Into the Arms of a Cowboy

by Isabella Ashe

  The men by the gate watched his face, waiting for his nod. Jess heard his name on the announcer’s lips. The horse pawed and snorted, ready to explode out into the arena. A hush fell over the crowd.

  This was Jess’s moment. His turn in the spotlight. He took a deep breath, then another.

  He nodded.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “That’s him! That’s Jess!”

  Cassie spoke to the pretty teenager seated next to her in the stands. Moments before, the girl had introduced herself as Lindsay something or other and offered to explain the finer points of saddle bronc riding.

  Now Cassie gasped as Jess’s horse twisted its body in midair and landed hard. But Jess somehow stuck, one hand on the rein fashioned from a piece of rope, his spurs sweeping back as the animal launched into another frantic attempt to dislodge him. Again and again, the horse reared up and slammed down again, punching the dust.

  The buzzer sounded. Jess dismounted, a dangerous-looking operation given the fact that the animal didn’t for a moment stop bucking. But Jess jumped aside in one swift, agile motion – avoiding the bronc’s flashing hooves -- and tipped his hat to the crowd. They roared their approval. Cassie leapt to her feet and joined in, screaming until her voice grated raw in her throat.

  Lindsay leaned close to make herself heard over the cheering of the crowd. “He makes it look easy, doesn’t he?”

  “I had no idea he was so good,” Cassie admitted.

  “Jess Logan? He’s one of the best!”

  The noise faded as the audience settled down for the next ride. Cassie stared at her new friend.

  “You know Jess?”

  “I don’t actually know him, but I know all about him. Everyone does.” Her voice softened with awe and reverence. “He’s a world champion bull rider twice over, and one year he won all-around cowboy, too.”

  “No kidding.” Cassie would have pumped the girl for more information, but she couldn’t think of a subtle way to do it. Fortunately, Lindsay didn’t need any urging.

  “Nice guy, or so I’ve heard, but kind of a classic loner type. He was married once, though.”

  “Really?” Cassie struggled to keep her tone calm and disinterested. “What happened?”

  “Oh, well, it only lasted a month or two. I guess Jess wasn’t ready to commit. Cowboys are like that, you know. They need their freedom. The open road, a girlfriend in every town. . . .”

  Cassie slanted a sympathetic smile Lindsay’s way. “Let me guess. A cowboy broke your heart?”

  The girl’s blue eyes widened. “How did you know?”

  “Oh, just a hunch.” Cassie patted Lindsay’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll find someone else, and then you’ll forget all about the cowboy.”

  The girl shook her head mournfully. “I’ll never forget him. Never. Have you ever been in love? I mean, really and truly in love?”

  Cassie wrinkled her brow as she gave the question serious thought. There was Stevie

  Tate, back in the fifth grade, with his pale blond hair and the best Matchbox car collection in the whole school. But she’d fallen out of love with him the day he called her “Fatty Carlisle” and made a cruel remark about her mother.

  Though Cassie had since parted ways with most of her baby fat, her love life hadn’t improved. Oh, sure, she’d had a few dates since she moved to California. None as ghastly as last night’s, of course, but nothing to brag about, either. Mostly, though, she’d kept busy with school and her precarious freelance career. Love always seemed like a luxury she couldn’t afford, something to think about after she proved herself.

  “Well? Have you been in love?”

  Slowly, Cassie shook her head. “No, I guess not.”

  “So you can’t understand what it’s like. And Jake, he’s, well, he’s just the sweetest, cutest guy, and--”

  The announcer’s voice cut into Lindsay’s gushing recitation of her boyfriend’s virtues. The girl cocked her head to listen. “Did you hear that? An 86 for Jess Logan.”

  “Is that a good score?”

  “Yeah, great. He’ll probably win the purse, unless somebody else gets real lucky. So, do you and Jess. . .are you, you know. . .?”

  “Oh, no,” Cassie said quickly. “We’re just friends. Actually, I hardly know him.” But she couldn’t deny the crackle of electricity when they touched, or her curiosity about the stranger who had treated her with so much kindness. Who was Jess, anyway? What made him tick?

  She might have asked Lindsay another question or two, but just then the next bronc exploded from the chute. Cassie’s hands suddenly itched for her 35-millimeter Nikon with its zoom lens. The bright, hard edges of the light, the grimace on the cowboy’s face, the dust puffing out from under the horse’s hooves--beautiful, all of it. She ached to capture the excitement and drama of the rodeo on film. Instead, her pulse raced as she took photo after mental photo.

  Cassie had adored photography since the moment a kind foster father first put a camera in her hands. She loved everything about it. Choosing the settings. Framing the picture. Clicking the shutter. Watching the perfect image appear out of the tray of developer in her darkroom.

  Her darkroom. Cassie bit her lip as the sharp pain of loss jolted through her. She’d worked so hard to convert the bedroom in her apartment. Now she would probably never see it again. Despite her eternally messy living area, the chaos of her kitchen, and the closets stuffed with cute little knickknacks, she kept her darkroom immaculate. Carefully labeled bottles of developer, stop bath, and fixer lined the shelves she’d built herself. Her enlarger sat on a garage-sale table, her printing trays in a long ceramic sink.

  How many happy hours had she spent in that room? Too many to count. And now. . . . Well, maybe the guards would let her set up a darkroom in her cell. Teach a photography class for the other inmates. Learn to take mug shots.

  If only she hadn’t run away. Though of course she hadn’t meant to kill Andrew, only to defend herself. And she’d even tried CPR, struggling to remember how many breaths and chest compressions per minute. She’d held her mirror to his mouth. Nothing. That’s when fear got the better of her. She’d taken off in her car, driving aimlessly for an hour or two before she ended up at the diner.

  Now she couldn’t go back. Her photography career was as good as over. From now on she would be on the run, always afraid, constantly looking over her shoulder--and what kind of life was that? But Cassie wasn’t ready to turn herself in. Not yet. She needed time to think. Time to make sense of what had happened.

  Cheers exploded around her, and Cassie yanked her mind back to the rodeo. The law would catch up with her eventually, or maybe she’d get tired of running. When the moment came, she would hope for a decent public defender and a little luck at her trial. After all, the truth was on her side, if not the evidence. But whatever happened, she refused to dwell on the negative.

  She winced as a bronc rider flew through the air and hit the dirt, hard. He sprang up and brushed himself off, and Cassie smiled. Time to count her blessings.

  One, it was a bright, sunny, beautiful morning.

  Two, she was surrounded by people enjoying themselves.

  Three--and this was the frosting and sprinkles on the cupcake of her day--she had a lunch date with a cowboy. A cowboy who made her heart beat a little faster.

  What more could a girl want?

  “Barbecue chicken okay? Your choice of beer or Coke,” Jess said, as he plunked the paper plate in front of Cassie on the wooden picnic table. Probably not what she was used to, but it was the best he could manage. “I know it’s not fancy. . . .”

  She grinned and brushed a lock of wind-tousled hair from her face. “Coke, please, and it all smells wonderful. I think I could eat a whole darn coop full of chickens right now.”

  As she set to work on the barbecue and coleslaw, Jess stole occasional glances across the table. Cassie ate neatly--well, as neatly as possible, considering the sauce-drenched drumsticks--but without prete
nsion. In Aunt Patty’s skirt and blouse, she no longer looked like the poor little rich girl of the night before. The sun had brushed her pale cheeks with a hint of rosy color, which brought out her freckles. Her mouth, bare of lipstick and slightly chapped, practically begged to be kissed. She looked a lot like the girl next door.

  If the girl next door were also sexy as hell.

  Jess shook his head, puzzled, and bit into a chicken wing. Time to rethink his first impression. Cassie seemed just about as down to earth as anyone he’d ever met. No fancy airs. No snide comments. No turned-up nose at the simple clothes and food he’d offered her. She seemed as much at home in well-worn espadrilles as in high heels. More at home, since she wasn’t limping today.

  So who was Cassie, anyway? A mystery, and a damn intriguing one.

  She ate with more enthusiasm than efficiency, and Jess finished first. A minute later, Cassie pushed her plate away, wiped her fingers on a paper napkin, then glanced up to catch him watching her.

  “Again, congratulations on your win,” she said. “How’d you ever learn to ride like that?”

  Jess shrugged. “Uncle Gus, I guess. I used to hang around his ranch a lot.”

  “What about your parents? Are they ranchers, too?”

  Jess thought about turning some of the questions around, making the conversation less one sided, but he didn’t want to risk it. Cassie might clam up, or even take off on him. And he liked having her around. Probably he liked it more than he should.

  “Nope,” he said. “My father owned a couple of grocery stores, and my mom did the bookkeeping. Gus is the only one to blame for my rodeo habit.”

  “Do your parents still live around here? Any brothers and sisters?”

  “My folks sold the stores and retired to Arizona three years ago. I’ve got one older sister, Jenny. She’s married, four kids, lives in Seattle.”

  “Are you and Jenny close?”

  There was something wistful in Cassie’s expression, but Jess had finally run out of patience. He downed the last of his beer and wiped his mouth. “Say, what is this?” he asked, softening the question with a chuckle. “Some kind of interrogation?”

  A small, faintly ironic smile tugged at the corners of Cassie’s mouth. “An interrogation? Do I look like a cop?”

  He leaned over the table and pretended to study her even feature, admiring the graceful arch of her pale brows and the sweet curve of her cheek. “Not really. Do I?”

  Her smile faltered. “Do you what?”

  Jess folded his arms over his chest and jokingly showed her his profile. “Do I look like a cop?”

  “I--I don’t know. Are you?”

  “Well, I sure don’t make my living riding bulls anymore.” He folded his paper plate in half around the chicken bones and tossed it in the trash barrel next to the table. “Gotta pay the bills somehow.”

  Most of the color drained from Cassie’s face, leaving two bright spots high on her cheekbones. “You’re. . .do you mean you’re a. . . .”

  “Captain Logan at your service, ma’am. I’m with the Shasta County Sheriff’s Office, Bitter Creek Substation. Actually, it’s not a bad job. Lots of speeding, petty theft, bored kids breaking windows.” And domestic abuse calls, the worst kind, but Jess left those off the list. Might bring back bad memories. On the other hand, Cassie already looked half scared to death about something. “You okay?”

  She nodded, apparently speechless, her gray eyes still wide. A strange reaction, unless. . . Jess’s jaw tensed and his hands curled into fists. He’d known a few bad apples in his life, men who didn’t deserve their badges. “Cassie, your boyfriend, the one who--” He broke off and gestured toward her bruise. “Is he a cop?”

  Cassie slammed her napkin down on the table and stood up, her face suddenly closed and hostile. Her lips trembled as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I told you, he wasn’t my boyfriend. And other than that I--I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Damn. He should have kept his big mouth shut. Jess stood and took a cautious step toward her. He held his hands before his body, palms up, the classic nonthreatening pose he used with wild animals and frightened children.

  “Cassie,” he said soothingly, “Cassie, I didn’t mean to push you. Can we forget I asked?”

  Some of the anger and fear faded from her expression. Slowly, she nodded. “Fine. Consider it forgotten.” She shrugged and forced a laugh. “It’s just not something I can talk about. Especially with a--well, believe me, you don’t want to know.”

  He couldn’t resist one more try. “Even if I could help?”

  “You can’t.”

  Jess knew better than try again. He hadn’t missed the flash of hopelessness in her eyes, the strain around her pretty mouth, or the flat, final tone of voice. That didn’t mean he was giving up, though. All his cop instincts were on alert now. He’d just wait for a better time to pursue his suspicions.

  He changed the subject, and they talked about the rodeo for a few minutes. But the mood stayed tense, and the earlier closeness was gone. Jess cursed himself for the misstep that had broken their connection. Now Cassie barely met his eyes, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was eager to get away from him.

  “You will watch my next event, won’t you?” he asked. She nodded, but without her earlier eagerness. “And afterwards? Gus and I made plans for dinner. I’ll bet Gus would like--I mean, I’d like for you to join us.”

  Again, her eyes slid away from his. “Thank you. I--I’ll have to think about it.”

  Behind the chutes again, fifteen minutes later, Jess found it impossible to concentrate on the upcoming event. Had he said goodbye to Cassie for the last time? He wasn’t sure why the prospect made him feel so damn unhappy, but it did. He didn’t even know her last name, or where she was headed next.

  He slammed his eyelids shut, to picture the event ahead. Bull riding was one of the most challenging roughstock events, and the most dangerous. He had to use his legs and his upper body to stay on the bull’s back for eight long seconds. It took strength, skill, and focus.

  Hard to focus, though, when his mind kept drifting back to the woman whose steady stream of questions and comments made him smile, and whose body inspired bedroom fantasies. But what could he do? She had her own life to live, and he had his.

  Jess’s life, for the next few minutes, centered on a tough old bull called Rambo. When he heard his name, Jess marshaled his nerve, collected his thoughts, and climbed aboard the bull. Between his knees, the dark hide rippled with muscles and quivered with outrage. He breathed in the hot, dusty smell of the animal and the mingled scents of manure, leather, and sunshine.

  The crowd quieted. The rodeo hand at the gate lifted his brow, framing a silent question: Are you ready?

  The bull shifted under Jess, more than a ton of muscle, bone, and flesh.

  He nodded, the gate opened, and the ride was on. Jess’s thighs gripped the bull’s back. He used his free arm for balance, never touching the bull or the equipment. Rambo went into a tight, vicious spin, intent on ridding himself of the burden on his back. Jess sensed the animal’s awesome strength, his brute power. The seconds ticked by with terrible slowness, each one an eternity. But he felt good, loose, on top of his form. Confident. Triumphant, even.

  In the stands, he caught a flash of golden-blond hair.

  And, an instant later, flew through the air.

  Pain lanced through his leg as he landed. He crumpled to the ground, tasting blood. An instant more and the bull was on him.

  A second jolt of pain. Dust in his mouth. He felt the sun in his eyes like the sharp edge of a knife.

  Then darkness.

  Cassie sat perfectly still. She held her breath. Her nails dug into the wooden bleachers hard enough to lodge a splinter in one finger, but she barely felt it.

  Open your eyes, Jess. Jump up. Smile. Tip your hat to the crowd, like last time.

  Please, Jess.

  But he lay there in the arena dirt, crumpled and st
ill. Dead? God, no. . . . The rodeo clowns drew the bull away from Jess’s body. Still no movement. The hush was absolute, the crowd frozen, waiting. In her front-row seat, Cassie waited, too.

  Helplessness washed over her in great, terrible waves. All she could do was watch as the paramedics drove the ambulance into the ring and parked between Jess and the audience.

  With Jess in trouble, Cassie’s own problems slipped right out of her head. She’d planned on never seeing him again, of course. Jess was a county sheriff, a bona-fide law enforcement official. Just her luck. Who ever heard of a fugitive hitching a ride with a cop?

  After Jess’s announcement at lunch, Cassie had decided to watch one last event, then hop the next bus out of town. But now Jess was hurt, perhaps badly. She couldn’t very well take off without at least knowing he was okay. Not after all he’d done for her.

  Never one to linger over a decision, Cassie bolted for the exit. She tripped over several pairs of feet on the way, muttering “sorry” as she stumbled into the aisle. Moments later she was outside and rounding the arena. Was she too late? No, there was the ambulance, just pulling out. The back doors were still open.

  She stood on tiptoe, trying to peek inside. Cassie glimpsed Jess strapped to a backboard, an oxygen mask clamped over his face. She couldn’t tell whether his eyes were open or not. A paramedic worked to start an IV. The engine was running as a second, bearded paramedic began to close the doors.

  “Wait!” Cassie gasped, out of breath from her run. “Please wait!”

  The paramedic with the beard scowled at her and barred the way. “Can I help you, miss?”

  “Jess--will he be all right?”

  “Can’t say, but the docs will take good care of him.” The man shouldered her aside. “Stand back, please, lady. We’re taking him to the ER.”

  “Let me go with you.”

  “Sorry. We’re in a rush.” The paramedic jumped aboard and began to pull the doors closed behind him.

  “I don’t have a car. Please.” Cassie bit her lip in frustration. If they left her behind, she might never know what happened to Jess. “You have to let me go with him. I’m his wife.”