First his dad, then Jock, and now this.
And all were his fault for not speaking up, for letting someone else make the decisions.
Not tonight. Tonight he was in charge. Tonight he would do what he did best—tighten down his grip, hold on, be the master of his fate.
Reuben settled himself on the bull and worked his gloved hand into the bull rope, the bell beneath the animal’s chest ringing. He worked his fist into the rope, pounded his fingers down, closed.
Already his muscles burned, adrenaline rippling through him.
Custer snorted, slammed against the back of the chute.
“You sure, Rube?” This from CJ, his gate man perched on the rail, holding the nylon rope to swing the door open. CJ shed his smokejumper attire for a good-ole cowboy aura, including a Stetson and faded jeans, cowboy boots. He wore his dark blond hair short under that hat. “I’m not sure even my uncle would ride this one.”
CJ’s Uncle Rafe, multi-PBR champion, now a high-faultin’ bull-riding trainer. “I doubt that, kid.”
“No seriously—he had this bull that tried to kill him—”
CJ stopped talking when Reuben shot him a look.
He breathed out, centering himself. Then, just before lifting his hand, he looked out into the crowd.
The bleachers were full for tonight’s semifinals. Just local entertainment, but if he landed enough points here, he could move on to something bigger—like a junior PBR event.
Reuben scanned the crowd—usually some of the team showed up to the events. Conner, maybe. Or Jed.
Or—his heart slammed into his sternum, full halt.
Gilly. Wearing a—no. That couldn’t be.
A dress. Cut above her knees, girly and sweet and pretty.
She was standing up, her hand over her eyes against the setting sun, her hair turning to a dark sizzle under the twilight, scanning the cowboys in the gate.
For a second he was standing on the shore, watching her land in her broken airplane. Watching her as she stared out the window like she might actually be looking...for him.
It took the breath from his chest.
Below him, Custer shifted, his muscles bunched.
Reuben ripped his gaze off Gilly, to CJ.
“Ready, Rube?”
He breathed in, tried to right himself, found his center.
This one, Gilly, is for you.
He lifted his arm.
“Pull!”
CJ yanked open the chute and the crowd erupted.
First move out of the chute, Custer reared—and Rube expected it. He pushed himself up over the bull’s shoulders, gripping the length of the bull’s body with his legs.
Custer landed hard, and Reuben himself up onto the backbone, glued to the animal.
He was a big man, yes, but he had nothing on fifteen hundred pounds. Custer threw himself up, rearing again, then landed in a spin.
For Reuben, time slowed, narrowed, focused, one thrilling, terrifying millisecond after the next. Holding on, breathing, anticipating, doing.
That’s what he loved about bull riding. As dangerous and jarring as smokejumping, bull riding pared every action down to one.
Stay on the bull.
No thinking, no choices. Everything by instinct, ground in by training. He didn’t have to rely on chance, on favor. Just his strength against the bull’s.
He heard the roar of the crowd, thunderous in his ears, then the horn blared.
Eight seconds.
Eight seconds to lose the fire inside, to break free of the fist of regrets. Failures.
Grief.
Eight seconds to remind himself of who he was, who he’d become. Maybe even be proud of himself.
He released his hand.
Launched himself off the bull.
He took a breath—cauterized, even cleansed—as he landed, then scrambled through the dirt while the clowns caught the bull.
Then he jumped onto the rail and raised his hat to the crowd, breathing hard.
He spotted Gilly. She was on her feet, cheering, whistling.
For him.
He couldn’t swallow, his heart hammering as he hopped over the rail into the corral area, waiting for his score.
Pete met him there. “Are you kidding me? That was fantastic!” Pete, with his long surfer blond hair and charmer blue eyes hadn’t a smidgen of cowboy in him. He spent his off days in epic sports that were probably every bit as dangerous as bull riding. BASE jumping, free-climbing, even white-water rafting.
Still, Pete understood the rush of adrenaline after a challenge. Probably had his own residual hum to work off after this week.
They announced Reuben’s score, and it landed him at the top of the leaderboard. He hopped the rail, waving his hat again.
He wanted to look for Gilly, but didn’t know what he’d do if she were looking back at him, so he simply scanned the crowd.
He must have worn a sort of dazed expression because Pete gave him a strange look as Reuben took off his hat, rubbed the inside sweat rim.
“You okay, dude?”
“Did you see Gilly?”
He didn’t know why he asked that—wanted to take it back when Pete glanced over his shoulder, scanned the crowd. Gave a whistle of appreciation.
“You mean Legs McGee over there in a blue dress? As Conner, our former green beret would say, hooah and it’s about time.”
“Okay, Romeo, that’s enough,” Reuben said, but found her too, now that the crowd was focused on the next rider.
She wore her hair in a soft, messy bun, sipped a fountain drink from the Hotline, cheered for the rider who went down in the dirt.
“Reuben—when are you going to ask her out?” Pete moved over to the rail, one foot on the bottom rung.
“What—no. I can’t...she wouldn’t...”
And now Pete was looking at him, a quick glance of confusion.
“Listen,” Reuben said. “I’ve known Gilly since, well since I moved here seven years ago, when I was a greenie hotshot. She’s not interested in firefighters—and especially not me. We’re just coworkers. Trust me, there’s no spark there on her side. Besides, her dad’s a preacher, for cryin’ out loud. And I’m not exactly a saint.”
“Aw, c’mon, Rube. When’s the last time you went out with a girl—seriously. The dawn of time?”
Reuben watched as the next bull rider settled into the chute. “What are you, my matchmaker? I promise, I’m no monk. I’m just not—it wouldn’t work. We’re all over the place in the summer. It’s not the right time to start a relationship.”
“Dude—you don’t need to start a relationship. Just take a girl for a whirl on the dance floor.”
Reuben’s mouth closed, tightened. He looked away. “I’m not you, Pete. I don’t know how to... I’m no Casanova.”
Pete laughed, shook his head. “I’m not either. I’m just not afraid to ask a woman to dance. Go—talk to her. What could it hurt?”
What could it hurt? How about him doing something stupid? He wasn’t like the other guys, especially Pete, or Jed. He couldn’t make a girl fall into his arms with a smile. More often, Reuben turned into a monosyllabic oaf next to the cute ones.
Cute one.
Small and cute, and for a second he had an image of trying to pull Gilly into his arms, inadvertently crushing her. She stood a probably eight inches shorter than he was, and he felt like a buffalo next to her. Worse, with those big blue eyes and beautiful dark auburn hair, he sort of forgot his own name when she walked into the room. Which meant he was bound to do something stupid, trip over himself, say something idiotic.
Hurt her.
Besides, even their meager teammate friendship meant enough to him to not want to screw it up.
They were friends—proven by the fact that she often let him sit copilot just to soothe the angry bear of his temperamental gut. She didn’t betray him to Jed, or even Miles.
Not to mention that she held his life in her hands every time they went out on a jum
p—and most recently saved his hide from being barbecued.
So, yeah, someday he might scrape up the courage to say something to her. But he wasn’t crazy enough to ask her to dance.
Which meant that, after he’d gotten his score, unbuckled his chaps, and headed into the Hotline for a cool drink, words left him when Gilly came sauntering into the saloon and grill with her sister, the way too vivacious Juliet.
Juliet could drive a man crazy with her cheery flirting. But for some reason, half the guys on the crew every summer fell for her smile, lining up to buy her a basket of O-rings, or even some filling the church pew on Sundays so they could walk her home later.
Nope. Reuben preferred a woman like Gilly, who didn’t need to flirt to have a man appreciate her smile, and—whoa, she had legs. Pete was right—Legs McGee.
Tan, muscular, beautiful legs shifting under that dress, tucked into cowboy boots.
And there went his brain, turning to mush.
He tore his gaze off her form as she walked in, down to the bar and stared into his half-empty beer.
The Hotline, the local hangout, buzzed with the stories of the season. Jude County hotshots released from shift were filtering in, settling in at the yellow picnic tables in the center of the room, waitresses delivering craft beers, baskets of curly fries, fresh grilled burgers. Pictures of past teams were rearranged to make room for this year’s crews.
On the dance floor, a band was setting up.
“Hey—can I ask you a favor?” The voice turned him and he smiled at Conner, sauntering over to him, holding his own frothy beer. “I’m going to head down to Kalispell this weekend, and I was hoping we could switch shifts. You could cover my shift coming up, I could take yours next week.” The former Green Beret wore a smile, wiping the froth from his upper lip.
His girlfriend, Liza, had survived a bear mauling only two weeks earlier and was still in rehab in Kalispell hospital.
“Of course,” Reuben said. “Except I was counting on my shift getting me out of having to go down to the ranch for Labor Day weekend. My mom is hounding me.”
“I love your mom,” Jed said from where he shot darts with Kate. “She makes the best chocolate chip cookies.”
“That’s what happens when you have five sons and two daughters,” Reuben said, wishing he could avoid the twinge of grief every time he thought of his family working the ranch without him.
But there was no room for him there, not anymore. His father had made that clear even before his sudden death.
Besides, Reuben had been born to jump fire, not herd cattle.
Maybe.
“To a season without a casualty.”
He looked up, and even Conner turned at the voice.
Juliet leaned on the bar, holding up a lemonade. “This is the kind of summer we all like to see.”
Reuben raised his glass, saw Gilly glance at him, give him a wry smile.
Heat filled his chest, his face, and he looked away.
“I think we should probably raise the glass to Gilly,” said CJ, holding a pool stick. His fellow rookie, Tucker, appeared beside him, clearly his opponent.
“To Gilly,” Jed said, and out of the corner of his eye, Reuben saw a blush press her face.
“I didn’t do—”
“You nearly lost a wing and crashed into the lake. So, yeah, you did something.”
The room quieted, and Reuben couldn’t believe he’d spoken up, let alone the tone of his own voice. Almost, what—angry? But he wasn’t angry—just so immensely relieved—and yes, there it was again, the frustration, along with a fresh realization that she had nearly gotten killed while saving his backside.
Because he’d let them run the wrong way.
So much for breaking free of his regrets.
“Yeah, okay, so again, to Gilly,” said CJ.
CJ and Tucker returned to their game, Jed and Kate to laughing over their darts. Conner pulled out his cell phone, moved away, thumbing a text.
Which left Juliet to sidle up to him.
Up close—or even far away and squinting—she cut a form a man might take a long, second look at. Another man. A different man. One who didn’t mind the way she giggled, pressed her hand on his arm. “You were magnificent on that bull, Reuben. I couldn’t believe it when you stayed on. And then just jumped off and waved to the crowd!”
She smiled at him, standing so close he could smell her perfume—which made him need to sneeze.
“And you should have seen the bull. Meanest one in the lot. Nearly took apart the chute.” CJ, clearly lured over by Juliet’s presence and, thank you, because Juliet turned to him.
“Juliet Priest,” she said, holding out her hand. “And you are?”
Right then, as if on cue, the band started up with a song.
“CJ St. John.” He took her hand, and Reuben rolled his eyes when the kid pressed a kiss on it. “Wanna dance?”
Of course she did.
Then it was just Gilly and Reuben at the bar, watching the couple work their way onto the dance floor.
For a second, she looked at Reuben.
Blue eyes, so beautiful that he just swallowed.
“Hey,” he said, a sound that confirmed that, indeed, he was some throwback Neanderthal. He wanted to cut and run right then.
“Juliet was right. You were pretty amazing. Congratulations on winning.”
“Thanks.” More brilliance, but it was all he had. Worse, even sitting, he still loomed over her. Funny, she didn’t seem that petite on the radio or in her NIFC uniform or her jumpsuit.
He ran a thumb down his glass, parting the condensation there. Thought of something. “You want a drink?”
“I can get it.”
She began to raise her hand, but he held up his.
“Please—Gilly. You... Thanks for what you did. It was a big deal.” He offered a smile, mostly because these words came easily, honestly. “What are you drinking?”
“Root beer. Preacher’s kid and all that.” She offered a smile, and he felt like the chiefest of sinners with his half-drunk beer.
He ordered her drink, and she slid onto a high-top chair next to him. At least he wasn’t looking down at her.
She pulled the basket of popcorn toward herself, began to pick at it.
On the dance floor, the band played a Brad Paisley cover.
“They grounded you,” Reuben said, almost a grunt.
The bartender brought her drink. She took a sip, and it left foam on her lip. She grabbed a napkin, wiped it off. Nodded.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Miles will forgive me by next season.”
“He competes in the rodeo circuit during the winter months. I’ll talk to him—”
“No!” She held up her hand then made a fist, put it back into her lap. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know, but—”
But what? He glanced out at the dance floor, seeing CJ with his arms around Juliet, slow dancing.
“It was my fault.”
“What? Rube—you can’t control the fire—”
“We should have run the other way. I knew it in my gut. Same as...” He winced. Shook his head. “Nothing.”
She was staring at him. “You kept them all alive. I know. Hannah told me how you picked her up, practically carried her to safety.”
“That’s what I do—carry things.” He meant it as a joke, but a frown crossed her face.
Then, however, she sighed, looked away. Gave a small chuckle. “Me too.”
He didn’t know what to say, and a silence filled in between them.
You look pretty tonight. The words crossed through him, hung on, and suddenly he couldn’t think of anything else but that. Pretty. Tiny. Sweet.
He stared at his beer, hating that the words glued in his chest, clogging everything else.
This was why he didn’t talk to women. Didn’t talk to, well, Gilly.
“Reuben, man, get out here!”
CJ, calling him from
the dance floor. Reuben looked at him, wanting to incinerate him where he stood. But the rookie wore a grin, two-stepping, of course, with Juliet. He twirled her in and out and back, dipping her.
Reuben glanced at Gilly, wishing he could read the expression on her face.
Shoot. What if she wanted to dance? And he just sat here, and...
“Gilly, ask him to dance!”
Now Juliet was in on it, waving at Gilly, who was turning white. She swallowed, clearly embarrassed.
He couldn’t take it. Seeing Gilly sit there, waiting for him to actually cowboy up. “Gilly, do you wanna—”
“No, I’m fine.” But it was the funny, half smile that appeared, then disappeared, that made his gut clench.
Did she want to...
And then she glanced at CJ and Juliet on the dance floor.
That’s all it took. He was tired of standing in the middle, not following his gut.
And his gut said Gilly wanted to dance.
Tonight, regret wouldn’t chase him home.
And they thought bull riding was tough. He took a breath. “Let’s dance, Gilly. I promise not to step on your toes.” He held out his hand, and when she only hesitated a moment before taking it, he congratulated himself on the best epic victory of the night.
She had a strong hand, despite her size, and she followed him around the tables to the dance floor.
The band had picked up a Josh Turner song, appropriately Why Don’t We Just Dance, and he looked down at Gilly. “It’s been a while, but my mama taught me how to two-step.”
She nodded, a smile curving up her face. “I’m not much of a dancer.”
“Just follow me.” He took his first step.
Right onto her foot. “Sorry. Right foot, left foot, quick, quick, slow.”
She came to about his chest, and so he held her back a little, just so he could find her eyes, and tried again. They sputtered around the sides of the dance floor, halting, starting again. His hands began to sweat.
She kept that pretty smile but glanced a couple times at Juliet twirling with CJ.
Oh, this was a bad idea.
My two left feet, our two hearts beating...
Reuben took a breath and tried to twirl her out. She bumped into another couple, and he pulled her back fast. “Sorry.”
“We don’t have to— “
Burnin' For You: inspirational romantic suspense (Montana Fire Book 3) Page 4
