Chloe twisted out of his grasp. “Do you have any idea how infuriating that is?” she yelled.
Pete backed up, his hands raised in the universal sign of surrender. “Easy, honey.”
“I am so not your honey and you know it. I told them I wasn’t interested. I told them to leave me alone and what do they do? Make a grab at me. All you had to do was show up and be a man and suddenly, there they go,” she shouted, waving in the direction they had stumbled.
“...Be a man?” he asked, his confusion obvious.
She wanted to throw something. She’d already punched something and in all honesty, it hadn’t helped. “Yes! Do you have any idea what that’s like?”
“Being a man?”
“Of course you don’t! Because you’re a man!”
Pete stared at her as if a small alien had landed on her forehead. She groaned. Of course he didn’t understand. He was probably enjoying the hell out of her emotional reaction—another thing he could throw back in her face to prove she wasn’t capable of running the All-Stars.
Suddenly, she was tired. She looked down, trying to get her thoughts in order as the adrenaline burned away.
Oh. She’d dropped their dinner on the ground. Her eyes began to burn. “I... I’m sorry.”
Pete stepped in front of her. “Chloe,” he said softly, his hands resting on her shoulders. He gave her a little squeeze and she almost sank into him. “What on God’s green earth are you apologizing for?”
“I dropped our food.” She managed not to sniff, but it was a close thing. “And I lost my temper.”
“And here I thought Flash had the short fuse in your family.” His thumbs stroked over her shoulders and he made a low humming noise in the back of his throat. “Are you okay?”
No, not really. Her hand ached so much she could almost hear a high whine in her ears, and nothing had gone right today and she was so pitiful that she was on the verge of asking Pete Wellington, of all people, for a stinking hug.
Worst. Day. Ever.
“I’m fine,” she said, trying to pull herself together because she couldn’t give this man one more bullet to use as ammunition against her. She forced her head up, forced herself to meet Pete’s gaze. “Why?”
“Why?” His lips quirked into a smile. “Oh, no reason.” As he spoke, his hands drifted down her shoulders and then her arms until he lifted her hands and tilted them toward the street lamp. “Just that you broke the nose of an idiot who had a solid seven inches and sixty pounds on you.”
“Seventy,” she corrected. This time, she did sniff.
And then froze. Pete’s gaze locked with hers as he lifted her bruised knuckles to his mouth and pressed his lips to her skin.
Heat flashed down her back and her knees weakened so fast that she staggered a little. Pete’s arm was around her waist in a heartbeat even as he held on to her swollen hand. “Seventy, easy,” he agreed as he supported her weight.
Which, of course, brought her chest flush with his. She wasn’t strong enough, dammit. She just wasn’t. Not after the day from hell, not after this man had come to her defense twice in one day. Yeah, it was a trap and a trick and a long con, but he was also thoughtful and charming and it was so damned nice not to have to fight another battle.
She didn’t want to fight with him.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he murmured, staring down into her eyes.
“What?” She couldn’t even care that she sounded breathless as her nipples went hard.
He let go of her waist and her hand at the same time and she almost cried at the loss until, unexpectedly, he bent down and swept her off her feet.
Who knew Pete Wellington could be so bloody charming?
“I’m going to get you set up on the tailgate of my truck because my truck is farther from the front door, which means fewer idiots will be by to harass you.” As he spoke, he carried her as if she was as light as a feather. “Then I’m going to get you dinner and a bag of ice for your hand.”
“Ice would be great,” she admitted, draping her arms around his neck and leaning her head against his shoulder. She shouldn’t, but what the hell.
He wasn’t lying, his truck was a heck of a lot farther away from the bar than hers. “Can I tell you something, if you promise you won’t overreact?”
“Really?”
He looked down at her without breaking stride, that quirky smile still in place. “Just don’t punch me, Lawrence. I’ve seen the damage you can do.”
Was that a compliment? “Fine. No punching. What?”
They finally reached his truck and he set her down so he could lower the tailgate. It was a really nice truck, top-of-the-line Ford Super Duty. “What happened to that old piece of crap truck you used to drive?” she asked. “The one that was half-rusted away?” She went to hop up, but she couldn’t put her weight on her punching hand and hissed in pain.
He tsked and stepped in front of her. Before she could brace herself, Pete put his hands on her waist. Again, that delicious heat flashed over her skin. “The rust bucket? That’s been gone a long time, hon. I’ve come up in the world.”
She looked up at Pete as his grip around her waist tightened. This was where they’d been earlier today, before Flash had started banging on the door.
Flash wasn’t here this time. “Clearly,” she teased. “That’s why you want to work for the All-Stars. Because you need the money.”
But instead of coming back firing, he just stared down at her. “That’s not why.”
“Then why, Pete?” Her voice had gotten softer but then again, he’d gotten closer.
He didn’t answer for a long time. Then, his mouth cocked into that half grin, he said, “You are, hands down, one of the most impressive women I’ve ever known,” and the hell of it was he seemed completely sincere.
Before Chloe could react, he lifted her up and set her on the tailgate. Her eyes—and her mouth—were almost level with his now.
Not kissing Pete. No matter how good the compliments were.
“I bet you say that to all the girls who could break your nose with one punch,” she managed to get out, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.
“Nope. Just you.”
Then he leaned forward and, despite all her resolve, her eyes fluttered closed in anticipation and one word floated through her mind—finally.
But instead of feeling his lips against hers, he kissed her on the forehead. Which was good. Great, even. It was sweet and it didn’t presume anything and she was absolutely not disappointed.
Pete pulled away and headed back to the bar. “Stay here and try not to get into any more fights.”
“They started it!” she called after him.
He stopped and looked at her over his shoulder. “But you finished it like a boss.”
There was no mistaking the approval in his voice, warm and sweet.
Oh, heavens.
Was she starting to like Pete Wellington?
What else could go wrong today?
Six
As soon as Pete was sure Chloe couldn’t see him, he took off at a dead run. If those assholes decided to double back, he had to get to them before they got to Chloe.
She might throw a hell of a punch against one drunk, but two would overwhelm her and if something happened...
He ran as fast as he could, weaving in and out of cars and trucks parked haphazardly around the bar. Finally, he found the idiots in question by a rusted-out Ford truck. The one with the busted nose was on his hands and knees, heaving up his guts, while the one who’d called Chloe rude names was sitting behind the wheel with his legs hanging out the door.
Man, Pete was tempted to go over there and finish what Chloe had started. They’d scared the hell out of her. No, she hadn’t exactly admitted that, but Pete wasn’t some clueless greenhorn. She’d bee
n terrified. But her fear had been buried under anger.
For once, he was thankful for the Lawrence temper. Never thought he’d live to see the day.
It wouldn’t take him long to dispose of these two—a couple of quick punches to make sure these guys stayed down for the rest of the night. But then...there might be witnesses and, knowing Chloe, she’d notice if he got blood on his shirt and then she’d tear into him again about how he was a man, as if that were a crime or something.
He needed to get back to her. So, after one final look to make sure the guys weren’t going anywhere, he made his way to the bar.
What had she meant by that, anyway? Of course he was a man. He’d never had any question about who he was.
Their dinner was exactly where Chloe had dropped it. Pete checked the bags. The containers were dinged up and some fries had escaped, but it all still looked edible. He gathered everything up and then, rather than fighting his way through the crowd, he cut around to the back door and stuck his head into the kitchen. “Hey, can I get some ice? Please?”
The staff was none too pleased to be taking orders through the back door and they had no problem letting him know it, but every moment he stood here begging for ice was another moment Chloe was alone in his truck. He needed to get back to her.
He’d almost kissed her.
Hell, he had kissed her, but not where he’d wanted to. And as he’d touched her skin with his lips, he’d inhaled her scent. That close up, he’d been able to figure out what the fruity smell was—green apples. She’d smelled good enough to eat and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted.
But he was stronger than temptation.
Kissing Chloe might be a nice fringe benefit in the moment, but it was not a part of his larger plans. Knowing how she thought, kissing her would most likely take his careful planning and throw it right out the window. Then where would he be?
Still on the outside, watching city slickers exploit his rodeo.
Finally, he got a grocery bag full of ice, although it was more thrown at his head than handed to him. He thanked the staff and hurried back to Chloe.
He slowed down once he had her in his sights. She’d scooted to one side and had one elbow resting on the edge of the truck bed, her chin resting on her forearm as she stared up at the night sky. Sweet merciful heavens, she looked like every girl in every country song and he had a wild impulse to drive off into the night until they found a quiet field and could curl up in the bed of his truck, watching the stars.
He shook his head to clear that vision away.
“It’s me,” he announced. Sneaking up on her tonight was a bad idea. “Any trouble?”
“No. It was as quiet as it gets this close to a bar.” She sat up and took the ice from him. “Oh, that feels so good,” she all but moaned as she covered her sore knuckles.
His body tightened at her words. And that was just for ice. How would she sound if he put his hands on her body? If he buried himself inside of her?
Focus, Pete.
“Here, wait.” He opened the truck door and dug into his glove box, finally finding a clean bandanna. “Let me wrap that so you don’t freeze your skin.” She held her hand steady as he looped the bandanna over her knuckles. “Did you break anything, do you think?”
She shook her head as he got the ice situated. “It’s sore, but everything moves like it’s supposed to. Going to be hard to carry that flag tomorrow, though.”
“If anyone could do it, it’d be you.” He handed her the container with her burger and then hopped up next to her, putting the rest of the food between them. It seemed safer that way. “If you lost any fries, they’re still in the bag. They look okay, just a little squashed.” This felt wrong. She deserved so much more than greasy bar food.
“Thanks.”
“Tell me about your plans for the All-Stars,” he said after a few minutes had passed. “You really want to open up the events to women competitors?”
“Oh, yeah,” she replied around a mouthful of fries. “I’ve analyzed the stats and the revenue streams from the Total Bull Challenge since June Spotted Elk made the circuit and, between the marketing aimed at new, mostly female viewers and the network distribution deals, she’s responsible for a solid 15 percent bump in profits. Some people argue with that—but you can’t tell me that the numbers are a coincidence.”
“Huh,” he said, mostly because he’d never figured Chloe would analyze revenue streams, much less stats.
“I’d love to find a breakout star like that,” she went on. “Tex McGraw has a natural grasp of branding—have you seen his Instagram page?”
“I’m not real big on social media,” he admitted. Which was to say, he wasn’t on it at all. His mom had tried to get him to join Facebook but his sister, Marie, had shown him what sorts of things Mom put out there and, well, ignorance was bliss.
“Shocking,” she teased. “Take my word for it—with a solid marketing push from the All-Stars at a corporate level, we could get Tex some major sponsorships deals and get the All-Stars name out there.”
Pete had to swallow his surprise with his burger. “You’d rather promote Tex than your own brother?”
“Hell, yeah,” she scoffed. “This is the All-Stars, not the Lawrence Family Hour. Besides, it doesn’t have to be Tex—although he’s laid down a great platform. I’d love to get June to ride in a few events—she grew up on a ranch and can rope calves with the best of them. Even if it’s just for an exhibition, it’d bring in viewers and we could cross promote with her fans, let them know the All-Stars exists—that sort of thing. But someone like Tex, where we can control the narrative and build a storyline over a season—yeah,” she finished with a wistful sigh. “That’d be amazing. And then there’s the title of Princess...”
Pete snorted before he could help it. “What, going to promote yourself to Queen of the Rodeo now?”
She gave him a dull look that made him smile. “Seriously? I’m not a teenager anymore and it’s a little ridiculous that I’m still doing it after a decade, don’t you think?”
Pete felt like she’d punched him right in the gut. Was he supposed to agree with her? Because he did, but saying so felt like a trap.
Luckily, she kept talking. “What I’d like to do is open up the title to other girls—which, again, would only grow our audience. Maybe a national scholarship competition with a year’s reign or... I don’t know, exactly. But it’s time to shake things up. Besides,” she added, jabbing a fry in his direction, “I’m tired of men barging in on me while I change. I’d rather just run the show.”
Now what the hell was he supposed to say to that? He’d been operating under the assumption that Chloe lived to be the princess. He’d thought she was clinging to her moment of glory like barnacles to the hull of a ship. And...
And that she didn’t care about the All-Stars beyond her moment in the spotlight.
Had he misread the situation? Had he misunderstood her? Because suddenly, he wasn’t entirely sure who he was sitting next to. It certainly wasn’t the same clueless city slicker he’d first laid eyes on ten years ago, barely able to stay in the saddle without dropping the flag.
He didn’t like not knowing because he had a plan that was built on a set of undisputed facts, the most important of which was that Chloe Lawrence was an airheaded attention hog who was ruining his rodeo.
He felt dizzy, almost.
“Big ideas” was all he managed to say. Huge changes, really. But if they worked—and it sounded like she’d done the research—then it could be good for the rodeo.
“Yeah. But the old timers are going to fight me every step of the way, no doubt. Like they’re afraid of girl cooties instead of seeing long-term growth as a positive. They’d rather stagnate and die of obsolescence, I guess.”
He snorted. They fell silent as they finished eating, but his mind was spinning the w
hole time.
Chloe Lawrence was hell-bent on remaking the All-Stars into something different. No wonder Dustin Yardley and the others had been so mad this morning. The rodeo was about tradition and honor and legacy and, okay, maybe it was a bastion of male pride. What Chloe was talking about flew in the face of a lot of that.
But...she also had a point about stagnation. He didn’t want the All-Stars to shrivel and die. He loved the rodeo and had ever since his dad had started the circuit back in the eighties. Pete’s childhood had revolved around the All-Stars. It’d been the one time when his dad was around and interested and focused on Pete. Because Davey Wellington had never been focused on anything, including his family. Mom liked to say that if they’d known what attention deficit disorder was back when Dad was a kid, he’d have been the poster child for it.
Mom made the ranch profitable, all while getting dinner on the table. Dad had a nasty habit of getting distracted with bright, shiny ideas. Which could be good, like when he’d decided to start the All-Stars. But it could also be bad, like when he bet the rodeo in a poker game and lost. And now it was too late. Dad was gone.
But Pete could still honor the man’s life and keep those special memories alive by taking control of his rodeo. But if the All-Stars lost riders to bull riding or other outfits and went into decline, where would that leave his legacy?
He was going to need a drink to deal with that answer. Several drinks.
He decided it was safer to change the subject. Chloe was flat out inhaling her food—which was all the more impressive, considering she was doing so one-handed. “You were hungry, weren’t you?”
“I never eat before a show. It used to be because I got so nervous but now I’m just too busy. I try to eat a big breakfast but by this time of night...” She shrugged. “Man, that’s a good burger.”
“It’d be better with a beer.”
“True.” She sounded wistful about it. “But there’s no way in hell I’m going to drink around you, Pete.”
“Why not?” He was real proud that he managed to keep any hurt he might or might not have felt at that sideswipe out of his voice. “I’d never go after you like those idiots tried to. You know that.”
His Enemy's Daughter Page 6
