Never Let You Go. Judy Christenberry

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      A frown on her forehead, Beth moved into the living room. “Flat tire,” she said succinctly. The Circle K ranch, their home, was in the lower panhandle of Texas, an hour from the city of Wichita Falls. Tumbleweed, twenty miles away, was the nearest town where she could get a tire fixed. “Did anyone come to see me?”

      Jedadiah Davis stood in the shadows of the living room, staring at the beautiful young woman who’d finally returned, after he’d waited for more than an hour.

      He should have been prepared for her beauty. After all, her sisters, Abby and Melissa, were both lookers. But something about Elizabeth Kennedy grabbed at him more than both of her sisters put together. Bad sign.

      Besides, he wasn’t sure he was interested in a rich lady for a client. He’d agreed to meet with her, but he hadn’t made any promises. Word had gotten out that these ladies were wealthy. He’d given the missing sister the benefit of the doubt, but after waiting for an hour, he was fed up.

      Fed up, or scared to death of getting close to her, his inner voice teased. She was young, fresh, rich and beautiful. What did she want with barrel racing? She didn’t need that particular spotlight to be noticed.

      “Mr. Davis is here. He said he had an appointment,” Abby said, gesturing in his direction.

      Beth stepped forward, her gaze landing on him in the shadows. An inexplicable look of relief crossed her face and she walked towards him, her hand extended.

      He’d been ready to leave for the past half hour, but the sisters had kept him talking, their polite manners making his exit impossible. Now he was tempted to stride out of the room without excusing his poor behavior.

      “Hello,” Beth said. “I apologize. I didn’t see you after the glare of the sun from outside. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

      She stopped as he shook her hand, her face flushed and her eyes widened in surprise.

      He wished his reaction had been that simple. At least he hoped he hid the surge of desire that hit him, the approval he felt as he realized her hands were callused, hard, the sign of a worker.

      “I wanted to talk to you about training me to be a barrel racer,” she said. She hooked her thumbs in the back pockets of her jeans. One light brown eyebrow slid up. “I understand you’re the best.”

      He recognized a challenge when he heard one. He tightened his features, hoping for impassiveness. “Yeah. The best.”

      “Well, you certainly don’t lack in self-confidence,” she chided, her chin rising slightly even as she smiled.

      He kept his answer succinct. After all, he wasn’t being hired for conversation. “Nope.”

      “I assume you have references. I’ve read some interviews, but I haven’t heard who you’ve worked with lately.”

      “I trained two of the last three world champions. You can call Sherry Duncan and Lisa McDonald,” he said, naming his two latest pupils. He wasn’t used to having his credentials questioned, but he didn’t blame the young woman for asking. No, that wasn’t the problem.

      But there was a problem. Or maybe several.

      “Look, Miss Kennedy, I think there’s been a mistake,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “I’ll be on my way.”

      “Wait!” He heard Beth call as he turned his back on her, not bothering to shake hands with her. He didn’t want to touch her again. The last time had unsettled him for some strange reason.

      “Where are you going?” she asked.

      “On down the road. I have others interested in my services.”

      “I haven’t said I’m not interested,” she reminded him.

      “You’re not the only one to make the decision, lady. I don’t work where I’m not wanted.” He opened the door and walked out to his beat-up pickup, ignoring the whispering going on between the sisters.

      Hearing footsteps behind him, he hoped it was Abby, the sensible older sister. But the tingling on the nape of his neck told him it was Beth.

      Soft name. Feminine. Trouble.

      “Mr. Davis, could we talk a minute?”

      “Nothing to talk about,” he muttered. All his instincts were yelling for him to get the hell out of there before she persuaded him to stay.

      He slid behind the wheel and closed the door, but the window was down, since it was October, and she put her hand on the opening.

      “What’s your hurry?”

      “I’ve been waiting over an hour for you to get your rear in gear, lady. I don’t like to waste time.” He kept staring straight ahead. He’d already noted her hazel eyes, the dash of freckles across her nose, the full lips that started a hunger in him that was dangerous.

      Hell, she was too young for him to be thinking those thoughts. He was only thirty-two but he felt years older in comparison to her fresh beauty.

      “I didn’t have a flat tire on purpose.”

      “Doesn’t take that long to fix a flat tire. Unless you’re sitting helpless-like alongside the road waiting for Prince Charming.” He figured even then someone would happen along pretty quick for a woman like Beth Kennedy.

      She flushed and looked away. “I didn’t have a spare,” she muttered.

      “What did you do?”

      “I had to walk to a neighbor’s house and call the garage in town and have them bring one out to me.” Now she looked him in the eye. “I should’ve called here to warn you I’d be late. I apologize.”

      “No problem,” he said, and cranked the engine in his truck.

      “So I apologized. Why are you leaving?”

      “I don’t work with anyone who won’t give one hundred percent.”

      Both of those pretty brows rose, almost disappearing in her soft bangs. “Who said I wouldn’t?”

      “You have to be hungry to make it in rodeo. You’re not hungry.”

      “Oh, yes I am.”

      “How could you be? Your next meal doesn’t depend on how well you race.”

      She studied him, which made him all the more uneasy. He knew some women were attracted to him. He’d had too many offers to deny the truth of it. But he was untrained in social skills.

      “Does your next meal depend on your job?” she asked casually. But he saw the intelligence in her eyes. More trouble.

      He shrugged. “Not my next one, but eventually I’d run out. It did once.”

      “Mine did once, too. Not now, as you’ve obviously heard. But it’s not food that drives me. And I think it’s not food that drives you. That doesn’t make me any less hungry. Does it you?”

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