by Cheryl Biggs
She ran her finger over the severed rope.
“So,” Tim said, “you going to the party tonight after the exhibition?”
Kate froze, momentarily afraid someone was talking to her.
Shane shrugged, thinking of Kate, wondering if she’d be there. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
A rush of relief swept over Kate as she realized they were still unaware of her.
“Hey, c’mon,” Tim said, “it’ll do you good. Anyway, like you said, we didn’t lose any points tonight so that rope thing is no big deal, right?”
Shane nodded.
“Hey, look. Y’know that flag girl I was talking to earlier, Susan? Well, she’s going with me. I heard Kate was here, entered in the barrel racing. Maybe you should ask her to come along. Hey, we could double,” Tim suggested. “Kinda like old times, buddy, except I’ll be with Susan instead of Pamela Jaye.”
Kate slipped back behind the adjoining building, her insides suddenly a bundle of nerves as she practically held her breath and waited for Shane’s reply.
“You know, Tim,” Shane said, “if I put all the good ideas you’ve had since we met into this coffee cup, the thing would probably still be near empty.”
“Hey, just a suggestion,” Tim said, and chuckled. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
Kate peeked around the corner and saw that Tim Norris was playfully holding up both hands, as if surrendering.
“Yeah, well, keep your suggestions to yourself. Me and Kate are history, remember? And that’s not going to change.” Much as he wished it could. But if she’d wanted—he pushed the thought away. She obviously hadn’t wanted.
Turning away, Kate blinked back a hot sting of unexpected tears. What had she thought? That Shane still loved her? Hah! Like rock stars, rodeo cowboys had groupies throwing themselves at them constantly, except they were called buckle bunnies. And with Shane’s good looks, and the fact that he was on top, Kate had no doubt he probably had more offers than he could handle and had forgotten about her long ago. She tried to push her thoughts aside as she skirted several other buildings, taking her out of Shane and Tim’s view and back to where she’d left Dancer tied.
The announcer’s voice boomed over the PA system that the barrel racers were next up on the agenda.
Kate suddenly wished she’d rejected the idea of participating in the exhibition. For that matter, she wished she had just flat turned down this assignment. She wasn’t good enough to compete, would probably make a fool of herself against the others who were doing it professionally, and her mind was too much on Shane to concentrate on either riding, or doing her job. Anyway, all she wanted to do at the moment was go home, crawl into bed, and forget today had ever happened. Grabbing Dancer’s reins, she slipped a booted foot into the stirrup and swung up and into her saddle.
So much for what she wanted.
Shane pushed away from the Snack Shack’s counter upon hearing the announcement. He should be taking Samson back to his stall, brushing him down, giving him a shovel full of grain and a flake of alfalfa—not heading toward the arena to watch Kate ride. “I’ll probably see you at the party,” he said to Tim, and started walking toward the arena.
“Hey, wait up.” Tim ran up beside him. “I heard Kate was entered in the barrel racing so she’ll be out there, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“So, does this mean you two might—?”
“No,” Shane said, cutting Tim off.
They passed the medical trailer and reached the rails just as the first rider raced into the arena.
Kate was the third rider out.
Shane’s gaze never veered from her as she made her way around the arena, circling first one barrel and then charging toward the next. The Appy’s coat glistened beneath the night lights that shone down into the arena, the white blanket of dappled hair over the mare’s rump like flakes of fallen snow on a sleek blanket of ebony.
Kate’s black jeans, hat, boots and white shirt were a perfect match for her striking mount.
Shane felt an intense rush of appreciation as he watched her. She was a natural in the saddle and moved so instinctively with her mount it was like horse and rider had melded into one being, creating a fluid course of movement that was all grace and symmetry.
But then he’d always loved watching her, whether she was riding a horse, walking down the street, climbing into a car...or drawing him toward her lithe body and wrapping it around his.
He felt his jeans begin to tighten, but it was too late to chase away the erotic and traitorous thoughts that had invaded his mind. In spite of the spark of hope that her presence at the rodeo had aroused within him earlier that day, he had been doing his best to convince himself that he felt nothing more for Kate Morgan than a little physical desire. After all, she was a beautiful woman, maybe even more so now than three years ago.
Kate raced for the center barrel, riding low and hugging the saddle.
His eyes followed her every move. She’d said she loved him, then chosen her job over him, without even asking why it was so important to him that she give it up. Shane tensed as her horse cut the turn of the barrel close, then charged for the one nearest where he and Tim stood watching. She was obviously not interested in him anymore. What they’d had was in the past. All it was now was history, and a lot of memories. And that was best, for both of them.
However, even if his feelings toward her were just physical, it wasn’t easy to shrug them aside. He told himself he didn’t care, and a nagging little voice in the back of his mind was trying to tell him it was because he knew he was lying to himself. He had spent three years away from her, seeing other women, following the circuit and throwing himself into the competition. Three years winning awards, racking up endorsements, making money, and trying to forget the last words she’d said to him.
I can’t give up being a cop, Shane. Not for you or anybody else. I won’t.
For three years he’d told himself he had it made, that this was the life he’d always wanted. He’d steadfastly denied and ignored the fact that none of it gave him the high he’d always felt when he’d been with Kate. Not the awards, not the endorsements and money, not the ranch he’d bought in Colorado, and certainly not the other women.
For a split second, just before her horse leaned into the curve and cut close around the barrel, Kate’s eyes caught Shane’s.
He felt an instant high, followed by a thundering low. A thousand curses erupted in his mind, and his hands tightened around the rail.
Fine, so he still cared about her, maybe he even still loved her a little, but so what? If she was still interested in him she would have called when she quit the police force. It wasn’t like he would have been that difficult to locate. Any one of his sponsors could have gotten a message to him, and the PRCA headquarters office in Denver could have easily given her a schedule of the circuit.
But that was the real problem. She just hadn’t loved him enough, not then and not now. It had been the same with his parents, and look what a disaster that had turned out to be. Memories of his mother, his father, and the tragedy that had changed Shane’s outlook on life flashed through his mind as he watched Kate and Dancer race back toward the gate.
“Man, that’s one woman who was born to be in a saddle,” Tim said. “If she rides like that in the competition, she could just win it all.”
Shane nodded without taking his gaze off Kate. He’d always thought the same thing.
Craig Lawyler stepped up beside Tim. “Sure hope she’s at the party tonight,” he said, tugging the brim of his hat a little lower over his forehead as he smiled and watched Kate and Dancer head toward the exit.
“She’s taken,” Tim said, and moved his eyes toward Shane.
Craig shook his head and chuckled. “Just my luck, Larrabee again.” He leaned forward and looked at Shane. “Hey, Shane, you see Magruder’s ride?”
Craig’s question pulled Shane from his thoughts of Kate. “Doubt there was a cowboy around here who didn’t
.”
Craig’s seventeen-year-old brother Josh jumped onto the top rail and straddled it, then shook his head, sending long, white-blond locks flying. “Ah, Magruder’s just been lucky. Everyone knows he’s over the hill.”
Shane looked up at Josh. “If that’s so, kid,” he said, “then I’m sure as hell looking forward to making that hill myself.”
“Yeah, me too,” Tim quipped, and pushed away from the rails. “Well, I’ve got a few things to do. See ya at the party, guys.”
Shane watched Tim walk away. They’d known each for six years and were almost as close as brothers. Tim had held the PRCA’s World Champion award for two years before Shane took it from him. This year Shane was working to keep the title and Tim was working to get it back, and both of them were determined to break Skip Magruder’s records. Neither of them was going to give the other any slack, which was as it should be. It made them better competitors.
Of course, there was always the chance that Magruder, now that he was back on the circuit, would waylay both of them and leave them eating his dust.
“Maybe you can beat Magruder,” Josh Lawyler said, looking at Shane, “but I’ll bet my brother’s going to beat you for the title this year.”
Shane smiled. “He just might do that,” he said, looking at Craig, whose points weren’t that far behind Shane’s, Tim’s or Magruder’s.
But Craig was busy watching a petite barrel racer lean into a curve, her long, blond hair flying as her horse spun around the barrel.
At that same moment Skip Magruder and another cowboy stepped out of the pen area and walked in Shane’s direction.
Shane watched him. He’d never seen anyone ride as well as Magruder. He’d won just about every title and buckle there was to win, most at least three times, and had racked up more endorsements than a pound dog has fleas. Then two years ago he’d busted his leg in several places while working on his ranch. He’d been forty-four years old and long past the age most rodeo cowboys retired. Nobody had expected him to come back.
Skip caught Shane’s eye and nodded.
When Shane had first come on the circuit he’d thought he knew a lot from working his uncle’s ranch, and discovered he knew just about nothing. Skip had given him a few riding tips, and one had saved Shane from getting his hide hooked on a bull’s horn.
He walked toward the stalls, half hoping to find Kate there, half hoping not to.
Chapter 3
The exhibition evening show was over and the spectators were filing from the grandstands. Kate leaned against a hitching rack in front of the publicity house and, as the other barrel racers standing nearby continued to talk shop, she watched Shane walk past a few dozen yards away. She stilled the urge to follow him. He obviously didn’t want her around and that was fine. In fact, it was better than fine, she told herself, it was how it should be. She had a job to do and the sooner she got it done the sooner everyone around here could rest easier, and she could get back to her real life.
So why did it bother her that he didn’t even glance her way?
“Hey, you’re going to the party, aren’t you?” one of the other women asked.
Kate realized the woman was talking to her. She smiled and shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know.” She’d been debating whether to stay behind and watch for their saboteur, in case he decided it was the perfect opportunity to strike, or call in some extra security for the arena and then go to the party and maybe get a lead on the guy there if he decided to take the night off and party hearty. “I don’t really know anyone, and I’m not a very good mingler.”
The woman laughed, pushing a stray lock of pale brown hair away from a face that was all straight lines and freckles, yet very attractive. “And you won’t ever know anyone if you don’t get out and meet them.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Traci Marsted, originally from New Mexico, and no one around here will bite you, I promise.”
“Except Norris and Lawyler,” one of the other girls offered, causing several of them to laugh.
Kate smiled and shook Traci’s hand. “Kate Morgan, from right here, Reno, Nevada, and I’m glad to hear that about biting. I’m not really into pain.” Her gaze moved back to find Shane, but he was gone.
Traci laughed. “So where have you been hiding yourself, Kate? I don’t recall seeing you around.”
“Haven’t been around much.” She looked at the other women quickly to determine if she recognized any of them from “before,” then felt a surge of relief when she didn’t. Most likely the few she’d known three years ago had retired, married, or just not come to Reno this year. “I just started on the circuit a few months ago. Mainly small, local stuff.”
“Well, welcome.” She quickly introduced Kate to the other barrel racers standing nearby. “Now you know five people more than you did a few minutes ago, and if you come to the party, I’ll introduce you to another twenty or so.” She laughed again and nudged Kate’s arm with an elbow. “Heck, you might even like a few of the guys, but don’t let them know. They get big heads.”
Kate found the woman’s laughter and mood contagious. The party would give her an opportunity to put a few more faces to names, and vice versa, and she had a feeling the guy she was after just might not be able to resist a good party. “Maybe I will come.” Kate said. Later, she’d call Hodges and Captain Aames and have them beef up the arena security tonight, just in case.
“Good.” Traci grabbed the reins of a dapple-gray quarter horse who kept nudging her in the back with his head. “You won’t be sorry, Kate. The opening-night parties in Reno are always the greatest. Their local rodeo association goes all out. So, I’ll see you there in about an hour, okay? I’ve got to bed down my horse and he gets real temperamental if I don’t give him a good brushing and some sweet talk before turning the lights out.” She turned, then paused and looked back at Kate. “Oh, you hear about the trouble they’ve been having around here?”
Kate nodded. “I heard something about some pranks being pulled. Is that what you mean?”
“Yeah, pretty dirty ones too, the way I hear it.” She shook her head. “Lock your stuff up good, Kate,” she said. “Just in case.”
“Right. See you later.” Kate led Dancer toward her own stall. The night lights blazed overhead, but the long row of stables was still in shadow, and the eerie stillness that descended as they left the arena sent a chill up her spine. It was suddenly all too clear how a saboteur could move around the rodeo grounds at night, especially the stall area, without being noticed.
As she neared Dancer’s stall she saw that the gate to Samson’s, next door, was closed and locked. A sense of disappointment fought with a rush of relief.
Part of her, some deep, unreasonable, illogical part, wanted to see Shane again, though she knew there was no point to it. Then she remembered that he would most likely be at the party, and the thought of not going flashed through her mind, but she pushed it aside. Whether she wanted or didn’t want to go was really inconsequential. She had a job to do.
Whoever was behind these sabotage incidents had to be connected to the rodeo somehow. The more she thought about it, the more she knew she was right. It was the only thing that made sense. And since everyone needed a pass to get through the security gate to the rear areas of the arena, Kate couldn’t see how it could be an outsider. That made her suspects drop from several thousand to a few hundred.
A plus, but not a very big one.
It could be one of the cowboys, though that was probably a farfetched idea. The comradery between the men on the circuit, in spite of their being in competition with each other, was well known and ran deep. But Kate knew there were always exceptions, and all it took was one bad apple in the barrel. It also could be one of the vendors or someone connected to a sponsor, one of the temporary workers, someone from the clean-up crew, or even one of the carnival workers.
Everyone who was anyone with the rodeo was going to be at the opening-night party. That would give her a chance to at least get familiar with the faces,
if not meet all the people who belonged around here. And that was the first step to finding out what was going on.
Kate swore softly to herself. Who was she trying to fool? The real reason she wanted to go to the party had a heck of a lot more to do with a certain tall, dark and totally off-limits cowboy than it had to do with looking at faces and finding a saboteur.
Kate picked up her car keys and headed for the door, then, catching sight of herself in the mirror that hung on the wall of the foyer, she stopped.
She stared at the flashy outfit she had on. The dark blue jeans fit her like a second skin. She twisted her right foot around, feeling the ankle holster that was wedged between her leg and the inside of her leather boot. Hopefully she wouldn’t need to get her gun quickly tonight, because with these pants, that just wouldn’t be possible. The shirt she’d chosen was white with dark blue cord trim, silver collar tips and blue fringe sewn across the back. Blue was her color. It accentuated her eyes.
Shane had told her that once.
Kate frowned. What was she doing? The frown deepened. Why was she going to this party?
“Because I have to,” she snapped impatiently at her image.
Liar, it whispered back.
She averted her gaze from that of the woman in the mirror and slipped a pair of Zuni carved silver earrings onto her ears.
Flapjack jumped onto the half table set against the wall beneath the mirror, cocked his head to one side, and stared up at her.
Kate absently reached out to rub the large black-and-white cat’s ears.
Before reporting to Hodges’s office that morning she had hurriedly done a little shopping. After all, barrel racers dressed the part, many of them quite flashily, and none of the plain cotton or flannel shirts she wore around the ranch on her days off would have made the cut. This outfit however, she knew, would draw attention.
But what about the one person whose attention she wanted to draw? Would he like it?
