” he asked, green eyes dark with worry as he ran a gentle hand over her hair. “Do you have a headache? Are you gonna puke?”

  “No. I just…I saw the video…” She dropped her gaze to where Hank’s phone had landed.

  Joe hissed out a curse.

  “I didn’t realize it was…it looked so bad. Did you see…”

  “Yeah. Every time I close my eyes.”

  Violet laughed, a shrill, hysterical sound. “Cadillac…how did he not roll right over me?”

  “Pure try,” Joe said. “He gets extra grain. Forever.”