Fighting For Love - A Standalone Novel (A Bad Boy Sports Romance Love Story) (Burbank Brothers, Book #5)

by Naomi Niles

  “What does he do, exactly?”

  “Mick? Well, he looks after me, to begin with. I have this little problem, you see …”

  “You mean the drink or the anxiety?”

  He flashed a look of shock at me. “How did you know?” he rasped.

  I looked straight ahead because I knew he was uncomfortable. “I’ve seen it before. Oh, not that it’s that obvious.” I hurried on to say. “You have to remember, I’m a writer. It’s my job to be observant. I need to get beneath the rehearsed words and see the person beneath. I’d be willing to guess this is fairly new for you.”

  Blake twisted his head as if his collar was too tight and looked briefly out the side window in embarrassment.

  “Blake?”

  He looked at me.

  “You’re not the first and certainly won’t be the last. It’s actually pretty common among athletes.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “No, no think about it. When you start you, you’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain. No one will pay any attention if you fall flat on your face … sorry, bad analogy … but you get what I mean. Then you get successful and suddenly the whole world is watching. There’s no way to get away from it. In your case, you’ve got beautiful women following you around as if you’re some kind of God and perfect in every way. We both know you aren’t.”

  He snapped a looked at me.

  “Alright, cheap shot. But there are also all those guys out there who are jealous. They want to shoot you down and take your place. What do you suppose it does to a guy’s ego when his lady wears a tight t-shirt with your face on it while hanging onto his arm?”

  He cocked his head. “You got a point. Never looked at it like that.”

  “Of course you haven’t—and that’s because you’re king of the mountain. So, the bull between your knees …” At this point I started choking on my own words, literally. He patted me on the back and I was desperately looking for something to drink. I grabbed a can of soda in his cup holder and took a drink as his hand came up to stop me. He grabbed my wrist in an iron grip, then snapped the can out of my hand and threw it out the window.

  “Cigarette dumped into that one,” he said as he pulled over to the side of the country road. He opened his door, looked around quickly, and then walked to the tool bin in the bed of his truck and opened it to remove a beer. He jumped in and handed it to me, popping the tab with one finger. “Sorry, it’s warm.”

  I grabbed it and drank big gulps, wiping my mouth at the taste of hot beer. “It’s not warm, it’s hot!” I uttered and took a moment to get myself together.

  “You wanna try that line about the bull between my knees again?” he teased me, grinning.

  “Very funny. As … I … was … saying … that animal you’re sitting is dangerous and deadly; you have to focus on him. At the same time, you’re under enormous pressure to keep everyone happy. Your agent, the rodeo owners, the fans—it’s enormous stress. You’re not falling apart, you’re just overwhelmed!”

  “Jesus, Dr. Phil, do you always give such in-depth personal diagnosis?”

  I stuck my tongue out at him and he zeroed in on it. I could see his reaction and realized how sexually charged we both were. I was struggling to keep my train of thought. “Anyway, you’re under enormous stress and your head is saying, ‘Hey, wait a minute,’ so it’s okay. All sorts of athletes get it—golfers call it shanks, I think.”

  “Well, that’s just fine, Dr. Phil, but in case you’ve forgotten already, I went off a bull last night and that shouldn’t have happened. My career depends on my staying on, in case you didn’t get the point of the whole sport.”

  “Don’t be a smart-ass, Temple. My job is to help you and part of that means being your confessor, your therapist, whatever you want to call it.” I looked at him and he looked at my legs. I crossed them quickly and tucked them behind. “And don’t go there …”

  “What?” he mocked me.

  “Seriously, Temple. This is my livelihood we’re talking about, and actually, yours too. We can’t let physical things get in the way of that.”

  He coughed and I looked at him, and then down to see the bulge in his jeans. “I’m serious!”

  “If you say so, but there is anxiety, and then there is anxiety, if you get my drift.”

  “Stop it.”

  “Okay, boss,” he mocked in his best imitation of Jack Benny and Rochester.

  “So, back to the topic at hand. What kind of publicity are you looking for?”

  “I don’t know. I guess you could start with putting out fires about my being all washed up?”

  “You’re not washed up!” I rolled my eyes. “If anything you’re at peak performance!” I said and then realized what escaped before I thought about it.

  He was grinning. “I’m hoping you write with a little less innuendo than you speak.”

  I stuck my tongue out again and realized what I was doing too late—so I snapped my mouth closed and bit my tongue.

  “Boy, you’re just having an awful time today, aren’t you? Need to stop for a beer?”

  “Stop it,” I muttered and turned my attention to the landscape. “Aren’t we a long way from town?”

  “That’s the whole point.”

  “Are you like some kind of loner cowboy?”

  “I think the lyric is lonesome but yes, I suppose in a way, I am.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, maybe because I want to get out of the spotlight once in a while. Riding bulls is not the only thing I do, you know.”

  “No? What else? Tell me.”

  “I’m a gourmet chef.”

  “No! You’re not!” I was stunned.

  “Okay, you’re right, I’m not. But I wish I had one because I like to eat. Can you cook?”

  “Well, not bad, but not gourmet.”

  “Good. Then cooking is part of your job. We’ll call it ‘brainstorming sessions.’ And for the record, I’m not much on gourmet eating, either. Just plain, country food for me.”

  “Got it, but this is starting to sound pretty chummy.”

  “It’s only in how you look at things. If I have a maid make my bed, you think I’m going to expect to jump her bones in it?”

  “I don’t know, do you?”

  He gave an exasperated sigh. “You’ll see. I can be a gentleman. Anyway, you’re in charge of my reputation, remember.”

  “I do, just see that you do, as well.”

  We were pulling into a long, dirt drive and I saw a house come into view. It was a sprawling ranch made out of stone and logs. Actually, I found it quite attractive. It was surrounded by trees and the only patch of green grass I’d seen in the last two miles.

  Blake came around and opened the door for me. I was a little flustered by that; in the city we didn’t have anything but the subway, buses and taxis and door opening wasn’t involved. He grabbed my bags and led me to the door. He gestured toward me to open it.

  “It’s locked,” I pointed out.

  “Nope,” he countered and reached around me to turn the handle and push it open with his boot.

  “You don’t lock your doors when you leave?” I asked, surprised.

  “Why should I? If anyone wants something that bad as to drive way out here and come up that drive, knowin’ that a bull rider lives here with a closet full of guns, well, he must need it awfully bad and is welcomed to it. Stuff, I can buy.”

  I paused to think how different life was here than in the city. There, we’d never gone to bed with anything fewer than four locks and deadbolts on the door and the idea of easily replacing things was foreign to us. We’d never had much and that made everything a one-time acquisition.

  He ushered me into the central area of the house where the open kitchen was situated. Behind that was a living area with vaulted ceilings and a massive fireplace I thought he could probably walk into. At both ends of the house were the bedrooms and baths; his master suite on one end and two guest suites at the o
pposite. I realized how perfect the layout was for just the sort of situation we’d be in.

  “Pick the room you’d like,” he motioned down the hallway. I chose the one at the back of the house because it looked out over the pasture and trees and had access to a long patio that banked the back of the house. Beyond the patio was an in-ground pool, bathhouse, and hot tub. I couldn’t believe my good fortune; it was as if my dreams had come true. A job and a resort all in one.

  My room was very large and included a desk with an upholstered chair. I placed my laptop here and plugged it in to charge. “Do you have WiFi?” I called to him down the hall.

  “001Cain,” he called back the password and I logged on. I hung up what few clothes I had and plugged in my cell to charge. I was now in business.

  I wandered down the hallway and found him in the kitchen, rummaging through the refrigerator. This didn’t take long because there was very little in it. “Okay,” he said, reaching into a nearby drawer and pulling out a keyring and handing it to me. He reached in again and rummaged until he found what he was looking for: another single key. “That’s the key to the truck in the garage and the other is to the house. You’d better make your first responsibility be to get us some groceries. I know you know where Elmer’s is,” he added and pulled out his wallet. He handed me a debit card. “That’s for groceries, gas, and any other expenses you might have. The PIN code is 1001. While you’re out, get yourself some clothes. I don’t know what you had in that bag, but I’m pretty sure it’s not much and besides, you need a bathing suit now.”

  “You’re giving me your debit card and PIN?” I asked, incredulous.

  “Why not?”

  “Well, you really don’t know me that well,” I began.

  “I know you well enough,” he responded, grinning. “Anyway, if you steal from me you’ll be out of a job and I think you probably don’t want to fight Bob for his taxi,” came the jocular teasing and I smiled.

  “Okay, what do you like to eat?”

  “Don’t care. Just none of that sissy food, at least not for me. You know, meat, potatoes, veggies, fruit, beer, cookies, chips…”

  “Hold on, cowboy,” I interrupted him. “Do you think the beer is a good idea?”

  “I think that beer is an excellent idea,” he responded. “What do you expect me to drink?”

  I looked around. “Well, maybe you could try water, milk, juice?”

  “Shit. Milk’s for babies. Unless you’re offering,” he teased, looking at my chest.

  “I think you need to stop doing that or you will get less than my best work,” I warned him.

  “I’ve read your best work. If that was poison, then sign me up for a slow death.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, sit down and I’ll tell you.”

  He looked as though he’d actually given some thought to this so I nodded and took a seat in the living area. He went to the windows overlooking the pool and began talking with his back to me. I got the idea this is where he did his best thinking and wished I had my camera. His profile against the light would make a stunning black and white. No matter what I said, I couldn’t deny that his butt was tight and high and the muscles in the backs of those thighs made my head spin. It was going to be increasingly difficult to keep my mind on work.

  “So, here’s what I was thinkin’,” he began. “If my reputation is sort of shot full of holes right now, instead of workin’ so hard to make me rub clean, what if we were to make the competition look worse?”

  I shook my head. “You mean a smear campaign?”

  “Don’t care if that’s what you call it, but yeah, that’s the general idea.”

  “Rather unsporting, don’t you think?”

  “You sound like Mary Poppins. No, I don’t think. I know that almost without exception, every cowboy on the circuit is screwin’ somebody’s wife, taking payoffs to lose, hiding cash from the government, addicted to pain meds or involved in some sleazy side deal for the days when they can’t ride. Yeah, that’s right,” he affirmed at the doubtful expression on my face. “As you so righteously pointed out, we’re athletes and every sport has its darker side. Hell, lots of these bulls come up from Mexico and I’ve seen ‘em come up with an asshole stuffed full of cocaine packets. I mean, who the hell is going to inspect a bull’s ass? You? Me? Not likely. I get as close to that as I’m gonna as it is.”

  “So let me get this straight,” I countered. “You want me to take out the entire sport to make you look good by comparison?”

  “I know you think a lot of yourself, Silver, but I don’t believe you’re going to take out the entire circuit, including the underworld that keeps it going, just by writing a few, ugly stories. Hell, if anything, you might bring some romance to it. People like that shit. They eat it up.”

  He turned to face me and walked toward the chair across from me where he sat down. “Hell, you think people come to see me stick a bull? Hell, no. They come to see me get my head bashed in. They want blood, broken bones, even death if they get real bored or used the old lady’s beer money for the price of admission.”

  His gray eyes were like backlit sterling silver, glinting with the heightened emotion of his thoughts. As he spouted the words, he drew in huge, deep breaths and they spread open the deep neckline of his shirt. I could see a muscled chest covered with fine hair. I am ashamed to admit that I sat there, across from him and felt myself gushing. I think if he’d wiggled one finger in my direction I would have stripped on the spot and crawled all over him. This guy was like catnip to women and I thought I was immune—I was so wrong.

  “So how deep do you think it will take to get you off the hook?” I asked him.

  “I don’t want you to hurt any one person in particular, so be careful there. Just add some dark romance to the industry and then, by comparison, point out real subtle like that I’m not part of all that. Yeah, I drink a little and maybe you could pull something like bravery before battle shit, I don’t know. That’s why I pay you the big bucks.”

  “The big bucks?” I repeated in a mocking tone.

  He stopped still and looked at me, lowering his chin at an angle that made my heart drop. “Any time you want to expand your job description, we can discuss as raise.”

  “You’re an ass, you know that, Temple?”

  I leapt off the chair, snatched the keyring and debit card and heard him chuckle behind me. As my parting shot I stopped and looked over my shoulder. “That’s a pretty gutsy thing to say to someone who is about to walk out of your house with your truck and debit card with PIN.”

  There was silence in my wake.

  Chapter 8

  Blake

  I watched her leave and admired her caboose and those legs the entire way. Those legs. I’ve always been a sucker for legs. That was when it hit me what I’d done. I had just moved a woman into my house.

  “Sweet Jesus,” I said to myself and got up grab my cell. I called the woman back at the Cattlemen’s, just in case Silver forgot her promise. “The article is pulled and my only comment is this—publish that and I’ll call a few friends you happen to work for,” I said briefly and tapped the phone off.

  Satisfied that I’d put out the most immediate fire, I settled onto the sofa and flipped on the television to watch a rodeo being held in Denver. I knew most of the guys and even more of the animals they rode. When the bull riders came on, I could feel the muscles in my gut tighten and even felt a little dizzy. I didn’t like that and flipped the channel to an old John Wayne western.

  I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I smelled was food cooking. I stretched and got up to go into the kitchen. There was Silver, a little apron around her waist standing with her back to me as she cooked at the stove. I don’t think she heard me come in over the sizzling and from my vantage I could see strips of beef and peppers with onions. My nose confirmed this and my stomach grumbled.

  “Need any help?” I asked and moved closer, leaning over her s
houlder to snatch a strip of beef out of the skillet and pop it into my mouth. She slapped my hand.

  “Get out of there, especially when you haven’t washed your hands. You men are all alike. Go wash and you might consider putting a razor to that face and I’ll meet you at the table in five minutes.”

  “Jesus, but you’re bossy. I wish I’d known that before I hired you.”

  “Yeah? Well, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet!” she snapped and her ass leaned into me as she bent to grab a serving spoon from the drawer. Jesus, this was going to be harder than I realized, in more ways than one.

  Five minutes later I walked into the dining area and saw she had two place settings at the big oak table. There were plates and even damned cloth napkins. Where did she get those? I wondered. I sat down and she carried in two plates. Mine was heaped and it smelled damned good. She set hers on the table and went back to the kitchen, reappearing with two goblets of wine and a basket of crusty bread. I could get used to this, I thought to myself.

  Just as I expected, the food was great and the company, even better. I was pleased to discover that Silver had a wit that came close to mine and she entertained me with stories of what it was like to live in the city. I did my part and told her some about country living, liberally covered with southern bullshit. She fell for the first few and then just smiled as I kept going.

  When plates were empty, she handed me a filled goblet and motioned me toward the living area while she picked up the plates and went in to put them in the dishwasher. She joined me afterwards and we strategized our approach for my reputation.

  “Do you have a website, just for yourself?” she asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Well, you will, now. It’s your office on the Internet and we’ll build your fan club and list schedules of your appearances, etc. It will also give me a platform to talk about the challenges of the business. I will need plenty of pictures.”