IN OVER HIS HEAD

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  Lexie listened with half an ear, absorbing enough of the details to know what was going on, but not really interested in much past the fact that he was going back to the rodeo. To the danger. To a lifestyle where he was a celebrity—and all the trappings that came with that. But mostly to the danger. And by God, he looked so happy about it! His eyes practically glowed when he spoke about having another shot at beating this Wes Handly.

  "And what makes this even better news," Josh said, squeezing her hands, "is that Monaco is on the Mediterranean. While I'm there, I can take my sail."

  She could only stare. "Better news?" she echoed once she located her voice. "How is that better? So maybe you'll drown instead of getting stomped to death by a bull?" Stark fear, mixed with a dose of anger, seeped into her veins, taking the place of the numbness that had invaded her. "Josh, you are nowhere near ready to sail the Mediterranean."

  "You're right." Before relief could set in that he at least realized that, he added, "So come with me. Help me sail. Enjoy the rodeo. Think what a great time we'd have together. It would be like a vacation."

  Her entire body went cold. For a few seconds she couldn't even take air into her lungs. It was as if all the oxygen had left the room. But then a sense of frigid calm settled over her. She eased her hands from his and looked him straight in the eye.

  "Vacation? Great time? Exactly what part of it would be great? Traveling? As you well know, I have no desire to travel. Watching you risk your life riding in the rodeo? The mere thought of it scares me to death and makes me feel ill. Risking my life as well as yours sailing the Mediterranean? I know how to sail, but I'm not expert enough to consider such an undertaking, especially with an inexperienced crewmate."

  "Lexie, I—"

  "I knew it," she said, shaking her head. "I must have been out of my mind to get involved with you. How stupid could I have been to believe for even a millisecond that you'd stay retired? Wouldn't constantly crave danger and thrills? Once an adrenaline junkie, always an adrenaline junkie." She narrowed her eyes at him. "When exactly did you make this idiotic decision?"

  Annoyance flared in his eyes. "It isn't idiotic—"

  "We're going to have to agree to disagree on that one. When?"

  A muscle in his jaw jumped. "Three days ago."

  Three days ago. She didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. Or to scream. "And you're just getting around to mentioning it now." A humorless laugh escaped her. "Why did you bother to tell me at all? Oh, let me guess! You knew how I'd react, and you didn't want to do anything that would upset the sexual applecart before it was absolutely necessary. Makes me wonder why you didn't just wait a few more days—toss out the info on your way to the airport."

  He jumped to his feet. Slapping his palms on the table, he leaned over her, his eyes flashing with a combination of anger and frustration. "Damn it, Lexie, that's not fair. I didn't tell you until now because the plans weren't firmly set until today's meeting. There was no point in worrying you about it until I'd signed the contracts and it was a done deal."

  She looked up at him. Was it possible to actually feel your heart breaking? "You're absolutely right. There was no reason for you to discuss any of your future plans with me."

  "There's every reason. I just didn't want something that might not have even happened to come between us—"

  "Before it was absolutely necessary," she finished for him.

  He straightened, then raked his hands through his hair. "Yes. But when you say it like that it makes it sound dishonest, and I wasn't being dishonest."

  "Of course not. You were simply withholding the truth to protect me. To spare my feelings and to keep me from worrying."

  His expression turned wary. "Somehow this is starting to sound like one of those 'does this dress make my ass look fat' girl-trap things."

  She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Not at all. You were being honorable."

  "I was trying to be, yes."

  "And of course, you didn't want our fling to end any sooner than it had to."

  Grasping her upper arms, he pulled her to her feet. "This is not a fling," he said through clenched teeth.

  "Not anymore," she agreed. "This fling is officially flung." She pulled in a deep breath, not sure how much longer she was going to be able to hang on to her anger and not crumple like a house of cards in a windstorm. "Look, Josh, we had some good times, but we both knew this was temporary, that anything long-term was impossible."

  "It is not impossible. We can—"

  "No. We can't. Nothing has changed. We live thousands of miles apart. You have responsibilities in Montana, and my life is here. And even if, by some miracle, we could solve the geographic problems, I cannot live with this decision you've made. There will always be another rodeo, another reason to come out of retirement and risk your life. Or if it's not a bucking bull, then some other dangerous enterprise like sailing the seas will tempt you."

  His serious dark eyes still simmered with annoyance. "I can't deny that the rodeo is dangerous, but your job isn't exactly danger-free, either."

  An incredulous sound gurgled in her throat. Before she could utter a word, he plunged on, "Don't you think there are dangers associated with what you do? People are injured water-skiing and on those Jet-Ski things all the time. And parasailing? You don't think there's an element of danger in that? And even experienced swimmers can drown in rough water or get caught in an undertow. How about scuba diving? You could run out of air, or get attacked by all those dangerous things in the ocean—like sharks."

  She resisted the urge to look heavenward. "This is Florida. There are 'things' in the ocean, including sharks."

  "Exactly. And like Brahman bulls, sharks are dangerous. Can't be controlled. Can't anticipate them. Maybe they don't seem so bad to you because you're used to them. But for a cowboy from Montana, sharks are damn dangerous. Sure, a bull might break your leg, but he won't bite it off."

  She shook her head. "It's not the same."

  "It is the same." He gently squeezed her shoulders. "Every time I see you going off in that boat for a scuba excursion, my gut gets tight. But I wouldn't ask you not to do it."

  "And I haven't asked you not to enter this rodeo or forgo your sail. You made the decision you needed to make. I understand that. You've asked me to go with you and be a part of that decision. I can't."

  "You're afraid." The gentle understanding in his voice nearly undid her.

  "Josh. You could so easily be hurt. Maimed. Killed. And for what? All I know is that the last man I loved couldn't stop seeking higher thrills, and his success changed him. I lost the sweet guy I fell for to a lifestyle filled with travel, danger, hangers-on and groupies. You ask me if I'm afraid? No. I'm terrified. Of what coming out of retirement could do to you. And of what going through that again would do to me."

  All vestiges of annoyance drained from his eyes. "Lexie. I'm not some green kid goin' on the circuit for the first time. I'm beyond all that. I've already sowed my oats. My head's not about to be turned by some groupie. And I swear to you, on my honor, that this is the last time I'll come out of retirement. I won't—"

  She pressed her fingers to his lips, cutting off his words. "Please don't make promises you might regret later. I'm not asking for them. I don't want them. But I've already been through this with Tony. I cannot, will not, go through it again."

  "I'm not Tony."

  "Different man, same placing-myself-in-danger situation. I refuse to again put myself through the horrors of waiting for the call from the hospital that you're hurt. Or worse."

  "That's not going to happen."

  "You don't know that. And it's not a chance I'm willing to take."

  He dragged his hands down his face. "Lexie, I could get hurt walking across the street."

  "True. But you cannot deny that the odds of injury increase substantially when bucking bulls are tossed into the mix."

  "You're asking me to choose."

  "No, I'm not. I'm bowing out."

>   He studied her through troubled eyes. "Lexie, this rodeo and sailing are things that I have to do. To have peace with myself. They'll be finished in a few weeks. You and I will have all the time in the world after that."

  "No, we won't. We're out of time." She moved around to put the kitchen table between them, then glanced down at the cold remains of her half-eaten dinner. A shudder ran through her. Was it less than an hour ago that they'd sat down to this meal? Just over an hour ago that they'd made love in the foyer?

  "I understand your concern," he said in a quiet voice, "but why can't you trust me? I'm doing the right thing."

  She forced herself to meet his gaze. "Yes, you are. For you. And that's fine. I just don't want to be involved with it in any way. You have every right to do what you think is best. And I have every right to be afraid and unwilling to risk myself again."

  "We can work this out, Lexie. More than anything, I want to be with you." He reached her in two quick strides, then clasped her shoulders and gently shook her.

  She stared at him and pretended her heart was still beating. He wanted to be with her—but not more than he wanted to ride in the rodeo. Shaking her head, she blinked back the hot tears welling in her eyes. "Don't say that."

  "Why not? It's true." His eyes searched hers. "The question is, do you want to be with me?"

  Looking into his eyes, she swore she heard her heart splatter onto the floor. "It doesn't matter. There's no future for us."

  "There could be if—"

  "If I was able to accept your decision regarding this dangerous rodeo and taking your sail before you're prepared, which I'm not. If I was capable of setting aside my fears, which I clearly am not. If I was willing to risk my heart and happiness and future on another man who could very well destroy all three—and I'm not."

  "You're scared. I understand, but—"

  "I'm more than scared. More than terrified. I'm adamant. I can not, will not, do this again. Never again."

  His face paled. He slowly released her shoulders, a muscle jerking in his jaw, his eyes clouding over with anguish. Before he could say anything else, something that might threaten her resolve, she wiped her face clean of expression and raised her chin. "I want you to leave."

  The most deafening silence she'd ever heard filled the room. His eyes seemed to burn into hers and she spent those silent seconds memorizing his face feature by feature, yet knowing he was already permanently emblazoned in her memory. She wanted, needed, him to go. Now. Before the pain bubbling inside her exploded.

  After what seemed like an eternity but was probably no more than a minute, she repeated, "I want you to leave, Josh. Now. Do you understand?"

  His lips flattened into a hard line. "You've left precious little room for misinterpretation." He dragged his hands down his face, then shook his head. "I don't know how to say goodbye to you."

  "Then don't say it. Just go. Please." Her voice broke on the last word, and she fisted her hands in an effort to keep herself together.

  He stared at her for another few seconds, his throat working. Then he walked swiftly from the room, the sounds of his boot heels hitting the ceramic tile echoing through the house. She listened to the front door close with a quiet click. Seconds later she heard his car backing out of the driveway. And then silence.

  He was gone. Completely. Irrevocably. Forever.

  Her knees went limp and she sank into her chair. Nothing. She felt nothing. The place where her heart used to beat in her chest felt anesthetized. Indeed, her entire body felt as if it had taken a direct hit of Novocain.

  Something wet landed on her arm, and as if in a trance, she looked down. A drop of water. As she stared at the spot, another drop fell. Then another. Tears.

  A sob rose in her throat, accompanied by a blinding rush of heartache that bordered on physical pain, and she wished for the oblivion of her previous numbness. Because he was gone. And nothing had ever hurt this much.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  « ^ »

  "You have got to get yourself out of this funk," Darla said two weeks later, striding into Lexie's kitchen, her arms laden with the fixings for margaritas and nachos.

  "I'm not in a funk," Lexie lied, listlessly following Darla's energetic form.

  Darla plunked her supplies on the counter and immediately made herself at home, dragging the blender out of a lower cabinet. "Well, if you're not in a funk, then you're doing a hell of an imitation of it. And since you wouldn't come out and party with me, I brought the party to you. Tonight it's just the three of us—you, me and—" she patted the bottle of tequila "—José Cuervo."

  "I would have gone out, but I've been busy."

  "Busy moping. The same as you've been for the past two weeks." Reaching out, Darla gave Lexie's hand a sympathetic squeeze. "I know you're hurting, Lex, and that's why I'm here. I'm the Official Un-Funker, DeMoper. After a few margaritas, fattening snacks and girl talk, you'll feel better. And look at this." She handed Lexie a folded section of newspaper. "There's a huge beach gear show at the convention center next week, guaranteed to draw lots of eligible men. We're going. The best cure for a broken heart is a new man. And you're not going to find one hiding out at home."

  "I'm not interested in finding a new man, Darla. In fact, if I never see another man again, it will be too soon."

  "Oh, boy, that statement proves you're still in Phase One of a breakup," Darla said, her eyes filled with concern. "I knew we shouldn't have waited this long to have a heart-to-heart. I should have yanked you out by your hair the minute Josh left town. And I would have if you'd answered your phone."

  Proud that she didn't even wince when Darla mentioned his name, Lexie said, "I got your messages. I called you back."

  "Yeah, and left messages on my machine saying you were fine. Which you are not. Two weeks after the guy is gone, you should have moved on to Phase Two. Maybe even Phase Three."

  Lexie didn't ask what Phases Two and Three entailed—it didn't matter, she didn't care, and she wasn't up to doing them, whatever they were. Unless they were crawling into bed with the remote and a drowning-the-sorrows pint of double-chocolate-fudge ice cream. If so, she was in.

  "I really am okay, Darla. Just busy. I've been putting in a lot of extra hours before and after work, giving private swimming and scuba lessons."

  "I'm glad. But one look at you and it's clear to me—who knows you very well—that you're operating on autopilot. And it's high time you reengaged your gears. And to help you do that, I have some good news for you. But I'm not going to tell you until the nachos and 'ritas are ready. So go turn on the TV, or read a book or something while I get busy."

  "I could help," Lexie offered, dubiously eyeballing the packages of meat and seasonings.

  "Lex, the last time you helped, you burned the nachos." She made shooing motions with her hands. "Go."

  Heaving a resigned sigh, Lexie walked into the living area, plopped down on the sofa, then flicked on the tube. She mindlessly channel surfed, trying unsuccessfully to push from her head the one thing that occupied every corner of her mind.

  Josh.

  Damn it, how long before she stopped hurting? Before this crushing ache lessened so it didn't feel as if an elephant sat on her chest? Before she stopped thinking about him several hundred times a day, in turns recalling their time together, then wondering what he was doing—and the even more agonizing, Who was he doing it with?

  The high-pitched whirl of the blender sounded from the kitchen, and she grimaced. Yup, that's just what she felt like—as if she'd jumped heart-first into an ice-cube filled blender then pushed Frappé.

  The aroma of spicy meat filled the room, but did little to interest her. She stared blindly at the images blinking past on the screen as she clicked the remote without enthusiasm.

  Well, this pain had to lessen soon. It had to. All she had to do was to stop thinking about him. Stop recalling his smile. His laugh. Stop calling to mind the feel of his hands on her body, the texture of his
skin against hers.

  Stop seeing him on TV.

  Her fingers froze on the remote and she stared at the image of Josh. Her gaze flicked to the bottom corner of the screen, noting by the logo that this was one of those nonstop sports channels. Heart pounding, she upped the volume.

  "In other sports news," came the commentator's voice, "Josh Maynard won the International Charity Rodeo held earlier today in Monaco. Maynard, winner of the most All-Around Cowboy titles in history, came out of retirement for the event. He bested rival Wes Handly, who came in second."

  As the commentator spoke, footage showing Josh atop a bucking bull flashed. Lexie's breath stalled as she watched what the sportscaster called a "brilliant" ride. Then the picture changed to a grinning Josh, holding a huge gold belt buckle above his head, circling slowly around the center of the arena, waving to a wildly cheering crowd.

  "Here's your drink," said Darla, setting a colorful plastic glass on the glass-top coffee table. She plopped next to Lexie on the sofa, then pointed toward the TV. "Hey! Isn't that Josh?"

  Unable to speak around the lump in her throat, Lexie nodded. He looked wonderful. And happy. And uninjured—thank goodness. Aching loss raced through her. If only things had been different—

  But they weren't. It was over between them. The program switched to baseball and Lexie turned off the television.

  After several seconds of silence Darla asked, "You okay?"

  Lexie took a shaky breath. "To tell you the truth, I've been better."

  "The fact that he won the competition … maybe that means he'll come back and—"

  "No," Lexie interjected more sharply than she intended. "It only means that he fulfilled one of his goals. I'm happy for him and wish him all the best. I'm even glad I saw his moment of glory on the TV. But his goals and mine are light-years apart. It's over."