Rough Rider

by Victoria Vane

  She had the decency to look abashed. “I already said I’m sorry.”

  “We don’t want the same things, Rae,” Dirk said after a time. “You’re looking to settle down, and I’m not ready. I’d like to see a bit of the world first. Hell, I’ve never even seen the ocean.”

  “Then why don’t we go together? Daddy’s thinking about buying a condo in Hawaii.”

  He shook his head. “You just don’t get it, sweetheart. I’m not about to live in your ol’ man’s pocket like that.”

  Another silence followed.

  “Dance with me?” she suddenly asked. The band had struck up a slow song, ironically, a cover of Rascal Flatts’ “I’m Movin’ On.”

  Dirk nodded, stood, and pulled out her chair, guiding her out to the floor with a hand on the small of her back. They found an empty spot and she stepped in close, twining her arms around his neck and pressing up against him with all her soft, feminine curves.

  “See?” She smiled up at him. “Just like old times.”

  But it wasn’t. Although he couldn’t deny a stirring of sexual desire—he was still a man after all—the fierce lust he’d felt before was barely a flicker.

  “You know, Dirk”—she stroked her fingers up and down his nape—“I’ve been thinking, maybe if we were really careful…and super discreet…” She shifted her position so she was almost riding his thigh, her message perfectly clear. She was trying to use his dick against him again.

  “I don’t think so, Sunshine.” He anchored his hands on her hips and drew back a few inches, just enough to give his prick some breathing room.

  Her gaze widened in surprise. “All right, have it your way for now, but just think about it, OK? I want to work this out between us. We’re too good together to just give it up.”

  “It wasn’t my idea to break up, Rae, but I’m thinking now it was all for the best.”

  Her blond brows pulled together. “You’re just being stubborn and prideful, but I can be stubborn too when I want something—and I still want you, Dirk.”

  “We can’t always have everything we want, Sunshine.”

  “Says who?” she quipped with a confident smile.

  She was so damned sure of herself…of him…but he just didn’t feel the same anymore. When the dance ended, Dirk led her back to her friends, tipped his hat, and wished her good night, leaving her staring in consternation as he headed for the door.

  * * *

  Lost in his thoughts and needing space to think, Dirk left the Outlaw without a thought to Grady until he was halfway back to the motel. He swore aloud and almost turned around but then figured Grady’d probably hitch a ride with Seth. They were all bunking at the same place anyhow, the Motel Six, the cheapest place in Cheyenne.

  Dirk let himself into his room, bone-tired but still too wound up to sleep. He was restless and burning with sexual frustration—frustration that he probably could have relieved with Rachel. Her offer had been on the table, but he didn’t want Rachel. Not anymore. His reaction to her, or lack thereof, still surprised the hell out of him. They’d been an item for over four years and he’d been proud to call her his, but now he wondered if it had ever been more than skin deep. Was he really that vain and shallow? He’d never thought of himself that way. The idea was mighty disconcerting.

  He stepped into the shower, resolved to blow off some steam. Leaning against the tiled wall, he shut his eyes, but his mind didn’t conjure visions of a pretty blond taking him in her mouth. Instead, it was a leggy redhead with freckles on her nose, gazing up at him with a shy smile. Although Janice had been inexperienced, he’d felt an intense satisfaction, a connection with her that went much deeper than mere flesh.

  He remembered the smell of her, the taste of her. The incredible sensations of moving inside her, the way her walls squeezed him and the soft sounds of pleasure she made when she came. He pumped himself more vigorously, biting his lip and jerking his hips as he achieved a swift but ultimately unfulfilling climax. He rinsed off, feeling physically spent but still dissatisfied.

  He consoled himself that tonight had been exactly the test he’d needed—he was over Rachel Carson. But where the hell did that leave him and Janice? He felt like nothing more than the proverbial cowboy who straddled the fence only to end up with a sore crotch—or in his case—a blistered palm.

  * * *

  He was only feigning sleep when Grady came crashing into the room at two a.m. about as quiet as a bull in a china shop. He stumbled into the john, where he spent ten minutes retching before falling headlong into bed with his boots still on. Within seconds, he was snoring like a freight train.

  It wasn’t long ago that Dirk would also have stayed out all night and come back in a similar condition. It was part of life on the road—the drinking and the whoring around. Though unlike Grady, Dirk had chosen to forgo the latter, one of the chief perks of bull riding. For four years, they’d wake in the morning hungover as hell and feeling fragile as glass, only to do it all over again. But he was done with it now. It was past time he got his shit together.

  Rodeo had been a big part of his life, and Cheyenne was one of the biggest in the country, but Dirk felt like he was just going through the motions. His heart just wasn’t in it anymore. Janice was the only reason he was still on the road. She was going through a tough time and deserved a guy who’d be there for her, someone she could lean on, someone to help shoulder her load, not to take advantage of her situation as Grady intended to do. Part of Dirk wanted to be that guy for her, but the other part of him just couldn’t commit. Although he still didn’t quite understand his own motives where she was concerned, he sure as shit didn’t like Grady’s. Traveling together seemed a reasonable half measure, but he sensed Grady’s growing resentment and knew things were slowly coming to a head.

  Tomorrow. Dirk promised himself he’d finally pull his head out of his ass and come to some decisions—about Janice, about rodeo and ranching—about what he was going to do with his life. Tomorrow. Come hell or high water. Dirk rolled over and glanced at the clock, suddenly stuck with a fateful feeling deep in his gut—tomorrow was suddenly today.

  Chapter 7

  By four a.m., Dirk’s mind was still racing. Giving up on sleep altogether, he rose, dressed, and headed out to the rodeo grounds. With Grady dead to the world, he figured it was his best chance to catch Janice alone. Finding the water troughs already filled and the bulls eating their hay, he figured she’d probably gone back to her trailer for a couple more hours of shut-eye. Not wishing to wake her, he decided to get some breakfast and then come back. Tired of vendor wagon fare, he drove a few miles toward the outskirts of town to a truck stop where he bellied up to the counter.

  He ordered black coffee and the three-egg special when two guys entered the diner sporting buzz cuts and Marine Corps khakis. “Mornin’.” Dirk tipped his hat.

  The two marines nodded in acknowledgment and then sat a few stools down. After a minute, the taller, leaner one of the two cocked his head at Dirk. “You in Cheyenne for the rodeo?”

  “Yeah,” Dirk replied.

  “Thought I recognized you.” The bigger guy grinned. “You’re Dirk Knowlton, right?”

  “Last I checked,” Dirk replied. “But I’m sorry to say I can’t place you.”

  “Reid. Reid Everett.” The marine extended his hand. “It’s been a few years, but I rode saddle broncs against you back in high school. You beat me out in the finals.”

  “Shit yeah! I remember you now. You’re from Dubois, right? As I recall, your whole team left spur tracks in your cantles.”

  Reid shook his head with a laugh. “The victor always thinks he can rewrite the battle any way he likes.”

  “Damn straight.” Dirk returned a shameless grin. “So you’re in the marines now?”

  “Yup.” Reid nodded. “Home on leave. Garcia and me just finished boot camp.”

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p; “Semper fi, man,” Garcia added with a toothy grin.

  “We got ten days liberty,” Reid said, “so me and my buddy decided to take a road trip.”

  “Did you just get into Cheyenne?”

  “Yeah, but we’ve been travelin’ a while. We stopped in Vegas, visited my family in Dubois and then my girl over in Riverton. We’ll probably be hitting the road day after tomorrow. Gotta return to San Diego for infantry training, but I promised Rafael here some live rodeo action before we leave. He’s from LA and probably doesn’t know the front end of a bull from the back.”

  “Hey, give me some credit, ése,” Garcia protested. “I can tell horns from cojones.”

  “If you want to see bulls, you’re in for a treat,” Dirk said. “Just a few miles up the road there’s at least fifty of the rankest bovines you ever seen, just waiting for the chance to toss some dumb-ass cowboy like me fork end up.”

  “Oh yeah?” Garcia grinned. “This I gotta see.”

  “So you’re ridin’ bulls now?” Reid asked.

  “Yeah. I started just to win the All-Around, but now I’m helping out a friend who’s a bucking bull contractor. Since I’m here with the bulls anyway, I might as well ride, right?”

  “Makes sense…if you can keep from getting freight-trained by those big snot-slobbering bastards.”

  “Getting freight-trained is a given if you do it long enough.” Dirk shrugged. “But I’m in the money more often than not…least I was until the past few weeks.”

  “You ever ride a bull, ése?” Garcia asked Reid.

  “Hell no.” Reid laughed. “It’s bad enough to hang a pedal on a bronc. I can’t say I’ve ever had a hankering to take a horn in the ass from a near ton of pissed-off bull.”

  “Still backing any broncs?” Dirk asked him.

  “Negative. Not for a few years. I traded my spurs for an M-16.”

  “Know where you’ll be deployed yet?” Dirk asked.

  “Not yet, but with all the saber rattling in the Middle East, you can bet the ranch it’ll be Iraq or Afghanistan.” The marines ordered their breakfast and the three men continued their small talk.

  “You staying in Cheyenne tonight?” Dirk asked.

  “Nah. I figured we’d drive to Laramie. I’ve got some family there too.”

  “If you change your mind or have too many drinks and need a place to crash, me and my buddy are at the Motel Six. Here’s my cell.” Dirk borrowed a pen from the waitress and scrawled his number on a napkin. “Do you remember Grady Garrison?”

  “Hell yeah. That crazy bastard hasn’t got himself killed yet?”

  Dirk laughed. “He was alive and breathin’ as of last night, but today’s a whole new day.”

  Reid laughed. “If a bull don’t get him first, my money says some jealous cowboy eventually will.”

  Dirk was finished eating by the time the waitress brought Reid’s and Garcia’s food. He picked up their check as well as his own. When Reid made to protest, Dirk laid a hand on his shoulder. “Please. I got it. I want you to know I appreciate what you’re doin’.”

  “Thanks, man,” Reid replied. “Let me know if you ever get out to Southern California.”

  “Thanks. Maybe I’ll do that one day. I’ve always had a hankering to see the Pacific Ocean.” Dirk tipped his hat. “Stay safe, OK?”

  “Ditto, ése,” Garcia replied. “You’re the one riding those badass bulls.”

  * * *

  Janice had looked forward to Cheyenne Frontier Days every July from as far back as she could recall. Frontier Park was the cowboy version of Disney World with its grand parades, Old West Museum, Indian Village, and giant carnival midway where she’d often eaten enough cotton candy and funnel cakes to make her puke. As a kid, it had been a magical place, but now that she was one of the myriad invisible people behind the scenes, the enchantment had pretty much worn off.

  At eleven o’clock it was already hot as Hades, which only magnified the reek of manure. The stock pens swarmed with flies and bawling cattle, and the arena choked Janice’s throat with dust. Looking out on the crowds, however, her chest expanded with a sense of pride to be part of it all. Rodeo was a pure American tradition that she hoped would never die out. Although the sport was struggling elsewhere, the stands in Cheyenne were packed to capacity and anticipation permeated the air with the announcer’s booming proclamation that the grand entry was about to begin.

  A moment later, the audience rose to their feet with wolf whistles and thunderous applause as the drill team entered the arena at a mad gallop that generated enough wind to send their banners flapping and snapping. Janice climbed on top of one of the panels for a better view. The team split into pairs, performed an intricate pattern, and joined up again in the center in a tight militaristic formation. What followed was a highly synchronized drill performed to a medley of patriotic music. The crowd’s excitement and the sense of nationalism never failed to make her own pulse race.

  A few minutes into the drill, Grady appeared beside her at the bull pens. She thought it odd that she’d seen no sign of Dirk. He usually dropped by with coffee, but for the first time in almost a month of traveling together, he hadn’t materialized.

  “Who’d you draw today?” she asked absently.

  “Death Wish,” Grady replied.

  “Not one of mine. Know anything about him?”

  “Yeah.” He grinned big and bad. “He’s my kinda bull. Twenty outs and no rides…yet. I’ve been aching all year to ride that nasty motherfucker.”

  “You really do think you’re something, don’t you?”

  He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “The stats don’t lie, Sweet Cheeks. I’m hot shit right now.”

  Janice shook her head with a snort. “What about Dirk? Who’d he draw?”

  “Hell if I know. Ain’t seen him. He was already gone when I woke up.”

  “Strange he hasn’t come around.” She wondered where he was but then remembered who had walked into the bar last night. Had he and Rachel left together? The idea that they might have made her heart sick. She still couldn’t help asking. “Any idea where he is?”

  “After who showed up last night?” Grady echoed her own thoughts. “I think we both know the answer to that. In case you’re wondering, they hit the dance floor together after you left.”

  She was doubly glad she hadn’t hung around. The thought of Dirk and Rachel melded together on the dance floor made her chest ache.

  At the end of the drill routine, the rodeo queens entered in a dazzling spectacle. Janice couldn’t help scanning the long line of glittering cowgirls for Miss Rodeo Montana. Although there were other blonds and palominos in the parade of beauties representing every rodeo organization in the union, Rachel Carson was impossible to miss.

  The queens formed a circle around the periphery of the arena with the reigning Miss Rodeo America taking center stage with the American flag. The crowd rose once more for the national anthem. It always drew a lump into her throat, but today Janice’s emotions were reeling for another reason.

  Grady had doffed his hat and was holding it over his heart in true-blue cowboy fashion. When the music ended, he shoved it back on his head and then leaned against the panels. He reached into his shirt pocket. “I got a pair of tickets for Chris LeDoux tonight.”

  “That’s great. I figure he might have sold out with this crowd.”

  “Wanna go?” he asked.

  “You’re inviting me?”

  “Yeah.” Grady grinned. “You might even call it a date.”

  She regarded him in genuine surprise. “Why me?”

  For weeks she’d kept Grady at bay, laughing off his sexual innuendos and halfhearted attempts to coerce her into bed. She wondered why he still had his sights set on her when he had his pick of so many others. Maybe it was just the challenge? The fact that she kept saying no?
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br />   He kicked at the dirt. “Maybe I got a hankering for a change.”

  She laughed. “A change from what? Your steady diet of buckle bunny?” He was one of the best bull riders on the circuit and women flocked to the chutes after every one of his rides.

  He grinned. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. There’s still plenty of me to go around. So, you wanna go or not? He’s only doing a few engagements. You might never get another chance.”

  She leaned back to consider him, resting one booted heel on the bottom rung of the corral panel. The offer was mighty tempting. Chris LeDoux was one of the most beloved names in rodeo and she’d been raised on his music. She still hesitated. “Is there a hitch?” she asked. This was Grady after all.

  He raised his brows and turned his palms in an innocent I-don’t-know-what-you-mean gesture.

  “Are there strings attached?” she prodded.

  “No strings.” One corner of his mouth turned up. “But I’d be more’n happy to use some rope if you’re inclined.”

  “Ropes and spurs? Is that all part of your repertoire?”

  His face split into his full coyote grin. “Only by special request.”

  She considered him for a long beat. “What time does it start?”

  “Eight.”

  “No can do, Grady. I’m working the chutes, and won’t even be done here by then.” There was no shortage of work to occupy her. With seventy-some riders and just as many bulls, she’d be glued to the chutes for the long haul. She told herself it would get easier as the days passed due to rider attrition from injuries and no turn out, but tonight she sure could use a hand.

  “Even if the rides are all finished,” she said, “I still have to take care of the bulls and then clean up. I won’t go out reeking of the stock pens.”

  “Then I’ll come by and help you settle things for the night. That’ll give you time to pretty up for me.”

  “Pretty up, eh?” She laughed. “Maybe your expectations are a bit high. But even if you do help me out, I still won’t be done in time for the start of the show.”