One Rodeo Season. Sarah M. Anderson

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СКАЧАТЬ nodded in agreement and waited for him to move back, but he didn’t. “Yes?”

      The corner of his mouth curved up into the kind of smile women like her didn’t often get from men like him—confident and sensual and interested. If Lacy had been a normal single woman, it was the kind of smile that would make her want to melt into his arms and kiss him.

      But she wasn’t a normal single woman. She had responsibilities.

      “We got off on the wrong foot. I’m Ian Tall Chief.” He stuck out his hand.

      And waited while Lacy looked at it. “Are you serious?”

      He dropped his hand, looking offended. “Did I look like I was joking?”

      Oh, hell—had that come out wrong? She wasn’t trying to make fun of his name. Actually, given that everyone called him Chief, she was relieved to hear that was not some sort of derogatory nickname.

      So she clarified, “I’m not interested. I don’t hook up.”

      That got both eyebrows up and moving as his face relaxed.

      “Are you serious?”

      “Look,” she said in exasperation, “I know how this goes. There are two kinds of men here. The first doesn’t think a woman like me should be anywhere near a bull because we might do better than them and that would obviously be the end of the world. The second thinks I’m nothing but a one-night stand that hasn’t happened yet.” She pointed a finger at him. “Guess which one you are.”

      His lips—nice lips, rounded and full and— No, stop it, Lacy. She was not going to start thinking about his lips, which were twisting as if he was thinking about laughing at her but trying not to.

      Unfortunately, in trying so hard not to stare at his mouth, her gaze drifted back down to his chest. The wet T-shirt left nothing to the imagination. Pecs, nipples—

      She snapped her gaze to the front windshield. She wouldn’t look at him. That was the best solution.

      “Have you considered,” Ian Tall Chief said in an amused drawl, “that there might be another kind of man here?”

      “No.”

      “What’d that old man say to you?”

      “What?”

      Ian leaned forward. “Before I got there to back you up. What’d he say?”

      “Look,” Lacy said in frustration, “it’s really not a big deal.”

      Ian dropped his head to one side. “That’s not what it looked like to me. It looked like he was threatening you. Sounded like it, too. Does he always go after you like that or was today a special occasion?”

      She tried to shrug, as if another verbal battle with Slim Smalls was no big deal. “I appreciate you trying to help, but I can handle it.”

      Ian snorted. “You shouldn’t have to ‘handle’ it.”

      She glared at him. “I was doing fine without your help, Mr. Tall Chief. I can handle Slim. I can handle my bulls. I’m not some silly girl who’s in over her head. I’ve been bringing bulls to rodeos for over fifteen years now.” But she’d had her father with her then.

      Didn’t matter. She could still handle this—all of this. Slim, the bulls, the fighters and the riders—she could even handle Ian Tall Chief.

      “Any woman who can load two bulls by herself is not silly.” Ian met her gaze and held it with his own. At least, she thought she could handle him. It’d be easier if he were wearing a dry shirt, though. Or if he stopped looking at her like that, with some mix of protectiveness and—dare she say it—respect in his eyes.

      He crossed his arms over his chest. Unfortunately, that put a whole lot of biceps right at eye level. Good lord, was any part of this man not muscled and ripped? He had some interesting tattoos on his right side—not the standard stuff, but something that looked like a circle in red and black and yellow.

      “There’s no shame in asking for help,” he said. His voice was surprisingly soft—gentle, even. “Or accepting it.”

      Warning bells went off in her head—loud, clanging bells that beat a fast rhythm. For some ridiculous reason, she felt exposed, even though he was the one standing around in a practically see-through T-shirt. She wanted to look away—she desperately needed to—but she couldn’t break his gaze.

      “I don’t need any help.” It came out as a whisper. It was a lie and she knew it. And, given the way he looked at her, he knew it, too. But she couldn’t accept what he was offering, whatever it was. She couldn’t be in anyone’s debt. Not his, not Slim’s—no one’s.

      So she tried again. “I don’t need any help.”

      There. That was better. She just had to keep saying it.

      After what felt like a long time of staring into his eyes—deep, dark pools with things hidden in their depths she could only wonder at—Ian nodded and took a step back. “All right, then. Have a safe trip home.”

      She blinked. What? Was that it? After that long, lingering look? She hadn’t even told him her name yet. Was that the end of the conversation?

      Was he going to take her at her word?

      He was. How freaking weird.

      “You, too,” she said, because it was the most polite thing she could come up with.

      She drove off. In her side mirror, she saw Ian Tall Chief stand there and watch her go.

      She might not ever see him again. Bullfighters operated under a different schedule than the riders or the bulls. Her next contracted rodeo was next weekend, in Colorado Springs. Ian Tall Chief might be in Amarillo or even Baton Rouge, for all she knew. She certainly didn’t want to see him again—not to risk having him hurt one of her animals or piss off Slim Smalls even more.

      Before I got there to back you up, he’d said. That and, You shouldn’t have to handle it. She could almost hear the word alone after that second statement.

      Because she was alone.

      Or at least, she had been. Until Ian Tall Chief had backed her up.

      Maybe he’d be in Colorado Springs next week, after all.

       CHAPTER THREE

      LACY ROLLED INTO Colorado Springs Thursday afternoon. She was feeling good. Okay, good might be a bit strong, but she was feeling better. She’d been able to sleep the past few nights without too many nightmares about car wrecks, so that counted for something.

      The night before a rodeo was her favorite time. The arena grounds were quiet, with only a few stock contractors and the promoter around to unload the bulls. The riders wouldn’t show up until tomorrow, and then tomorrow night, the crowds would come pouring in.

      This time was about СКАЧАТЬ