The Bull Rider's Plan

by Jeannie Watt

  Jess took hold of her arm and gently propelled her forward. “What do I owe you?” he asked Gus, who waved his hand.

  “See you tomorrow morning. Bring back some big purses.”

  “That’s the plan,” Jess said. He glanced down at Emma, who looked as if the booze was hitting her harder now that she was standing. “Do you have everything?”

  “Everything except for a husband.”

  “You’re not getting one of those here.” He put an arm around her, drawing her close to his side to keep her on her feet as they negotiated the crowd. Again, her light floral scent drifted to his nostrils, and Jess was surprised at how well he remembered it. Well, it was said that traumatic memories are often triggered by scents, and while his experiences with Emma didn’t qualify as traumatic, they did qualify as annoying.

  When they stepped out into the damp evening air, Emma gave a small shiver. Jess’s instinct was to pull her even closer, but instead he eased back, putting a hand on each shoulder and steering her toward his truck. She was keeping her feet well, but he wasn’t taking chances.

  “So you’re into purses?” she asked as she negotiated around a puddle.

  “Rodeo purses.”

  “I have one of those. Lots of silver and fringe—”

  “Prize money, Emma.”

  She clapped a hand over her mouth, then dropped it and said, “I wasn’t thinking rodeo because, well, you haven’t been competing much. That’s embarrassing.”

  “For a girl who used to chase cans, I imagine it is.”

  Emma had been one hell of a barrel racer, because the word caution never appeared in her vocabulary. She’d stopped after Len had been killed in the rollover accident on the road leading to their ranch.

  He felt her stiffen and figured her thoughts were following the same line as his. He opened the door and handed her up into the truck, thinking that he’d probably never touched Emma this much, ever.

  She let out a breath and let her head fall sideways against the window when Jess got into the driver’s seat. He headed for the Starlight—an older, yet immaculately kept motel on the edge of town—and slowed to pull into the lot when Emma jerked suddenly. An instant later she was practically on the floor.

  “Drive on.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t. Pull. In.” When he looked over at her, she was scrunched down so far that she was invisible from the outside. He scanned the parking lot, then saw what had Emma curling up into a ball. Her younger brother Wylie was parked at the far end of the lot. And if he wasn’t mistaken, there was another Sullivan ranch truck parked next to him. Selma, no doubt.

  “Take me to your place,” Emma murmured.

  Jess opened his mouth to say “No,” but the utter desperation in her voice made him shut it again. He abruptly put the truck into gear.

  “Thank you.” She spoke so low he barely heard her.

  “I think you can sit up now.”

  She pushed herself upright and let her head fall back again, squeezing her eyes shut. “I don’t feel so well.”

  Jess stepped on the gas. Ten minutes later they were at the field that he called home. After his twin moved out, Jess had never felt cramped in the small camp trailer he lived in while saving money. He was going to feel cramped tonight.

  After parking near the trailer, he started around to the passenger side of the truck. That was when he realized—too late, of course—that he’d parked too close to the big puddle that had formed during yesterday’s long rain.

  “Em—”

  Down she went. He heard her scramble and curse, and by the time he got around the hood of the truck, she was getting back to her feet and wiping wet hands down the sides of her pants.

  “This sucks.”

  “Sorry.”

  She frowned at him first and then at the puddle next to her, all but invisible in the darkness, since he hadn’t bothered to leave the porch light on.

  “Where are we?”

  “My place.”

  She looked around the dark field where his trailer, the only man-made structure within a mile, was parked. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Come on.” He took hold of her elbow as they walked together toward the trailer, but Emma pulled free.

  “I could have used you a few minutes ago. I’m fine now.”

  “Whatever,” he muttered. He unlocked the door and opened it, then stepped back as Emma climbed the metal steps. He followed her into the trailer and snapped on the light before closing the door, thus trapping the two of them in too small of a place.

  You can’t abandon Len’s little sister.

  The truth was that he wouldn’t have abandoned her even if she wasn’t related to Len. That wasn’t the kind of guy he was. He’d watch out for Emma until she was in a proper condition to do battle with Selma, who wanted her to wear the dress.

  How stupid was that?

  Emma grimaced down at her wet jeans, then shook her head as if thrusting the matter out of her mind.

  “What’s all that stuff?” she asked, pointing at the canvas duffels and plastic storage containers.

  “That’s my life for the next month.”

  “The rodeo. Right.” She lost interest and swayed just a little as she crossed the tiny room and sat on the seat under the window. “Can I sleep here?”

  “Sleep in my bed.”

  “Where will you sleep?”

  She seemed only mildly interested in the answer as she once again slumped sideways.

  “Tyler’s bunk.” The small built-in bed in the hallway leading to the tiny bedroom at the back of the trailer.

  “I’m fine here...” Em’s voice started to trail off. She was fading fast. Jess crossed the room and pulled her up to her feet, ignoring her muttered protests.

  “You’ll do better in the bedroom.” That way he could get up, make coffee, start his day, while she slept it off. He propelled her down the hall, opening the door just before his bedroom. “Bathroom,” he said. He opened the bedroom door and pointed inside. “Your bed.” He turned her so that she was square with the bathroom. “Are you good?”

  “The best,” she muttered before taking a stumbling step into the bathroom and closing the door in his face.

  Jess shut his eyes, let out a breath.

  Len would want him to do this.

  Chapter Two

  Emma woke with a start, pushed herself up on one elbow, then collapsed with a low groan as her brain let out a mighty protest.

  Where was she?

  Think.

  She tried. Her brain was still playing games with her. She opened her eyes again, took in the clues. She was in a rumpled bed in a travel trailer—

  A surge of relief washed over her. Jess. She was with Jess Hayward. She was safe from her mom. Safe from her mother’s friends.

  But for how long?

  It wasn’t like they could march her to the altar and make her marry Darion, who would have a few things to say on the matter if it came to that. But they could make her very, very miserable. Darion had cut and run after they’d canceled the wedding, and was currently hiding out in Kalispell, but Em didn’t have that option. She had a job at the local café. She had no qualms about quitting, but she also had only a small nest egg to support her if she moved elsewhere—which left her at the mercy of Selma, the control freak.

  There was a loud thump from the other end of the trailer and a muttered curse.

  Jess, who’d given up his bed for her.

  Well, he owed her for the crappy way he’d treated her in the past.

  Em pushed back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for her head to clear. Dear heavens, but she’d kill for orange juice.

  Maybe Jess had orange juice.

  She reache
d for her pants, which were in a heap on the floor, grimacing as she realized they were soaking wet. A memory started to crystallize...tripping, hitting the puddle next to the truck, going down...

  Embarrassing.

  She shook out the pants. There was no way she was pulling those clammy things up her legs, so she got out of bed and opened the closet. There, on a shelf, was a stack of neatly folded jeans. She’d been hoping for sweats, but jeans would do. Sitting back on the bed, she pulled on the Wranglers. Jess was lean, but the pants still hung low on her hips. She bent down to roll the cuffs and instantly wished she hadn’t as her head started pounding harder. Aspirin was also a necessity.

  She looked around the bedroom for her purse and came up empty. Hoping against hope that she hadn’t left it at the Shamrock, she put on the sweater she’d worn the night before and then quietly opened the bedroom door and slipped into the bathroom.

  Yes. Ibuprofen. An economy-sized bottle, such as one would expect to find in the medicine chest of a bull rider. Pain was part of the game. Her brother had ridden broncs and she knew about hurting. Em popped two pills, washed them down, then grimaced as she faced her reflection.

  She put a hand up to her bed head and tried to push her long unruly hair into a less bent shape. After a couple of pats and pushes she gave up and pulled open the door. It wasn’t as if Jess hadn’t seen her at her worst.

  Although...last night may have been her worst. She was a drinking lightweight. She blamed Jess and Len, who never let her go out with them. She’d never even been drunk until she hit twenty—only one year shy of legal age. As long as her brother and his friend were around, she was well managed.

  Now, Jess’s twin, Tyler...he was fun. But he was also a friend of Len’s and made sure she didn’t get into trouble. Life after high school hadn’t been as much fun as it could have been.

  The curse of being the only girl in a family of boys—although until her father had married Selma, she’d only been the youngest of two. After Len had died, she had only half brothers. Three of them. All younger and all firmly under Selma’s thumb. She’d encouraged them to rebel by setting an example, but they remained firmly managed—something she refused to be.

  She headed toward the kitchen, a journey of about eight feet, past the bare bunk that Jess must have slept in to the main part of the camp trailer, wondering why she felt so stupidly self-conscious. This was Jess, after all. Worst-case scenario, he’d treat her like she was still fifteen. Best case... She wasn’t certain that there was a best case.

  Jess stood at the counter staring down at the toaster. He was ridiculously good-looking. Dark-haired with sculpted cheekbones and striking eyes. Her friends had all been mystified as to why she wasn’t all over him. She assured them that it was because she knew him. It was his attitude. As in, he had this attitude toward her. So...she’d had an attitude toward him.

  Yet here they were.

  He suddenly looked up, meeting her gaze. Oh, yeah. Those were some eyes. Her memory wasn’t faulty.

  “Morning,” he said.

  “Morning,” she echoed, wishing her voice wasn’t so thick.

  His eyes strayed down to her legs. “Are you wearing my jeans?”

  “Maybe?” She automatically hitched up one side as she answered. “You weren’t using them.” She indicated the duffels with a jerk of her chin. “And it looks like you’re packed for your rodeo trip, which leads me to believe you weren’t taking them.”

  “Maybe I wanted something clean to wear when I got home. Besides, that’s not the point, Em.”

  She leaned her elbows on the counter next to him. “What is the point, Jess?”

  “The point is that you took my stuff without asking.”

  “And if I had wandered out in my underwear to ask permission...?” She gave him a how-would-that-have-gone-over look.

  “You could have called from the bedroom.”

  “Oh, Jeh-ess...can I wear your pa-ants?” She raised her eyebrows in a mock innocent expression. “Like that?”

  “Yeah. Like that.”

  This felt like old times, when Jess would go all follow-the-rules on her whenever she came up with a great idea, like going out to party with him and her brother, even though she was underage, and she would argue with him.

  “You want me to take them off?”

  “No.” The word came out so rapidly that it was almost embarrassing. His loss.

  “Then I guess I get to wear your jeans.” She looked around the trailer. “You have a clothes dryer here?”

  “Yeah. Right.”

  “They make those apartment-size things.”

  “I go to the Laundromat.”

  “Pity. Now I have to wear your jeans.”

  He didn’t answer, making her think that he was simply making noise about the jeans. The toast popped and he set it on a plate, then put the plate on the table. Emma took the hint and sat down, even though she wasn’t the least bit hungry.

  “We’re going to talk.”

  “We are?”

  “I brought you to my home rather than leaving you to the mercies of your mom. I want some answers.”

  She narrowed her eyes, ignoring the fact that it made her head hurt. “What kind of answers?”

  He set a cup of coffee on the table next to the toast and then leaned back against the counter, folding his arms over his chest. His expression was don’t-mess-with-me serious when he said, “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “You want to know my business?”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  Em studied the table, debating. Other than Darion, no one knew the whole truth. She figured by this time, the conjecture was worse than what had actually happened, and far be it from her to disappoint the local gossips. She looked up at him. He had his stern brother look on. Somehow it didn’t seem as effective without Len there to back him up.

  “Fine. What do you want to know?”

  “Why are you really hiding from Selma?”

  Emma planted her elbows on the table and pressed her fingertips to her forehead. Jess knew her family. Knew the dynamics. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have done the good-guy thing and taken her to his place instead of dropping her off at the motel where Selma would have had a fine old time making a scene. Em owed him.

  “She wants me to marry Darion. She assumes Darion feels the same way.”

  “He doesn’t?”

  “No. We broke up by mutual agreement.”

  “Tell her that.” Em leveled a look at him and he cleared his throat. “Right.”

  “She honestly believes that if she strong-arms us into matrimony it’ll all work out. She thinks I have the jitters.”

  “But you don’t.”

  She gave her head a slow shake, because a fast one would have hurt. He looked like he wanted more information, but she’d gotten as personal as she was going to get. “She won’t let it rest. I thought moving into the motel would make my point.”

  “How much are you paying to stay there?”

  “Nothing. I helped Howie get through all his math classes from kindergarten on. He’s kind of indebted to me.”

  “His folks know?”

  “I think they think we should get married—Howie and I, I mean.” She let her head fall back, closing her eyes. “I need to escape.”

  “Running doesn’t work.”

  She opened her eyes. “How do you know? Have you ever run from anything?”

  “Is this working for you?”

  “I haven’t run far enough. I can’t afford to run far enough.”

  “Is there such a thing as far enough when Selma is involved?”

  “Maybe not.” She let out a breath and then took a small nibble on the edge of the toast. Her stomach told her to stop, and she did, setting the toast back on the plate
. As to the coffee...she swallowed hard. She truly was a drinking lightweight. “Do you have orange juice?”

  “No. I’m taking off later today, so I emptied the fridge. That’s why there’s no butter on your toast.” One corner of his mouth tightened. “You know...if you needed a place to stay, you could stay here.”

  Emma stared at him. Selma would find her...but maybe not for a couple of days.

  And surely she’d give up when Emma started paying her back for the wedding dress she hadn’t wanted, which had been a special order and couldn’t be returned.

  “You know...I think Selma was trying to make sure I didn’t back out of the ceremony by buying me that dress.”

  “What?”

  Jess never had been that good at following her thought processes...but neither had anyone else. Her mind did tend to jump around. Even Len had problems and he was the person closest to her. She smiled at Jess—maybe her first smile in days. “I appreciate the offer.”

  “I’ll be gone for the better part of the summer.”

  “Hitting the circuit?” She remembered the rodeo purse.

  “Hitting it hard. I have to decide whether to go pro this January. Time is running out for me.”

  “I see.” She studied the table in front of her, wondering what her next move would be now that Selma had ferreted her out at the Starlight and had brought Wylie along for backup. She’d eventually find her here. Her life would be hell for the next few weeks. Darion would be no help, because Selma thought he also had cold feet and would be as hard on him as she was on Emma if he was foolish enough to come back to Gavin.

  Neither of them had the jitters—they had each chosen the wrong person and were doing something about it before it was too late. Selma didn’t see it that way, which made Emma wonder about her marriage to her father.

  Had they settled? If so, they seemed happy, which only gave Selma ammunition.

  If only Darion had cheated on her...or done something outrageous. Then maybe Selma would back off.

  “Em...?”

  She raised her gaze, met the eyes of the man that she trusted most in this world—even if he did piss her off most of the time. He was the closest thing she had to her brother and right now she needed her brother.