by Debra Kayn
Gone was the sweet smile and soft laughter she’d displayed over dinner. She grabbed her purse and walked away from the table. He took out his wallet, threw down enough money to cover their meal, and hurried out of the restaurant. He had to make her listen to reason.
Outside, there was no sign of Florentine. He groaned.
Son of a bitch.
Chapter Three
Florentine slung her equipment bag over her shoulder and walked through the parking lot beside the outside arena. She chewed on the inside of her cheek. Ahead of her, the crowd gathered in the stands, and the other riders milled around biding their time among the dust of the animals. She shook her head when a buckle bunny slipped past security. No doubt one of the riders had slipped the guard a twenty to pay her way in to the private lot where the circuit riders stayed.
“Hey, McDougal!” A man’s voice called behind her.
She turned around and found Tom Greer, a second year rider who was already too big for his pathetically tight britches. “Yeah?”
He sneered. “Why don’t you whip something up to eat, and have it ready for when I walk away with first place?”
She walked backward, anxious to get ready for her first ride. “In your dreams, Greer. The smell of slop gags me when it’s my turn to feed the pigs.”
“How ‘bout I stay back and keep you company? We’ve got an hour to waste.” Tom tapped his chest. “I’ll show you how a real woman’s supposed to act.”
“Sure.” She forced a grin to hide her irritation. “Let me go grab a pair of heels. I bet your dainty feet will slide right into them. Then you can teach me how you swing that fat ass of yours and catch every cowboy’s eyes.”
Even from twenty feet away, Tom’s complexion pinkened. “Go home, McDougal. You don’t belong here.”
“Get used to me, Tom. I ain’t going nowhere. You want to cause trouble, do it out in the arena. We’ll see who the better man is.”
“You’re a man all right.” Tom laughed and walked away.
A year of riding with the same men, and not once had she heard a sincere ‘good luck’. They never invited her to the pre- and post-rodeo get-togethers. Instead, she took a lot of crap from each one of them. She even had to aim her knee when they thought she’d be an easy lay and didn’t take no for an answer. Some days it seemed as if they believed she hung around the rodeo for their entertainment. She flung her bag down in front of the third pen and removed her hand rope from her duffle.
The second she straightened, someone picked her up and twirled around. “You better have a good reason for touchin’ me or I swear the moment you let me go, I’m gonna deck you so hard your momma won’t recognize you.”
A familiar chuckle relaxed her. “You wouldn’t hurt me. Would you, darlin’?”
“Joseph Everett, let me down this minute.”
“All you had to do was ask real pretty.” Joseph set her on the ground. “Thought I’d come over and see if you needed a hand with Tom giving you shit.”
“Nah. Nothing I can’t handle.” She snorted. “He’s just jealous.”
When Joseph pressed his lips together, his mouth almost disappeared behind his bushy beard. “The offer to let you stay over at the campground is still open. I don’t like the idea of you hanging around here by yourself. These cowboys get more rowdy and dangerous the closer we get to the final show. There’s a lot of money and careers riding on the outcome.”
She squeezed his arm. “Thanks, but I’m okay. Running away will make things worse, and you know it.”
“Wish I didn’t.” Joseph scratched his chin. “I’d hate to see what your daddy would say if he was alive.”
She planted her hands on her hips, glared, and deepened her voice, trying to suppress her grin. “Florentine Lace, I taught you how to ride and fight. I better not hear you takin’ any guff. You’re a McDougal. Show them sonsabitches who’s the boss.”
Joseph slapped his leg and chuckled. “You’ve got it. When Stuart spoke, people listened. Remember that.”
“I will.” Florentine nodded. “Now, get yourself outta here. Marlene’s probably got your spot in the stands all picked out.”
He remained in front of her, squinting.
“I’m fine. Really!” She pushed him away. “Haven’t met a bull, the four-legged or the two-legged kind, that can beat me yet.”
“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. You hang on, missy. I’m rootin’ for ya.” Joseph gave her a pointed look and strolled to the other end of the parking lot.
Joseph saw everything. She smiled and relaxed. Tender moments were lacking on the circuit, but Joseph had a way of making her feel like she belonged.
The crowd thinned out on the grounds. She gazed up at the bleachers. It came as no surprise to see almost every seat taken. She raised her arms over her head and stretched. After today, the qualifiers would go on to the finale.
She had to make sure she placed in the top two, to show she was a professional. The thought of how many young girls she could reach every time she appeared on television or in an interview boggled her mind. She’d received support her whole life from her family, friends, and heck, the whole community in Pike. If she reached celebrity status, she could pass that support along to so many more.
Excitement balled in her stomach, so she took long strides around the waiting lot to work out her tension. It was important for her to keep herself loose. She’d have ten days off after today, and she could really let herself relax then.
Reggie ran by her and signaled. It wasn’t time. She followed him over to her bag, where he removed her gloves, mouth guard, and vest.
She frowned. “What’s the rush? We’ve got an hour.”
“Not anymore. Kramer’s out. He couldn’t pass the physical.” He motioned toward the pen. “They’ll be calling your name in fifteen minutes. Torment’s your bull.”
“Kramer? Seriously?” She slipped into her vest and straightened the sleeves of her blouse. “Why?”
“He came back on probation this year. He pissed dirty, so he’s out for good.” Reggie spit on the ground. “Dammit. I forgot to grab your number. I’ll be back.”
She pulled her braid out of the back of her vest and examined her gloves for any marks or ridges. One ripple in the material could cause blisters and problems with her hand when she strapped it to the rope. The last thing she needed was to lose her grip during a ride.
Fifteen minutes. She barely had time to run through her normal routine. She walked the line of the fence, using every precious minute to prep herself for the ride. Breathe in. Out. In. Out. She rolled her shoulders. Go with the bull’s movements. Pay attention to the muscles constricting. Watch his head. Eight seconds. She stopped and shook her leg.
A spot of black along the fence line caught her eye. She squinted. Oh, great.
Cole strolled across the gravel in her direction, looking too darned sexy in jeans, black button-down shirt, and his black cowboy hat pulled low. She blinked. Twice.
How dare he show his face here? She whirled around and marched back to the pen. He was here to watch her lose. Then he could walk away happy. She kicked her bag. She’d prove him wrong and take him with her all the way to the championship. If he tried to drop the contract, she’d sue him for everything he owned.
Reggie returned, peeled off her number, and stuck it on the back of her vest. “Five minutes. You ready?”
“Yeah.” She glanced behind her. Cole stood three feet away. Whatever crap he threw in her direction, she’d never let him see how much he rankled her. “Give me a minute, Reg.”
The metal fence links rattled, and the bullfighters loaded the chute. She stepped up to the pen, placed her hands on the bars. The energy from the bull hitting the fence vibrated up her arms. On the ground, the bull came up to her shoulders. She stepped back while Reggie grabbed her rope and climbed the fence. She could do this.
“Florentine.” Cole’s deep voice interrupted her thinking.
She refused to turn around. �
�Go away.”
“Name your price.” He stepped in front of her, blocking out the entire arena with his presence. “It’ll be more than enough to support you through the final…if you make it.”
How dare he! “Go to hell.”
He backed away, his hands raised in concession, and disappeared into the crowded stands. Her legs shook, and she wanted to hit someone.
Turner Grain was the only company willing to sponsor a female bull rider. Did he think it would be easy to find another business willing to back her this late in the game? She fisted her hands. Damn him.
“Let’s go, girly. Time to ride.” Reggie stretched over the pen and banged the side of the fence. “Let’s show ‘em your stuff.”
Florentine moved stiffly to the pen and climbed to the top.
“Ready?” Reggie squinted at her and frowned.
“More than ever.” Cole Reardon would not bother her. Once she arrived home, she’d contact her lawyer and make doubly sure he couldn’t flake out on her.
The big black bull stood frozen in the pen, too placid for Florentine’s comfort. She stayed on her perch on the top rung and set her boot heel on its back. She received a snort in return, but the animal never twitched a muscle.
She’d learned long ago not to trust an animal that stayed calm during a stressful situation. This one would give her a heck of a ride. The bull was a time bomb, waiting to detonate as soon as someone opened the pen.
She glanced up at Reggie. “Tell me I can do this.”
“You can.” Reggie worked his way around to the gate without putting himself in harm’s way. “Cowgirl up, Florentine. This is what you wanted. You’ll go down the best, and have every single one of those cowboys kissing your pretty little ass when you’re done.”
She nodded, staring at the horns. “He’s too calm.”
“That’s what we want, girl. Under all that control, he’s gonna go wild.” Reggie slipped into position. “Ride this son of a bitch, and beat the clock. That’s all you have to do. Ride to win.”
“Right.” She tried to psych herself up, but all she could think of was Cole and the casual way he treated his sponsorship.
Reggie leaned in. “Come on, girly. Show him who’s the bitch!”
She slipped in her mouthpiece and clamped down before settling onto Torment’s back. He blew snot but remained on all four hooves. She struggled getting her gloved hand settled and leaned over to use her teeth on the pullaway rope until she was satisfied. The force of the blood rushing in her veins pounded in her ears, and she no longer heard Reggie screaming instructions at her.
She scooted up and kept her spurs off the sides of the bull. Five, four—she pulled her hat down and raised her hand—three, two, one.
The buzzer went off. She sank her spurs into the bull, and he swung out of the gate. She grunted with each of the bull’s hops. Fire exploded in her hand, but she held on. Oh, God, just eight seconds…
Back, forth, back. Each landing pushed her up against her anchor before throwing all her weight away from her roped hand. Her head snapped and the bull twisted hard to the left, sending her ass sliding.
Spit from the bull’s mouth splat on her face. She tucked her chin, putting every ounce of strength on her hand holding the slipping rope. No, no, no…
With a miraculous move, the bull kicked and twisted the other way, and she regained her seat. Unable to readjust her grip, she hit the bull’s spine, bouncing in the air and toward the horns. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting, but her hand never came loose, and she boomeranged, landing on Torment’s back end when her fingers lost their grip and gave way.
In slow motion, she bounced off the bull’s hindquarters and felt the brush of a hoof against her shoulder. She could picture how relieved Cole looked. Now that she had lost her chance at the championship. Now that he was free of the contract with her.
Then everything went black.
Chapter Four
Cole slapped the papers down on the nurses’ station at St. John’s Medical Center. “Second page, line four. It says I’m responsible for Florentine McDougal. Please, let me see her.”
“I’ve already told you, Mr. Reardon. You’ll have to wait until I receive permission from the doctor.” The nurse—her nametag read Susan—walked through an automatic door behind the station and disappeared.
The image of Florentine toppling hat-over-boots and landing on her back wouldn’t leave his head. He took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. Her tiny body had lain motionless on the dirt for what seemed like hours. That couldn’t be good.
No one at the hospital would tell him a damned thing, so he paced the hallway, enduring the quizzical stares of the strangers in the waiting area. Why didn’t he have her family information and phone number in the paperwork? Someone should be here with her.
In the eternity it had taken the bullfighters to secure the area and the paramedics to carry her to the ambulance, he’d fought a creeping sense of dread and guilt. He shoved his hat back on. She could be seriously injured or worse. He had no way of knowing, and if someone didn’t come out and let him know her condition soon, he’d raise some hell until they did.
“Hello?” He stopped pacing and knocked on the counter. “Anyone?”
Within seconds, Susan returned and motioned him around the counter. “Dr. Larson is allowing you to sit with his patient. He’s asked that you let her sleep. She’s been given pain medication that will make her drowsy. Rest is the best thing for her.” She gave him a pointed look that said she didn’t trust him to give Florentine room to heal.
He didn’t care what she thought of him. “Then she’s okay?”
Susan nodded and led him to room 212, where she blocked the door and faced him. “She’ll need to stay twenty-four hours for observation. We’re treating her for a concussion.”
He nodded. “Okay. That’s good, right? Nothing’s broken, and she’ll heal?”
“Yes. But, she needs to stay calm. Like I said, she needs to rest.” Susan pushed open the door. He stepped inside the room and squinted. The overhead lights were off. Stepping past the first empty bed, he quietly pulled back the privacy curtain.
Florentine lay on her side in the hospital bed with her back toward him. He hesitated. Curled up, she looked no bigger than Sarah.
He stepped around the foot of the bed and sat in the hard wood visitor’s chair. God, Florentine.
An angry red mark marred the gentle slope of her shoulder peeking through the blue patterned hospital gown. He rubbed his hands over his face. A few more inches and he might be attending her funeral instead of visiting her at the hospital. He could only hope she saw this for the wakeup call she needed.
She shouldn’t be riding bulls. It was irresponsible, and selfish. Her life was more important than being the best or winning the championship. She meant something to someone. It was a lesson his deceased wife never learned.
If someone could get through to Florentine, tell her how precious her life was to those who loved her, maybe she’d be content to redirect her interests to something safer. He could only hope her family talked some sense into her before it was too late.
She moaned. Cole scooted to the edge of his chair and shushed her. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
Even asleep and beat up, she left him spellbound. She had the ability to captivate him one minute and infuriate him the next. Her pert nose, high cheekbones, and hair—especially the curls that had latched onto him when they’d danced—were hypnotic. Several strands had come loose from her braid and fell over her face when she fidgeted in her sleep. He reached over and brushed the hair from her forehead, taking care not to touch her. Surprised to find his hand shaking, he leaned against the guardrail on the bed. He wanted to fuss over her and reassure her everything would be okay. But she wasn’t his, so he held himself back.
The door opened, and the man who helped her with the bulls in the chute walked in. Cole stood, and relief swept through him. Now he’d get some answers.<
br />
He held out his hand and whispered, “Cole Reardon. I’m Florentine’s sponsor.”
“Reggie. Spotter. How’s my girl?” Reggie took off his hat and frowned. “Why ain’t she awake?”
“The doctor gave her medicine for her pain.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Do you have her family information? A phone number? I’m sure they’ll want to know what happened and be with her.”
Reggie shook his head. “No can do.”
“Why not?”
“I promised her I wouldn’t call her kin unless she died. That’s what she wants, and I’m a man of my word.” Reggie stepped to the side of the bed, pulled back the edge of the gown’s shoulder, and cussed under his breath. “At least she has ten days off. She’ll be fine. She’s tough.”
“Are you shittin’ me?” Cole caught himself and lowered his voice. “She can’t ride again.”
“Why not?” Reggie pointed down at Florentine. “She’s banged up. Nothing’s broken.”
“Jesus,” Cole muttered.
The door opened again, and nurse Susan entered the room. “The doctor has given permission for only one visitor to be in the room after hours, gentlemen. One of you needs to leave and come back in the morning. Our patient needs the quiet.”
Cole glanced at the bed, and then walked out of the room. Was everybody insane? Florentine wouldn’t be able to get back on a bull. Not for a long time, if ever.
The animal had knocked her unconscious, and who knew the extent of damage to her shoulder? He plopped his hat down on his head and clamped his teeth together. If she wasn’t going to let him out of the contract, then he was the one responsible for her. He’d forbid her to ride. Problem solved.
