Harlequin Superromance May 2016 Box Set

by Janice Kay Johnson

  But she wasn’t a normal single woman. She had responsibilities.

  “We got off on the wrong foot. I’m Ian Tall Chief.” He stuck out his hand.

  And waited while Lacy looked at it. “Are you serious?”

  He dropped his hand, looking offended. “Did I look like I was joking?”

  Oh, hell—had that come out wrong? She wasn’t trying to make fun of his name. Actually, given that everyone called him Chief, she was relieved to hear that was not some sort of derogatory nickname.

  So she clarified, “I’m not interested. I don’t hook up.”

  That got both eyebrows up and moving as his face relaxed.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Look,” she said in exasperation, “I know how this goes. There are two kinds of men here. The first doesn’t think a woman like me should be anywhere near a bull because we might do better than them and that would obviously be the end of the world. The second thinks I’m nothing but a one-night stand that hasn’t happened yet.” She pointed a finger at him. “Guess which one you are.”

  His lips—nice lips, rounded and full and— No, stop it, Lacy. She was not going to start thinking about his lips, which were twisting as if he was thinking about laughing at her but trying not to.

  Unfortunately, in trying so hard not to stare at his mouth, her gaze drifted back down to his chest. The wet T-shirt left nothing to the imagination. Pecs, nipples—

  She snapped her gaze to the front windshield. She wouldn’t look at him. That was the best solution.

  “Have you considered,” Ian Tall Chief said in an amused drawl, “that there might be another kind of man here?”

  “No.”

  “What’d that old man say to you?”

  “What?”

  Ian leaned forward. “Before I got there to back you up. What’d he say?”

  “Look,” Lacy said in frustration, “it’s really not a big deal.”

  Ian dropped his head to one side. “That’s not what it looked like to me. It looked like he was threatening you. Sounded like it, too. Does he always go after you like that or was today a special occasion?”

  She tried to shrug, as if another verbal battle with Slim Smalls was no big deal. “I appreciate you trying to help, but I can handle it.”

  Ian snorted. “You shouldn’t have to ‘handle’ it.”

  She glared at him. “I was doing fine without your help, Mr. Tall Chief. I can handle Slim. I can handle my bulls. I’m not some silly girl who’s in over her head. I’ve been bringing bulls to rodeos for over fifteen years now.” But she’d had her father with her then.

  Didn’t matter. She could still handle this—all of this. Slim, the bulls, the fighters and the riders—she could even handle Ian Tall Chief.

  “Any woman who can load two bulls by herself is not silly.” Ian met her gaze and held it with his own. At least, she thought she could handle him. It’d be easier if he were wearing a dry shirt, though. Or if he stopped looking at her like that, with some mix of protectiveness and—dare she say it—respect in his eyes.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. Unfortunately, that put a whole lot of biceps right at eye level. Good lord, was any part of this man not muscled and ripped? He had some interesting tattoos on his right side—not the standard stuff, but something that looked like a circle in red and black and yellow.

  “There’s no shame in asking for help,” he said. His voice was surprisingly soft—gentle, even. “Or accepting it.”

  Warning bells went off in her head—loud, clanging bells that beat a fast rhythm. For some ridiculous reason, she felt exposed, even though he was the one standing around in a practically see-through T-shirt. She wanted to look away—she desperately needed to—but she couldn’t break his gaze.

  “I don’t need any help.” It came out as a whisper. It was a lie and she knew it. And, given the way he looked at her, he knew it, too. But she couldn’t accept what he was offering, whatever it was. She couldn’t be in anyone’s debt. Not his, not Slim’s—no one’s.

  So she tried again. “I don’t need any help.”

  There. That was better. She just had to keep saying it.

  After what felt like a long time of staring into his eyes—deep, dark pools with things hidden in their depths she could only wonder at—Ian nodded and took a step back. “All right, then. Have a safe trip home.”

  She blinked. What? Was that it? After that long, lingering look? She hadn’t even told him her name yet. Was that the end of the conversation?

  Was he going to take her at her word?

  He was. How freaking weird.

  “You, too,” she said, because it was the most polite thing she could come up with.

  She drove off. In her side mirror, she saw Ian Tall Chief stand there and watch her go.

  She might not ever see him again. Bullfighters operated under a different schedule than the riders or the bulls. Her next contracted rodeo was next weekend, in Colorado Springs. Ian Tall Chief might be in Amarillo or even Baton Rouge, for all she knew. She certainly didn’t want to see him again—not to risk having him hurt one of her animals or piss off Slim Smalls even more.

  Before I got there to back you up, he’d said. That and, You shouldn’t have to handle it. She could almost hear the word alone after that second statement.

  Because she was alone.

  Or at least, she had been. Until Ian Tall Chief had backed her up.

  Maybe he’d be in Colorado Springs next week, after all.

  CHAPTER THREE

  LACY ROLLED INTO Colorado Springs Thursday afternoon. She was feeling good. Okay, good might be a bit strong, but she was feeling better. She’d been able to sleep the past few nights without too many nightmares about car wrecks, so that counted for something.

  The night before a rodeo was her favorite time. The arena grounds were quiet, with only a few stock contractors and the promoter around to unload the bulls. The riders wouldn’t show up until tomorrow, and then tomorrow night, the crowds would come pouring in.

  This time was about the bulls. Had it been less than a year since she’d done this with her dad? They’d get in around dark on Thursday nights and unload. Dale would shoot the breeze with the other stock contractors and check in with the promoter.

  She didn’t want to run into Slim again. If she could get through this weekend without feeling as if she was losing her grip on—well, everything, that’d be great.

  Lacy checked in with Mort and got the details on where she was to unload her bulls. She had three with her today—Rattler, Chicken Run and Wreckerator.

  You can do this, she thought as she backed the truck up to the pens. Sure, unloading and loading two bulls by herself had been a challenge. Three would be downright hard, especially because Wreckerator was in one of his moods. She’d had Murph to help her at the Straight Arrow, and Wreckerator had almost charged the trailer. Which meant he’d have a good bunch of rides this weekend, but it didn’t help Lacy right now.

  She got out of the cab and looked around. The good news was, she didn’t see Slim. But the bad news was, she didn’t see anyone else, either. For some ridiculous reason, she was disappointed not to see Ian Tall Chief. Not that she wanted to. She didn’t. She didn’t need his help or his excessively large muscles, and that was that. Besides, he would have no reason to be here tonight. He’d probably roll in tomorrow afternoon with everyone. She was being ridiculous to even look for him.

  Except Rattler was refusing to back out of the trailer and Lacy didn’t want to push her luck going in to lead him out, not with Wreckerator behind him, pawing at the metal floor and bellowing with nervous energy. She needed to get the bulls out so they could stretch and get water. She could go get Mort, but she didn’t want to tell the promoter of the rodeo that she couldn’t handle her animals on h
er own. That was the sort of thing that could be used against her in future contract negotiations, and the last thing she could afford was to weaken her bargaining position.

  Nope, she was on her own here. She knew it; the bulls knew it. “Come on, Rattler—get up,” she hissed, poking at his haunch through the slats. She didn’t want to use the cattle prod, but if Rattler didn’t get a move on, she would have to. Which would upset Wreckerator, which meant he would be practically unmanageable.

  “You look like you need help,” a man said from behind her—too close.

  Lacy startled, banging her elbow against the trailer. She pulled her arm out and spun to see a cowboy standing less than three feet from her. Not Ian.

  Oh, this was a good-looking cowboy, all right. He was maybe six inches taller than she was, on the lean side of things, wearing jeans and a black Western shirt with silver piping on the sleeves and white mother-of-pearl buttons. He had stubble that looked intentional on his chin and a leather cord with a silver cross on it around his neck. He was pretty and polished and he did nothing for her.

  And he was talking to her chest. “Let me get that for you.”

  “I’m fine.” The moment the words left her mouth, she knew she’d said the wrong thing.

  The cowboy’s mouth curved up into a predatory smile as he looked her up and down. After what felt like an hour of inspection, he finally looked in the vicinity of her face and said, “You sure are, sugar. What’s a stunner like you doing unloading bulls?” He took a step toward her, effectively pinning her against the trailer.

  Her heart began to pound as panic dumped adrenaline into her system. She didn’t want to do this. This never would have happened if her dad were still here. And even that realization was depressing because he wasn’t here and she was completely on her own.

  She had two choices. Start swinging now or... She went with option two. She forced a smile to her face and said, “What was your name, sugar?”

  “Jerome.” The pretty cowboy smirked, bracing an arm against the trailer right next to her head. “I’m one of the riders. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

  She hadn’t. If his ego got any bigger, it’d suffocate her. Dimly, she thought he might have been one of the cowboys standing around Slim last week, but she wasn’t sure.

  She made an effort to bat her eyelashes. She wasn’t any good at it—hell, she couldn’t pull off flirting even when she wanted to—but option two was to start swinging later. And if Pretty Boy Jerome would shift his legs a bit, she’d have a clear shot to kneeing him in the groin. A girl had to do what a girl had to do to defend herself, because she hadn’t lied to Chief the other week. There were two kinds of men at these rodeos—the Slims and the Jeromes.

  Lacy was about to make her move when something in the air shifted. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as they had last week when Slim had been threatening her—right before Ian had made himself known.

  Ian.

  Jerome leaned down, unaware of how the air had changed. His gaze dropped to her lips as he cupped her chin. No, no, no. She couldn’t fight the shiver of fear that went through her body, but Jerome either thought it was a shiver of desire or he wanted her afraid. She shifted her legs, hoping she had a clear shot of his crotch. He ran his thumb over her lip and said, “Why don’t we— Oof!”

  Then Jerome was gone, being plowed sideways by something the size of a small bulldozer. No, not something—someone.

  Two conflicting emotions hit her at the same time as Jerome hit a fence. One was sheer relief. She hadn’t had to defend herself and she hadn’t had to find out what a man like Jerome would do if he got his nuts crushed. For a second, she didn’t feel so alone in the world because Ian Tall Chief had her back—even when she was backed up against the trailer.

  But the other was pure irritation. She could defend herself. She didn’t need help—or him. But it was too late—he was already helping her, and that put her in his debt. She didn’t want to owe him. She didn’t want to owe anyone.

  “Touch her again and I’ll break every bone in your hand,” Ian growled, lifting Jerome by his shirt clean off the ground. A tearing sound filled the air.

  “Jesus—” Jerome’s voice came out in a strangled squeak “—we were just talking!”

  “Talk to someone else.” Still holding Jerome off the ground, Ian spun and threw him to the ground. Jerome crumpled like an empty feedbag. “Clear?”

  “Jesus, Chief,” Jerome repeated, scrambling to his feet and spitting into the dirt. “What the hell is your deal?”

  “She isn’t here for you.” Ian had the nerve to ball his hands into fists and take a step toward Jerome, who was now considerably less pretty. His face was an angry red, his shirt trashed and he was covered in dirt and worse. “Now move.”

  Jerome did as he was told—but not until he’d straightened his shirt and dusted off his butt. He gave Ian a long look. “Another time?” he said, sounding less squeaky and more threatening.

  Ian smiled, as if this was what he’d wanted to hear. “Anytime, man.”

  Jerome nodded and turned. It wasn’t until he’d disappeared around some trailers that Lacy felt herself breathe again. Her knees felt wobbly and she wanted to lean against the trailer and allow herself a moment to process.

  She did no such thing. She couldn’t, not with Ian standing there and watching her with an unsettling mixture of concern and anger in his eyes.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, and damn him, he sounded genuinely concerned. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  No. Yes. No.

  How was it possible to be this irritated and this grateful at the same time? “I’m not here for you, either,” she told him, completely ignoring the fact that at least part of her was more than a little glad to see him.

  He gave her a fierce look before his face settled back into something that looked almost disappointed. “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

  She should at least thank him. Why couldn’t she? She didn’t know. “Ian, I don’t need your help. I wish you’d listen to me.”

  “No? So what was that all about? You can’t tell me you wanted that slime bag to be touching you. He was going to kiss you, Evans. More, knowing him.”

  Evans? It felt weird to be called that. “Yes, and when he did, I was going to knee him in the groin and then punch him.” She turned back to her trailer. She had to get her bulls out and she’d be damned if she accepted any more help from one Ian Tall Chief. She couldn’t be beholden to him. “The situation was under control. I didn’t ask for a guardian angel.” Never mind that she might need one. “I can handle myself.”

  “Yeah? What if Salzberg hadn’t taken kindly to getting his nuts crushed? Or what if Slim had showed up? You collect an awful lot of enemies, Evans.”

  She gave him a pointed look. “It must be my sunny nature.”

  That got her a smile—a full-on smile that took the remaining adrenaline still pumping through her body and drove it down deeper, where an unfamiliar warmth started to spread up her back.

  Jerome Salzberg might have been pretty, but Ian Tall Chief was something else entirely—broad and muscled and completely unafraid of anyone or anything. And for some reason, he’d decided to keep an eye on her.

  She couldn’t be his type. Hell, she wasn’t anyone’s type.

  Something in Ian’s eyes deepened. Good lord, was she blushing? No. Not allowed. She would not let her body betray her like that. She turned back to the trailer and the stubborn bulls that wouldn’t get the hell out of it.

  “Tell me you at least have a gun.” His voice was so serious that she was forced to turn around and look at him again.

  “In the glove box.”

  He scoffed. “Fat lot of good it’s going to do you there. Can you use it?”

  She jammed her hands on her hips and tried to glare him to d
eath. “What do you think? I’ve competed in mounted shooting events, thank you very much. Won a few, too.”

  If Ian was insulted by her attitude, he didn’t show it. If anything, he looked relieved. “Good. You should be wearing it. The next time someone gives you crap, shoot them in the knee.”

  She looked at him. It appeared, whether she wanted one or not, she had a guardian angel. This realization made that warm sensation that had spread up her back burn hotter, until she was afraid she was going to start sweating. “Why are you helping me?”

  He tilted his head from side to side, as if he was debating how to respond. “I have my reasons. And they have nothing to do with getting you into bed,” he added before she could snap off another insult. “Now, do you want help with your bulls or not?”

  She knew she should say yes and let it drop. But she couldn’t. She kept pushing what little luck she had and the only reason she could even remotely come up with was that it felt safe to push Ian. “Is that why you’re here a day early? Because of the bulls?”

  Ian gave her a little smile, one that somehow made him look innocent and yet not innocent at the same time. “I wanted to make sure I didn’t owe you money for that one bull. What was his name?”

  “Rattler.” She stared at him a moment longer. She didn’t buy that he was here to check on Rattler but she didn’t not buy it when he said he wasn’t trying to get her into bed.

  And honestly? She could use a hand, at least for right now.

  Up to this point, Ian hadn’t done the best job following the simple directions to leave her alone. But he’d stood up for her—twice now. It was more than anyone else had done for her in the long months since her parents had died. What’s more than that, he looked her in the eyes when he talked to her.

  But you touched him, a small voice piped up from the back of her mind. She’d put her hands on his massive chest and felt his muscles and he’d halted in his charge on Slim. And at no point had he suggested that contact between them “meant” that Lacy wanted him or anything other than what it was—she’d asked him to stop and he had.