She ran down the stairs, but a child standing at the foot of the stairs stepped into her path.
"Hi!" the little girl said brightly. "Can you show me how to use this?" She held up her trick rope.
Mary leaned down and placed her hands on the child's shoulders. "I'll be right back." She weaved around the little girl. The footsteps on the stairway were Boone's, she guessed. They were heavy, booted and as quick as hers had been.
She didn't wait for him, but looped her way around to the reserved seats and down the steps to the railing around the arena. Her heart leaped into her throat, her mouth went dry. She was too late. Clint was already sitting on a bull's back. Sam was there, sitting on a fence top and assisting Clint with the rope. Clint's head was down, so he didn't see Mary as she waved frantically at him. A few people behind her laughed; they thought her frantic behavior was all part of the show.
Last time Clint had been on a bull's back, he'd been hurt. Badly, deeply hurt, in more ways than one. Hurt by the bull, hurt by the girl. One scar she saw on his flesh, the other she sometimes sensed.
Mary's hands gripped the top of the fence. She held her breath as Clint raised his hand and nodded his head, and the chute gate opened.
Eight seconds was a long damn time when someone you loved was up there getting tossed and bucked and jerked about violently. Usually she watched from up top, and even from there a bull ride was a frightening sight. To be so close, to see Clint riding that bull … it was too much.
She'd never told him that she loved him. She'd never even told him that she might be falling in love with him, that she cared whether or not he got his fool head busted, that he had given her hope where she'd been so sure there was none.
The buzzer sounded and Clint remained on the bull's back. Mary almost breathed a sigh of relief. Just a few more seconds and he'd be out of there. Just a few more, very long seconds.
He dismounted, but Red Thunder turned on him and knocked him flat. Sam and the bullfighter who was filling in for Clint rushed forward. Clint was trapped on the ground, under the bull's thrashing hooves. Dirt swirled, and an angry head was lowered. The animal wasn't going to be easily distracted.
She didn't remember going over the fence, but there she was, standing in the arena. There was nothing to do but run. She ran to the bull, not away.
"Hey!" she shouted as she ran toward the melee in the center of the arena. "Pick on someone who's standing up, you big bully." Once Clint was on his feet he'd be fine. Lying on the ground, he had no chance.
The bull turned his head and glared at her. A chill ran up and down Mary's spine. Yeah, Red Thunder was definitely glaring at her. Clint was still tangled up beneath the bull. Mary ran for the beast, distracting it, and Clint rolled away.
Just before she reached the bull, it turned its head toward Clint again. Mary did the only thing she knew might save him; she threw herself on top of Clint and covered her head with her arms.
Mary waited for the bull to trample them both, but nothing happened. People began to laugh, then they began to applaud. She lifted her arms to peek to the side, just in time to watch Sam guide the bull out of the arena.
Eugene's voice boomed through his microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, one of our clowns has just saved the other by tackling him in the arena. A first for this rodeo."
"You didn't remember anything I taught you," Clint said gruffly.
Mary rose up slightly. Clint was covered with dust and dirt, but he appeared to be unhurt. "I did, too. You should have seen me hop over that fence."
It was clear by the laughter and applause that the crowd thought this was part of the show. Mary stood, and Clint was right behind her. He favored his left leg, but there was no blood. Nothing was torn or smashed. He might be a little battered … but she could tell that he'd be fine. Just fine.
"Don't you ever do that again," she said as they climbed over the fence.
"I don't know," he said. "It was kind of fun."
They were straddling the fence, facing each other. Mary went very still. "What do you mean, it was kinda fun. I almost had a heart attack."
The next rider was getting ready to go. Clint smiled at her.
"Don't grin at me like that," she snapped. "I've seen too many people I care about hurt. I can't… it's just too…"
While she struggled to find the words, Clint leaned forward and kissed her. It was quick, sweet and over too soon. The crowd howled. Eugene pretended to faint in the barrel.
* * *
Kristin hung back, waiting while the crowd cleared away. Tonight she had come to the rodeo alone. The man who had accompanied her last night had not come with her to tonight's performance. His heart caught in his throat. Was she here to see him? After all this time?
He bravely made his way toward her seat. There was no one left sitting in her section. She looked thoughtful and beautiful, sitting there. She looked lonely. He was lonely. No matter how he tried not to be … he was always lonely.
"I'm surprised to see you here," he said.
She smiled widely. "Are you? At the last minute I decided to come down and have a look at the rodeo again. It was a whim."
"You don't get seats like this at the last minute," he said.
"With enough money you do."
"Where's Annie?" he asked. His daughter? Perhaps. Perhaps not. "Did she make the trip with you?"
"No," Kristin said. "She's staying with my mother for the week."
There were still people around, people who might notice him talking to Kristin even though they seemed to pay him no mind. Some audience members were asking for autographs. A few young women were flirting with the cowboys who remained in the arena.
It was dangerous, but he didn't care. "Can I buy you a drink?"
She smiled widely. "I don't think so."
"Can we talk … privately?"
Kristin glanced around. "Sure. Why not?"
She followed him to the trailer, her eyes taking in everything. She'd always considered herself too high and mighty for the family's rodeo. Nose in the air, sarcastic grin and cutting remarks, she'd made fun of the Brisco lifestyle. She'd never really been a part of it. Never.
He knew where everyone should be at this moment. He went over a mental list as he opened the trailer door for her. Everyone was accounted for; he and Kristin would be alone here, at least for a while. In his dreams, and in his frequent nightmares, he was alone with Kristin again.
With his body shielding the door from her, he locked it behind them.
"Why are you really here?" he asked sharply.
She leaned against the desk and smiled at him. "I'm bored."
He knew what happened when Kristin got bored. She made things happen. She entertained herself.
"You said some very ugly things to me last time we spoke," he said, trying to remain calm. She was so beautiful, so vexing.
"I wish I could say they were all lies," she said. "They weren't."
"Do you still think your time with me was a mistake?"
"The biggest of my life," she answered.
He swallowed hard. "We were good together."
She shook her head. "No, we weren't. We were a disaster together."
His hands balled into fists. Something crawled into his throat. All the others had been substitutes for Kristin. Poor, insufficient substitutes. And now here she was, right before him, taunting him as she always had.
"I loved you," he whispered.
She laughed at him. "No, you didn't. You don't even know what love is." She shook her head, and her hair shone, her earrings sparkled.
"But you…"
"It was a mistake," she said sharply. "When will you get that through your thick skull? You know why I came to you, you know why it lasted as long as it did. I never loved you. Some days I didn't even like you." She shrugged her finely shaped shoulders.
"Don't say that." Everything inside him went still.
"It's the truth. Face it. Move on with your life. Please don't tell me there haven
't been other women since me."
"There have been other women," he confessed.
"I hope you never got all weepy on them, the way you did with me. It's very off-putting, you know, to see a grown man whine and sniffle."
He took a step forward. "No. You were the only woman who ever made me cry."
She didn't move away from him as he walked to her. Her smile didn't fade, her eyes didn't darken. Poor Kristin, she didn't know she had reason to fear him. She didn't know she was about to die.
* * *
Chapter 16
« ^ »
As they walked through the hotel lobby, Mary turned on Boone; she was fierce even in her clown costume. "If you don't stop laughing at me I'm going to hurt you."
Her threat only made him laugh harder.
Clint placed himself between Mary and his extremely amused brother. "Now, now. Play nice." He didn't want to see Mary go after Boone in a rage. One of them would get hurt; he just wasn't sure which one it would be.
They had the elevator to themselves. Thankfully, Dean turned the subject away from Mary's daring rescue and to the case. "I have people checking into unsolved murders in the hometowns of all the men on your list, just in case. I don't think they'll find anything, but it can't hurt to do a little digging."
Mary nodded. She looked less than daunting in her clown costume, and with that smeared makeup on her face … why was she still beautiful? Why did he still see the curve of her cheek and the sparkle in her eyes and the elegance in her body, no matter what she was wearing?
Boone and Dean got off at the third floor. Clint and Mary were on the fifth. Once his brothers exited the elevators, Mary got very quiet. It was unnatural. She was usually so wound up after a show. Of course, she didn't usually fling herself in front of a bull.
She didn't even bother with her own key. Clint opened the door to his room and Mary walked in.
"You're limping," she said softly as he slid the dead bolt on the door.
"Just a little." He put his arm around her. "You really shouldn't have jumped into the arena that way. It was dangerous."
"Not as dangerous as what you did." She plopped herself on the side of the bed and sat there, staring up at him. "My knees are still shaking. I think I sprouted a few white hairs. Clint, I can feel my heart beating!"
You wouldn't know it, to look at her. "You shouldn't have—"
"Don't tell me I shouldn't have!" she snapped. "What am I supposed to do? Just sit back and watch the people I love die and do nothing?"
He didn't know what was more startling: that Mary had actually thought he might die out there, or that she'd just admitted that she loved him.
He grabbed Mary's hand and gently hauled her to her feet. "Come on," he said as he pulled her against him. "Let's get cleaned up and ready for bed."
"A shower does sound good." She wrapped her arms around him and leaned in, resting her face against his chest. For a long moment they just stood there, and it was nice. Comfortable. And right. More right than anything he could remember.
Finally she asked, "Will you scrub my back?"
He grinned. "You got it."
"I really need a long, hot shower."
"Me, too." Still, they didn't move. They held on. They breathed. At the moment, they didn't really need anything else.
"Maybe a shower will help me shake off the memory of seeing you lying in the dirt with a bull named Red Thunder trying to stomp you into the ground. Why would anyone in their right mind decide to ride an animal that's ten times their weight and has Thunder in its name?"
"Come on," Clint said as he gently released Mary and then guided her toward the bathroom. "I want you. I need you." He pulled her close. "But I am not making love to you while you've got that clown face on. It's just not right."
* * *
She hadn't known, when she'd decided to take a leave of absence and find Elaine's killer come hell or high water, that her life would change so drastically. It had. And the change was so extreme, she didn't even feel like the same person who had stood before Clint a month ago and all but demanded that he help her.
"You're hurt," she said, reaching out to touch the discolored flesh on his side as he walked with her to the bed. They were both clean, damp and naked.
"It's just a bruise."
"It's a huge bruise," she argued. "There's another one here," she said, gently laying her hand over the large bruise on his thigh.
He pulled back the covers, and they slipped between the sheets. This was where she'd wanted to be, all these nights when she'd been trying to get Clint out of her head and her heart. She rested her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around him.
"I'm such a coward," she whispered.
Clint laughed lightly. "You?"
"It's true." She rose up and kissed his jaw. It was dusted with a day's beard growth, stubbly and scratchy against her lips. Physical danger she could bear. But when it came to her heart… "I didn't want to fall in love with you," she said quickly. "I really, really didn't."
"And yet here we are." He held her close and stroked a strong hand up and down her back.
Clint didn't say he loved her, too, but her confession didn't seem to frighten him either. Maybe he was holding back because he knew, as she did, that love might not be enough, not this time.
Once she'd finally told Clint how she felt, they didn't talk. They touched, remembering and relearning everything they'd forgotten in the days they'd slept apart. They kissed, they tasted, and they held on to each other as if there was no tomorrow.
Tonight there was no forgetting protection. They didn't know what tomorrow would bring, so they couldn't forget. Not again.
Clint started to spin Mary onto her back, but she stopped him in midroll and reversed the process so that he was on his back and she straddled him. He smiled up at her, giving her a completely wicked grin that grabbed her heart.
When they were together, truly and completely together, nothing else mattered. There was only this bed, her body and his, love and need. Pleasure and yearning. She closed her eyes and rode Clint, allowing herself to get lost. Truly, wonderfully lost, in sensation and emotion. She moved slowly, taking him deep and rising up, plunging down so that he was completely inside her. Lost. No, not lost. Found. She was found here, with Clint.
She climaxed with a shudder and a cry, ribbons of release and intense pleasure sparking through her. Clint came with her, pushed deep and held himself there.
Mary drifted down and placed her head on Clint's chest. This was the scary part. She loved the way Clint loved her, the way she loved him back, but what came after was so much more important.
"I meant what I said," she whispered.
"What are we going to do about it?"
"I don't know."
He threaded his fingers through her hair. "You could always give up the FBI and come live with me. It's a big house. It's going to be lonely if I have to go home without you."
"I could learn to make peach cobbler and ride a horse and…" And what? Sit around and cook dinner and learn to sew and … oh, this would never work.
"Maybe I could come stay with you for a while."
"In D.C.?"
"Why not?"
"I'm gone a lot," she said softly. "More than I'm home, actually. Maybe I could ask for a … desk job, or something. I'd be home more that way." In truth, the thought of a desk job gave her the heebie-jeebies.
"Maybe," Clint said softly.
He said maybe, but she heard the no in his voice. He wasn't going to move to D.C. and become a house husband who waited around for her to come home between assignments, and she wasn't going to give up a job she loved to settle in at his ranch and take up gardening and knitting as a hobby.
She loved him, and maybe he loved her. He hadn't said as much, not tonight, but in a fit of anger on the side of the highway, he'd shouted out his true feelings, hadn't he? It didn't matter tonight, not tonight. In Clint's arms she felt like she'd found her true self again. But they h
ad nowhere to go from here, and they both knew it.
* * *
Clint felt as if he'd hit a brick wall, in every sense, as he walked through the arena. Two hours until show time. Mary was in costume and was making balloon animals. He could see her from here. Dean and Boone would be among the first to enter, once the gates were open, and maybe then he could relax. Until they arrived, he was keeping a close eye on her.
He hurt all over, he ached in a way he hadn't in four years. There was nothing like being whipped around by a bull to let you know where every muscle you'd ignored was located.
And then there was Mary, his other brick wall. She was driving him crazy, in more ways than he'd ever expected. When this was over, what would they have?
"Sinclair."
Brisco approached with a half smile on his face. Clint did not return the smile. "What do you want?"
"I thought you might want this." Oliver waved a check in the air. "Your winnings from last night."
"I won?" He and Mary had left before the end of the competition. "It wasn't that good a ride."
"Maybe not," Brisco said as he reached Clint and slapped the check into his hand. "But last night it was better than the others, and that's all it takes to win."
He glanced down at the check. Not bad, as far as money goes, but nothing to get excited about either. There had been a time when a win had been everything. No matter how ugly, no matter how large or small the purse, no matter if he felt he deserved it or not. There was a rush that came with winning, but he couldn't enjoy it now. He had too many other things on his mind.
Oliver's smile died. "Listen, about yesterday … I got carried away. I wouldn't fire you, Sinclair. You have a job here as long as you want one."
Clint folded the check and slipped it into his pocket.
"My ex-wife has reared her ugly head," Oliver said quietly. "She came by to see me before the show last night, and … well, I took my anger out on you. I'm sorry about that."
"No harm done," Clint said. He wouldn't tell Brisco, or Mary, but he was glad he'd ridden one last time. His last ride should be a better memory than the one he carried from four years ago. And painful or not—it had been a rush to ride again.
CLINT'S WILD RIDE Page 18
