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The Cowboy Meets His Match

Page 13

by Sarah Mayberry


  For a heartbeat he looked like the old Jed, the Jed who’d practiced football plays with him in the back paddock when they were both kids.

  Then he was walking away, back and shoulders straight as always, and it felt as though Jesse had missed an opportunity.

  Chapter Ten

  Either Jesse’s sister was an Academy Award-worthy actress, or she genuinely had no inkling he’d spent the night in CJ’s bed. The way Sierra chatted to her over coffee, easy and relaxed, ending any lingering concerns CJ had in that area.

  Which just left her with the not-so-easy task of maintaining her game face when Jesse was in the same room. It had been bad enough before, when she’d simply been aware of him, but now it was as though her sensitivity had been supercharged. When he returned to the kitchen not long after Jed put in an appearance, she knew the second he entered the room. She knew when he poured himself a second cup of coffee, even though she didn’t dare glance his way. She knew when he checked his phone. She was conscious of every gesture he made and everything he said, and acting as though she wasn’t, as though she was just hanging in the kitchen with the Carmodys, nothing to see here, was a major, concerted effort.

  It was a huge relief when Jed suggested they get moving if they wanted pancakes before the rodeo kicked off again. She’d already stripped the bed and put the sheets in the washing machine, and she ducked out to the Airstream to transfer her gear to her truck. By the time she’d finished, the Carmodys were tramping down the front steps, arguing over whose truck to take into town.

  “We can all fit in my truck,” Jesse was saying, but Sierra pulled a face.

  “I don’t want to be trapped in town until you want to leave,” she said. “I’ll take my own truck.”

  “Suit yourself,” Jesse said with an easy shrug.

  “I was going to drive in,” Jed said, car keys already in hand. “You can come home with me, Sierra.”

  “Same argument, different brother. How do I know you won’t want to catch up with one of your buddies at Grey’s?”

  Jed fixed her with a look. “How many Sunday afternoons have I spent at Grey’s lately?”

  “Okay, true, your social life is truly dismal. But I’m still taking my own truck.”

  “Then I guess it’s going to be a Carmody convoy,” Jesse said.

  “With a Cooper caboose,” Sierra added, a cheeky smile on her lips.

  “Yeah,” Jesse said. His expression was admirably blank, but there was no mistaking the desire in his eyes when CJ’s gaze met his.

  She looked away almost immediately, but she could feel heat crawling into her cheeks. Damn, she was going to have to get better at handling eye contact with him really quickly or she’d be spending the whole rodeo avoiding looking his way.

  “Before we go, I wanted to thank you all for making me feel so welcome last night. Not really sure what I would have done if you hadn’t been so kind,” CJ said.

  “You’re more than welcome,” Jed said, offering her a small, sweet smile.

  Casey ducked his head in acknowledgment, back to being the quiet guy after last night’s slow thaw to friendliness over dinner. She’d quickly worked out that he was the shy one in the family, and it blew her mind more than a little that she’d seen him on stage Friday night, holding the crowd in the palm of his hand.

  “You have to come stay with us next time the rodeo is in town, too,” Sierra said. “Even though you’ll probably be a big star by then.”

  “I love how much faith you have in me,” CJ said, laughing and shaking her head.

  “I’ve got eyes in my head,” Sierra said.

  They all climbed into their respective trucks, and there was a chorus of engines starting. CJ waited until Jesse pulled out before falling in behind him, Sierra and Jed falling into place behind her. As Jesse said, it was a Carmody convoy.

  CJ used the twenty-minute drive into town to try to clear her mind and prepare mentally for her ride. There were too many distractions vying for her attention—Jesse, the situation with Maynard, the nagging disappointment that her father hadn’t bothered to make contact. She needed to put all that aside for the next few hours and focus on the short round. Until it was done, nothing else mattered.

  Then she hit the outskirts of town and her phone started chirruping with a number of incoming messages and notifications. She risked a glance at the screen while waiting at a red light. There were three calls from home, and three texts from her mom.

  Something loosened in her chest. The odds were good those calls were from her father, and the knowledge that he’d tried to make contact with her went a long way toward salving her wounded feelings on that front. She itched to return the call, but managed to hold back on the impulse until she’d pulled into a parking spot at the rodeo grounds. Sierra had explained there was a pedestrian bridge over the river that connected the rodeo and fairgrounds with downtown, and she could see the Carmodys waiting for her. Grabbing her jacket and phone, she slipped out of her car to join them.

  “I need to return a phone call,” she explained quickly. “Why don’t you go ahead and I’ll catch up?”

  She could tell by the way Jesse hesitated that he wanted to wait for her but she deliberately didn’t make eye contact with him. If the two of them arrived at the pancake breakfast together without the escort of his family, talk would be inevitable.

  “We’ll save a seat for you,” Sierra said.

  “Thanks. I won’t be long.”

  The Carmodys moved off, Jesse among them. He glanced back at her briefly, and she gave him a small smile that was both acknowledgment and thanks for being discreet. He responded with a barely discernible nod.

  CJ transferred her attention to her phone, reading her mother’s text messages—three repeats of “please call me the moment you get this”—before listening to her voicemail. The first message was from her father, his gruff, deep voice asking her to call home when she had a chance. The following two voicemail messages were from her mother, each of them variations on “why aren’t you picking up?”—her mother’s tone becoming more concerned with each one. CJ swore under her breath. Thanks to the terrible coverage out at the Carmody ranch, her mother was probably imagining CJ dead in a ditch somewhere.

  She called home and wrapped an arm around herself as she waited for the call to connect. It was stupid, but she felt nervous about finally talking to her father. She might be reconciled to his disapproval on one level, but she knew if he said the wrong thing during this call, it was going to mess with her head. Not to mention her heart.

  The phone rang and rang. CJ imagined her father rushing across from the barn or her mother finishing something in the kitchen, but eventually the call simply rang out. Frowning, she tried again, and again it rang out. She checked the time—nine a.m. on a Sunday morning. She couldn’t imagine why her parents wouldn’t be home.

  Unless something bad had happened.

  Calm down, Cooper. No need to be a drama queen.

  She called her mom’s phone next, growling in the back of her throat with frustration when it cut across to voicemail. She left a brief but hopefully reassuring message: “Mom, it’s me. Sorry I didn’t get your messages last night. I couldn’t get a signal where I was. Everything’s fine with me, though. Call me when you can, okay?”

  She hovered on the verge of calling one of her brothers for reassurance, just in case something was up, but then common sense reasserted itself. If something really bad had happened with her folks, her brothers or sisters-in-law would have made sure she was in the loop. This was more than likely just a very prosaic case of mutual missed phone calls, and she was allowing her jittery nerves about the day ahead to turn a mountain into a molehill.

  She had to pass through the contestants’ camping grounds on the way to the footbridge, and she studied the various trailers her fellow competitors used as both accommodation and horse transport as she passed by. Some were large, elaborate and obviously new; others looked as though they were held together with su
perglue and duct tape. She’d seen inside a few and knew they offered pretty spare accommodation—bed, tiny kitchen, an itty-bitty living space. She also knew having a trailer was the most economical way to live and travel on the circuit—if that was what a person wanted to do.

  It was what she wanted to do, very much, but until she’d proven she could hold her own, decisions about trailers would have to wait another day.

  She had to dodge the darkened circles of a number of extinguished campfires in the open spots between trailers as she walked and she guessed there’d been a few cowboys partying here last night. She wondered if Dean Maynard had been among them, laughing it up with his cronies over the prank he’d pulled on CJ.

  Most likely. He was exactly the type of man who’d brag about his “brave” act. And she bet there’d been a few of her fellow contestants who’d laughed along with him, too.

  The thought left a sour taste in her mouth and she made a concerted effort to leave her dark thoughts behind as she stepped onto the footbridge. The Marietta River flowed fast and strong beneath the timber planks, and the smell of cool water and wet stone rose to meet her. The sky was a clear, pale blue with all the hallmarks of turning into a fine day, and a brisk breeze brought the sound of people laughing, along with the smell of hot butter and sugar. Right on cue, her stomach rumbled, letting her know it was ready for more than the cup of coffee she’d had out at the Carmody ranch.

  She lengthened her stride as she walked through the park toward the courthouse, only slowing when she reached the area in the park that had been set up for the pancake breakfast. Folding tables and chairs were arranged in long rows, most of them occupied, while a makeshift kitchen was busy with volunteers. Customers formed a snaking queue, patiently waiting their turn to be served.

  It only took her a moment to spot Jesse’s dark head at one of the tables, and almost the moment she did so, he glanced up and their gazes locked. Mindful there were rodeo people everywhere and that Sierra was sitting right next to him, she bit back the smile that wanted to curve her mouth and instead made her way to their table.

  “Perfect timing. Casey and Jed are in line. I’ll go help them wrangle plates,” Sierra said, pushing back her chair and jumping to her feet. “You okay with syrup and whipped butter?”

  “Sounds amazing, thank you,” CJ said.

  “Especially because we don’t have to cook any of it or clean up afterward,” Sierra joked before heading off to join her brothers in the line.

  Leaving CJ alone with Jesse.

  After the briefest of hesitations, she slipped into the chair opposite him.

  “Was the missed call from your father?” he asked.

  “One of them. The rest were from my mom.”

  “So you spoke to him?”

  “I couldn’t get ahold of them.” She shrugged.

  “The signal’s fine here in town—they’ll call back,” he said.

  She nodded, unable to stop herself from looking around to see if anyone had noticed them sitting together.

  “Being seen eating pancakes with me won’t turn you into a scarlet woman, CJ,” he said quietly.

  “Being seen eating breakfast with you might,” she countered. “If Dean Maynard saw us sitting together right now, how long do you think it would be before there was a rumor going round that you’d scored with the new girl?”

  She knew the comment hit home because he sat back in his chair a little, his gaze doing a quick, assessing sweep of the surrounding tables. She had no idea if he recognized anyone, but the smile was gone from his eyes when he next looked at her. She felt shitty for making things awkward—then she reminded herself she wasn’t the one who’d made the double standard that still governed so many women’s lives, all over the world. She wasn’t the one who called a man a stud and a woman a slut for doing the exact same thing—she just had to live with the consequences of either abiding by the unspoken rules or defying them.

  “Hope you like syrup, because Sierra was beyond heavy-handed,” Casey said over her shoulder, and she drew back a few inches as he slid a stack of pancakes in front of her, syrup slopping dangerously close to the rim of the plastic plate.

  “The pancakes suck that syrup up like nobody’s business,” Sierra said, grabbing the seat beside Jesse. “Besides, CJ said she likes it.”

  “This is true, I do,” CJ confirmed.

  Jed took the seat beside her, with Casey sliding into place on her other side. There was a minor squabble over whether Jed had collected enough plastic cutlery for them all—he had—before they settled down to feasting on some of the fluffiest, most delicious pancakes CJ had ever had.

  “I don’t know what they put in these things but they are insanely good,” she said as she started on the last of her stack.

  “Sugar, butter, and more sugar, is my best guess,” Sierra said around a mouthful of food.

  “That’s beautiful, Squirrel. Show the world what you’ve got,” Casey said.

  CJ raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Squirrel. Is that a family nickname?”

  Sierra rolled her eyes. “Yes. And yes, it’s the worst nickname ever.”

  “Could be worse. Could have been weasel,” Jesse said, deadpan.

  “Shut up, Jessica,” Sierra said meaningfully.

  “Jessica?” CJ asked, both eyebrows raised now.

  “When he was three, Jesse used to spend half the day walking around in a pair of Mom’s shoes. What were they, Jed? Stilettos?”

  “All I remember is that they were red, with little bows on the front. And he used to kick up a real stink when Mom took them off him.”

  “Thanks, guys. Any time I can return the favor, I will,” Jesse said, giving each of them a pointed look.

  They were all too busy laughing to care, CJ noticed.

  “What about you, CJ? You got a family nickname?” Sierra asked.

  “Sure do.” CJ tried to stop herself from smiling as she mopped up the last of her syrup with her final bite of pancake.

  “You’re not going to share?” Sierra asked, pouting comically.

  “Do I look stupid?” CJ asked.

  Across the table, Jesse was watching her, his green eyes narrowed speculatively.

  “It’s Monkey,” he said suddenly, sitting back in his chair with a big smile on his face. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  CJ gasped. “How did you—”

  Then she remembered talking to him about learning to ride last night, telling him how her father had said she must be part monkey, and heat rushed up her chest and into her face.

  Swear to God, she’d done more blushing around this man than she had in all previous twenty-seven years of her life.

  “He is right,” Sierra said, clearly delighted by the discovery. Then she frowned. “But how on earth did you guess that?”

  Jesse gave a casual shrug. “Just something CJ said yesterday.”

  His gaze met hers, his green eyes dancing with laughter, and it took every bit of willpower she had not to kick him under the table. Using their pillow talk as ammunition was dirty pool, and he knew it.

  “What goes around comes around. Just remember that,” she said.

  He laughed, and she couldn’t stop herself from grinning back at him. Then she realized the rest of the Carmodys were looking either avidly interested—Sierra—or faintly awkward—Casey and Jed.

  “I should get back to the grounds. Get my gear sorted,” she said, trying to smooth over the moment.

  She started collecting everyone’s plates, only stopping when Casey cleared his throat.

  “Mind if I finish first?” he asked as he tugged his half-finished plate from her hands.

  “Of course. Sorry. I’ll just, um, get rid of these…” CJ stood and made a beeline for the nearest garbage can, rolling her eyes at herself.

  Apparently she sucked at being discreet. Which boded well for the rest of the day. Not.

  She took as long as she possibly could getting rid of their plates, and when she got back to the table Je
sse’s seat was empty.

  “He said he had to catch up with someone,” Sierra said. “And he’ll see you at the arena.”

  “Great. I should get going, too. Thanks again for everything. You really saved my bacon last night. If any of you are ever in Plentywood, please let me return the favor,” CJ said.

  “Done,” Sierra said, standing and giving CJ a quick hug. “I’ll be cheering for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  CJ smiled at the remaining Carmody brothers and then turned back toward the river. She made her way back across the bridge, her gaze constantly scanning the crowd ahead, and it wasn’t until she was nearly at her car that she admitted to herself she was looking for Jesse.

  So dumb. She needed to stay away from him, not just because she had precious little control over her reactions when he was around. He scrambled her brain, sent her thoughts careening back to last night, made her want things that were never going to happen. And she needed to focus. She needed to be clear-headed and sharp, completely on her game. Today was important, something she’d worked toward for months. She’d endured her father’s disapproval to be here, not to mention the ugly resentment of Dean Maynard and his ilk.

  Don’t mess this up because of a hot cowboy with pretty eyes, she warned herself.

  It took her two trips to transfer her gear to the locker rooms. The physical labor helped to center her, but she was aware of the background buzz of adrenaline starting to work its way through her body.

  Not long now.

  Soon, she would be in the chute, and the world would narrow down to her and the bronc she’d drawn and the question of whether she could last eight seconds or not. If the answer to that question was yes, if her bronc put up a good fight, if the judges liked what they saw, she had a chance of winning this thing.

  There were a lot of “ifs” in that equation, she couldn’t help but notice, and she didn’t have control over any of them.

  Taking a deep breath, she started working her way through her pre-ride stretches, warming up her arms, legs and torso.

 

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