by T. J. Kline
“Just shut up and drive,” she muttered. “Go to the diner on the corner so I can figure out our next move.” She pulled a laptop out of her bag and powered it up. “First, I need to find out more about this particular stock contractor and the idiots he has working for him.” She pulled her hat off and tossed it behind her, recalling his parting words. “On second thought, let’s go find something else for me to wear.”
“Didn’t research that?”
“Who researches rodeo clothes?” She shot him a sideways glance in time to see him trying to hide a grin and glared at him. She knew the names others at the station called her behind her back: Ice Princess, Snob, and Queen Bitch. She deliberately kept herself closed off from most of her coworkers. It was easier to undercut them, stab them in the back, or bail on them completely if she didn’t feel a connection. It was a cutthroat industry and she might hate herself later, but right now, being a cold-hearted witch was the only way to survive. If that meant being the Channel 12 Ice Princess, then so be it. But most of them would love to see her fall on her face like this. She probably should have put more thought into what to wear, but she’d been in such a hurry to get her animal rights information in order that she hadn’t studied trends in rodeo wear.
“If you mention this again, I’ll make sure the only videos you take will be home movies, got it?” she threatened. She felt guilty as she glanced at the wedding ring on his hand, but she wasn’t going to let him spread word that some cowboy had beaten her at her own game.
“DONE ALREADY? WHY don’t the reporters that interview me look like that?” Mike winked at him and pulled the cinch on the saddle tight.
“I didn’t do an interview.” Derek frowned, deciding in an instant he didn’t like being the guy in charge. It made him feel like an egotistical ass.
“Something wrong?”
Derek wasn’t sure how to explain his frustration to Mike. The man raised him after his parents died and could read his every emotion like Derek was his blood. He shook his head, hoping to clear the vision of the redheaded spitfire from his mind. “Just getting my head in the game for today.”
Derek didn’t want to admit that a woman he’d met only minutes ago had him second-guessing his ability to do this job. He could barely focus on the rodeo that was about to start because he was doubting his decision to not kiss her sassy mouth. Great, now I’m as bad as one of those randy bulls.
“So, what’d she want?” Mike bent over to clean a horse’s hoof. “Did you even find out?”
“Not really. She was a snob.”
Derek regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth. It was a fair assumption given her insult, but he’d been a jerk, taunting her. It wasn’t fair to be so judgmental of her because he was thrust into a role he didn’t feel prepared for. He should’ve ignored the van from the start, or asked Jen talk to them. Instead he’d flirted with her and tormented himself with glimpses of creamy skin where the buttons of her shirt pulled. He wrenched his thoughts from the tantalizing path they were taking.
“She had a press pass, so she may be back later. You can talk to her next time.”
There was no way he was getting caught within ten feet of that succubus again. She was too much of a distraction, and he needed to prove to his family he was capable of handling this responsibility. Unlike the last time they’d trusted him.
Chapter Two
* * *
THAT VIXEN MIGHT have changed her clothes, but Derek wouldn’t mistake those curves for anyone else. He wasn’t sure who’d dressed her this time around but, had she been astride a horse, she could’ve passed for any of the barrel racers circling the warm-up arena. She no longer looked like she’d just stepped out of a bad 70s Western. His eyes drifted to the press badge hanging on a lanyard between her breasts.
Down boy, you don’t need this kind of distraction.
His feet ignored the warnings his brain offered. He stepped up behind her while she watched the chute crew slipping horn wraps over the steers for the team roping event. Derek placed a hand on either side of her shoulders, along the top of the metal panel railing.
“Still looking for that interview?”
“Not from you, cowboy.” She didn’t even bother to turn and face him.
“Ugh! You wound me.” He clapped a hand to his chest, just above his heart.
Derek wasn’t sure if she’d known it was him or didn’t care who it was. He caught a whiff of vanilla and peaches and inhaled deeply, feeling a jolt of desire strike him in the gut. Her deep-red hair shone like fire from under the new black Stetson, and his fingers itched to see if those tresses were as soft as they appeared. She glanced over her shoulder, pinning him with an irritated glance as he grinned down at her.
“I highly doubt that. I’m sure there are plenty of other women around here for you to harass.” She turned back to the animals milling in the large pen behind the chutes.
“Look, maybe we got off on the wrong foot.” He looked down at the back of her head and wondered again if flirting with her wasn’t a huge mistake. “I get the feeling you think I’m a jerk.”
“Oh, I don’t think you’re a jerk,” she interrupted, glancing back at him. He arched his brows in surprise. “I know you’re a jerk.” He laughed as she shoved his arm from the fence so she could pass, causing him to stumble forward.
“Now if you don’t mind, I have a job to do and an interview with Mike Findley.” She shot him a coy smile. “I guess your boss sees an interview with me as good publicity after all. Maybe that’s why he’s the owner and you’re, well, you.”
With a twirl she headed back toward her news van. The waves of her red hair swayed at her waist, making her back seem ablaze and he felt his stomach tighten, wondering how it was possible that he still smelled vanilla and peaches over the pungent scent of cattle and dust.
Yep, she’s trouble with a capital T.
“MR. FINDLEY, HOW long have you been a stock contractor?”
Angela flipped her hair back over her shoulder and smiled at the older gentleman. He had kind eyes that crinkled with laughter as they joked before turning on the cameras. He seemed like a genuinely nice man. A twinge of guilt stabbed at her conscience, but only for a moment, as she recalled the atrocities she’d found in her research of the cruelties stock contractors had been accused of.
“I started this company with my partner about twenty-five years ago. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
She smiled brightly at him, attempting to lure him into a false sense of security. “Did you always love rodeo?” She glanced at her cameraman, Skip, and gave him a signal to zoom in on the old man. His reaction when she swooped in for the kill would be ratings gold.
“Rodeo’s in my blood. My father was a bronc rider, his father, too. I learned to rope a steer right after I learned to walk.” He chuckled and shifted his hat, readjusting it on his head nervously. “I guess you could say I was practically born in a saddle.”
“So, it would be accurate to say you’ve been abusing these poor animals for most of your life?”
The man frowned as if he hadn’t understood the question. “What? I . . . no,” he stammered.
“Mr. Findley,” she began, deliberately tilting her head toward him in a way that would appear hard-hitting but feminine on camera, her tone as condescending as if she were scolding a wayward child. “Do you expect us to believe that these animals aren’t abused?”
Mike Findley straightened, still looking confused. Remorse gnawed at the edges of her conscience. Just because he was a nice man, or the fact that his family had never been forced to take responsibility for their actions, didn’t mean he shouldn’t be made to answer for the wrongdoing, she reasoned. And if exposing the mistreatment of his livestock earned her a ticket to a bigger television station and a better life for her and her father, then she’d ignore her conscience and do what was best for her family.
“We have never allowed, nor would we ever allow, any abuse of our animals,” said another voic
e from behind her. She recognized that voice immediately. “These animals are treated with the utmost care and dignity. Without them, we couldn’t make a living.”
“Not according to my research. I could show you hundreds of sites online that show examples of the abuse I’m talking about. Eyewitness accounts, news stories, court documents, police reports.” Angela spun to face Derek’s massive, broad shoulders.
“Is this the same research that had you dressing like some 70s spaghetti Western?” Derek mocked.
“I’m sorry, but you already refused my interview. Now I’m conducting one with Mr. Findley.” She flipped her hair from her shoulder and tried to ignore him.
She didn’t want Derek to be a part of this interview, and damn him for looking incredibly sexy in his long-sleeved Western shirt, tight Wranglers, and rodeo chaps. Women would eat him up if he appeared on camera, which wasn’t her intention for this story. It was bad enough to have a sympathetic old man, but there was no way she would be able to turn this stud into a villain. He was going to ruin her interview.
“I’m not sure we were ever properly introduced. I’m Derek Chandler, one-third owner of Findley Brothers.” Derek held out his hand to shake hers. She glanced down at it and he smiled, leaning closer. “Don’t worry, I think I got all of the manure off.”
She signaled to Skip with a slash of her fingers at her chin. “Cut.” Angela dropped the microphone to her thigh as Derek Chandler moved to stand beside Mike Findley, looking like a bodyguard. “Is this some sort of game?”
Derek laughed sardonically. “You think we’re playing games? What about you, pretending you to want an interview when you’re just another protestor?”
Mike placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder, and she realized that these two would stand together against her. Her chance at an interview was becoming less likely with every second. “We don’t need to defend rodeo. This country was founded on the backs of ranchers.”
“Not to mention animal cruelty,” she added quickly. “Or do you just assume that because something has been done a certain way for generations that makes it right?” She pointed a finger at the men standing across from her. “Do you even realize that what you’re doing is barbaric? There are far more humane methods for raising cattle, even for consumption, and this sport doesn’t bear any resemblance to cattle ranching.”
Derek snorted. “When have you ever been on a working cattle ranch?”
Angela glared at him, irritated that she’d underestimated a bunch of cowboys. She’d thought a little cleavage and a toss of her hair would convince these guys she was harmless, but they hadn’t fallen for it and her mistake annoyed her. He’d already called her out on her ridiculous clothing when she showed up looking like a dime-store cowboy, but she wouldn’t tolerate him insulting her as a journalist. She might not have been as thorough researching clothing, but it didn’t take a visit to a cattle ranch to read the research and watch footage of animals being injured, maimed, and, in many cases, killed.
“I find it hard to believe that cowboys jump on the backs of bulls on the range.” She arched a brow, daring him to take up her argument.
“Whoa, whoa . . . both of you need to calm down.” Mike Findley glanced from her face to the cowboy beside him.
While she was certain anyone could see the fury in her eyes, Derek remained as maddeningly unperturbed as ever, with his thumbs hooked in the front of his chaps and giving her that cocky, playboy grin of his. He was so confident he could win this argument. It took every ounce of self-control to keep herself from smacking him. She decided she’d better try a different tactic before Findley escorted her out once and for all. She wasn’t about to be outsmarted by this arrogant, pig-headed cowboy.
“Mr. Findley,” she began, facing the older man and ignoring the infuriating mass of muscle beside him, “while I understand rodeo is how you make your living, you must understand it isn’t exactly a civilized method. It’s perpetuating the mistreatment of animals. You have them doing things they would never do in nature. In the past, horses were obviously tamed for riding but not by scaring them to the point that they would hurl themselves into fences. Can you deny the many injuries rodeo stock receive each year?”
Mike held up a hand, halting her in the middle of her diatribe, and laughed. “Young lady, have you ever actually been to a rodeo before? Or seen a horse being broken to ride?”
Angela cocked her head to the side. “Not in person, but in my background research—”
“I’m not sure what sort of research you’ve done, but I’d be happy to show you around so that you can actually see the animals, see the measures we take to protect them, and talk to our judges and vets.”
Angela took a step back, surprised by his offer, and glanced toward Derek. “You’d do that? I was led to believe that you would try to avoid the press and any sort of videotaping of your animals.”
Derek shook his head and pursed his lips. “What kind of propaganda have you been reading?” He rolled his eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a rodeo to get started. And animals to take care of,” he added for her benefit.
She narrowed her eyes at him as he left, wishing she could burn a hole in his back with her thoughts. Arrogant jerk. He probably thought she was a pushy, obnoxious shrew who should learn her place, but she wasn’t going to pretend to be a simpering, barefoot-and-pregnant country girl who would fall for his drawling, hillbilly charm. Her mother had fallen for a cocky, swaggering man and paid dearly for it. She would never be a submissive, weak female and no man would dominate her. If that made her a bitch, then she was happy to let narrow-minded brutes think so.
Mike caught her staring after Derek and smiled, his head cocked to the side. “Young lady, I’d be happy to show you around the rodeo and explain what we do.” He tapped his index finger against his lower lip. “But if you really want a story, and I think you do, I have a better idea.” His eyes glimmered mischievously and she wondered what this man had up his sleeve.
DEREK TRIED TO ignore the gorgeous redhead all day, but she seemed to be everywhere he looked. He couldn’t help but notice the sway of her hips as she climbed the steps to the chutes when Mike showed her the saddle bronc equipment. Later, as she watched the calf roping with intensity, he noticed the way she pursed her lips in concentration. While she was deep in thought, he couldn’t help but be mesmerized by her eyes, a deep shade of emerald green he’d never seen before.
This was exactly the kind of distraction he hadn’t wanted to deal with. By the middle of the barrel racing event, he found himself concerned about the pink tinge her skin had begun to take, her hat doing little to protect her pale skin from burning. While part of him warned him not to feel any concern for this woman bent on ruining their reputation, he refused to even consider letting her suffer. It just wasn’t in him to ignore someone in need.
He pulled his horse to a halt behind her as she focused on the pen of bulls. “You might want to find some sunscreen.” He couldn’t help being a bit amused when she jumped and moved away from his gelding as he dismounted. “Don’t like horses, huh?”
“You just surprised me.” She flipped her hair back from her shoulder, and he could read the lie in her eyes.
Tiny beads of sweat clung to her upper lip. Working in a newsroom obviously hadn’t prepared her for withstanding this kind of heat in long sleeves, and he bit back his condescending smile. She pressed her fingers against her cheeks, testing the burn.
“Ow!” She pulled her hands away from the tender skin. “I didn’t realize I was so bad.”
“Let me guess, you don’t have sunscreen?” He arched a brow.
“Well, I didn’t exactly plan on staying out here all day.”
“Just a quick morning attack?” he filled in.
“Interview,” she corrected, giving him a dirty look.
“If that’s what you want to call it.” He motioned for her to follow him as he led the horse toward one of the trailers. “Here.” He reached inside and handed her a bottle
of lotion. “Your cheeks and nose are getting the worst of it, but be sure to do the back of your hands, too.”
She sniffed at the sunscreen and squeezed some onto her fingertips, rubbing it on her cheekbones and nose. She hissed as the cold lotion hit her cheeks. “I guess it’s worse than I realized.” She eyed him warily. “Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?”
Derek shrugged and leaned against the trailer. “Maybe I just don’t want you to accuse me of mistreatment.” He fought the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Angela glared at him. “Thank you.” She tossed the bottle back at him. He quickly moved in front of the horse and caught the bottle in midair.
“This ole boy doesn’t mind, but most horses will spook if you throw things around them,” he warned. He looped a halter around the horse’s neck and buckled it.
He moved closer to her and was immediately assaulted by her peach-vanilla scent. How in the world could she still smell so enticing after being in this heat all day? “You really don’t know much about rodeo, do you?”
“Do I look like I know anything about rodeo?”
“More so than you did this morning. I do miss your other pants, though.” Derek winked and laughed when she glared at him, tucking his thumbs in the front of his chaps. “So, why take this assignment?” He wasn’t even sure why he asked. Something about her drew him in. In spite of her obvious dislike of him and his chosen career, he wanted to get to know her better, to find out what would make a woman like her brave the unknown for a news story.
“I’m not sure.” She dipped her head, looking toward her boots before meeting his gaze. “I knew it would be a controversial topic.”
“And you like that?” He could hear the logical voice in his head insisting he walk away from this conversation now, turn his back and get as far from her as he could. He ignored it. “Controversy?”
“I guess. It gets ratings, and I like those.” She shrugged slightly but a hint of a smile curved the corners of her lips.
