Into the Arms of a Cowboy (5 page)

His body hummed with anticipation as he pulled on his boots, then headed for the platform behind the chutes. The day had warmed up good. He pulled the brim of his black Stetson down to shade his eyes as he joined the waiting cowboys.

The familiar smell of dust, manure, and chewing tobacco assaulted his senses. A rodeo hand safety-pinned a number to the back of Jess’s flak jacket vest. One of Jess’s regular competitors clapped him on the shoulder and said hello. The boom of the announcer’s voice filled his ears.

Unlike the novices cracking jokes and pacing the planks, Jess wasn’t exactly nervous, just jacked up and ready. Some guys danced to loosen up. Others covered their faces with their hats and prayed. Right before Jess got on, he liked to picture the perfect ride, second by second. It steadied him.

He would begin with one hand on the reins and his feet over the
bronc’s
shoulders. To earn a high score, he would have to synchronize his spurring with the animal’s bucking action.
He had to go eight seconds without touching the horse with his free hand. Eight seconds without a foot out of the stirrup, without dropping the reins.

He’d drawn a poor horse in the same even the day before. Today, though, he planned to win. His focus narrowed down until it closed out even the muted roar of the crowd jamming the stands.

After his events, Jess would be giddy, jubilant, ready to down a few beers and dance all night. That’s how he’d felt when he met Danielle--ready to celebrate. She’d watched from the front row at a big rodeo in Colorado, a knockout redhead in skin-tight Wranglers. She blew him away with her hot moves on the dance floor and her sultry purr as she wrapped her arms around him to whisper in his ear.

At the time he’d been a professional cowboy, driving from state to state, working hard to make it to the top. Jess knew his winning rides drew the girls, not his good looks and charm. Still, he’d felt good that night, and maybe a little lonely after so many months on the road. After their one night together, Danielle clung to him, even cried a few tears, but they both knew the realities of a cowboy’s life. Maybe they’d meet up again sometime. She had tickets to the National Finals Rodeo; he was “on the bubble,” as the saying went, real close to the top 15 and a shot in Vegas.

And he had made it that year after all. He drew a great bull, won the championship buckle, and afterwards at the party Danielle showed up. . . .

A hand on his arm. “You’re up next, Jess.”

Jess tensed, gritted his teeth, and angrily brushed away the cobwebs of memory. Focus. He had to focus. The
bronc
in the chute was an ugly bugger, muscular and tough. Was Cassie in the stands? Was she watching for him? He pushed that thought away, too.

He was in the saddle now, but still between iron bars. Jess measured the
bronc
rein with his palm. Too long and the horse would fling him back. Too short and he’d fly over the
bronc’s
head.

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.

“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 wi
nced 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 pretension. 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?”