One Rodeo Season. Sarah M. Anderson

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      She didn’t want to run into Slim again. If she could get through this weekend without feeling as if she was losing her grip on—well, everything, that’d be great.

      Lacy checked in with Mort and got the details on where she was to unload her bulls. She had three with her today—Rattler, Chicken Run and Wreckerator.

      You can do this, she thought as she backed the truck up to the pens. Sure, unloading and loading two bulls by herself had been a challenge. Three would be downright hard, especially because Wreckerator was in one of his moods. She’d had Murph to help her at the Straight Arrow, and Wreckerator had almost charged the trailer. Which meant he’d have a good bunch of rides this weekend, but it didn’t help Lacy right now.

      She got out of the cab and looked around. The good news was, she didn’t see Slim. But the bad news was, she didn’t see anyone else, either. For some ridiculous reason, she was disappointed not to see Ian Tall Chief. Not that she wanted to. She didn’t. She didn’t need his help or his excessively large muscles, and that was that. Besides, he would have no reason to be here tonight. He’d probably roll in tomorrow afternoon with everyone. She was being ridiculous to even look for him.

      Except Rattler was refusing to back out of the trailer and Lacy didn’t want to push her luck going in to lead him out, not with Wreckerator behind him, pawing at the metal floor and bellowing with nervous energy. She needed to get the bulls out so they could stretch and get water. She could go get Mort, but she didn’t want to tell the promoter of the rodeo that she couldn’t handle her animals on her own. That was the sort of thing that could be used against her in future contract negotiations, and the last thing she could afford was to weaken her bargaining position.

      Nope, she was on her own here. She knew it; the bulls knew it. “Come on, Rattler—get up,” she hissed, poking at his haunch through the slats. She didn’t want to use the cattle prod, but if Rattler didn’t get a move on, she would have to. Which would upset Wreckerator, which meant he would be practically unmanageable.

      “You look like you need help,” a man said from behind her—too close.

      Lacy startled, banging her elbow against the trailer. She pulled her arm out and spun to see a cowboy standing less than three feet from her. Not Ian.

      Oh, this was a good-looking cowboy, all right. He was maybe six inches taller than she was, on the lean side of things, wearing jeans and a black Western shirt with silver piping on the sleeves and white mother-of-pearl buttons. He had stubble that looked intentional on his chin and a leather cord with a silver cross on it around his neck. He was pretty and polished and he did nothing for her.

      And he was talking to her chest. “Let me get that for you.”

      “I’m fine.” The moment the words left her mouth, she knew she’d said the wrong thing.

      The cowboy’s mouth curved up into a predatory smile as he looked her up and down. After what felt like an hour of inspection, he finally looked in the vicinity of her face and said, “You sure are, sugar. What’s a stunner like you doing unloading bulls?” He took a step toward her, effectively pinning her against the trailer.

      Her heart began to pound as panic dumped adrenaline into her system. She didn’t want to do this. This never would have happened if her dad were still here. And even that realization was depressing because he wasn’t here and she was completely on her own.

      She had two choices. Start swinging now or... She went with option two. She forced a smile to her face and said, “What was your name, sugar?”

      “Jerome.” The pretty cowboy smirked, bracing an arm against the trailer right next to her head. “I’m one of the riders. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

      She hadn’t. If his ego got any bigger, it’d suffocate her. Dimly, she thought he might have been one of the cowboys standing around Slim last week, but she wasn’t sure.

      She made an effort to bat her eyelashes. She wasn’t any good at it—hell, she couldn’t pull off flirting even when she wanted to—but option two was to start swinging later. And if Pretty Boy Jerome would shift his legs a bit, she’d have a clear shot to kneeing him in the groin. A girl had to do what a girl had to do to defend herself, because she hadn’t lied to Chief the other week. There were two kinds of men at these rodeos—the Slims and the Jeromes.

      Lacy was about to make her move when something in the air shifted. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as they had last week when Slim had been threatening her—right before Ian had made himself known.

      Ian.

      Jerome leaned down, unaware of how the air had changed. His gaze dropped to her lips as he cupped her chin. No, no, no. She couldn’t fight the shiver of fear that went through her body, but Jerome either thought it was a shiver of desire or he wanted her afraid. She shifted her legs, hoping she had a clear shot of his crotch. He ran his thumb over her lip and said, “Why don’t we— Oof!”

      Then Jerome was gone, being plowed sideways by something the size of a small bulldozer. No, not something—someone.

      Two conflicting emotions hit her at the same time as Jerome hit a fence. One was sheer relief. She hadn’t had to defend herself and she hadn’t had to find out what a man like Jerome would do if he got his nuts crushed. For a second, she didn’t feel so alone in the world because Ian Tall Chief had her back—even when she was backed up against the trailer.

      But the other was pure irritation. She could defend herself. She didn’t need help—or him. But it was too late—he was already helping her, and that put her in his debt. She didn’t want to owe him. She didn’t want to owe anyone.

      “Touch her again and I’ll break every bone in your hand,” Ian growled, lifting Jerome by his shirt clean off the ground. A tearing sound filled the air.

      “Jesus—” Jerome’s voice came out in a strangled squeak “—we were just talking!”

      “Talk to someone else.” Still holding Jerome off the ground, Ian spun and threw him to the ground. Jerome crumpled like an empty feedbag. “Clear?”

      “Jesus, Chief,” Jerome repeated, scrambling to his feet and spitting into the dirt. “What the hell is your deal?”

      “She isn’t here for you.” Ian had the nerve to ball his hands into fists and take a step toward Jerome, who was now considerably less pretty. His face was an angry red, his shirt trashed and he was covered in dirt and worse. “Now move.”

      Jerome did as he was told—but not until he’d straightened his shirt and dusted off his butt. He gave Ian a long look. “Another time?” he said, sounding less squeaky and more threatening.

      Ian smiled, as if this was what he’d wanted to hear. “Anytime, man.”

      Jerome nodded and turned. It wasn’t until he’d disappeared around some trailers that Lacy felt herself breathe again. Her knees felt wobbly and she wanted to lean against the trailer and allow herself a moment to process.

      She did no such thing. She couldn’t, not with Ian standing there and watching her with an unsettling mixture of concern and anger in his eyes.

      “Are you okay?” he asked, and damn him, he sounded genuinely concerned. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

      No. Yes. No.

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