Nothing Sweeter (Sweet on a Cowboy) (12 page)

16

I
n honor of High Heather’s first rodeo event, Bree threw a Western saddle over Smooth’s broad back. English tack would probably push Max over the edge. She chalked up his black mood at breakfast to his indignation at riding a cow. The cowboys were in the bunkhouse, bragging and preparing to ride in equal measure.

A thrill of anticipation shivered up her spine. Today would be the maiden event of the partnership as well as Fire Ant’s debut. She threaded the cinch, then hesitated. Why couldn’t they use a buckle like normal people?

“Here, let me do that.” Max’s deep voice rumbled from behind her.

She jumped. “Jeez, you could give a girl some warning.” She put a hand to her stampeding heart. Tanned arms came around her to take the leather strap, and Bree leaned into the comfort of his broad chest.

“You pull it across the front.” His breath tickled her ear as he demonstrated. “Now watch. You should be able to do this in your sleep.”

She watched the strength in the rough hands that pulled the strap through the D ring before slipping it through the loop.

He snapped the leather tight. “See?”

See?
How was she supposed to pay attention with him this close? She took a deep breath. The unique scent of leather and cowboy cologne did good things to her insides. Turning in his arms, she tipped her head to look into his eyes. “God, you smell good, Jameson.”

He shifted focus, his gaze homing in on her lips. She held her breath as he leaned closer, his face filling her vision. He hovered there, his dark eyes speaking of things his lips had never said.

The banked flame in her belly flared. With a groan, she grabbed his lapels and fused her mouth to his. No gentle kiss was this. She nibbled his lips, demanding admittance. His ragged breath thrilled her, and his hat fell off as she tangled her fingers in his hair. She wasn’t a small woman, but she felt so in his arms. They tightened, flattening her breasts against his chest, sending delicious signals south.

He slowed her in his lazy way, taking his time as his tongue delved. This man did nothing in halves, and everything else faded as she basked in his sharp focus. His hand slid to the small of her back, the other tightening on her butt to press them center to center.

“
Tsk
. Why don’t you two get a room?”

Squeaking in surprise, Bree sprang back to see Janet’s haughty look.

“It’s a sad day when I have to saddle my own horse while the owner has a go with the hired help.” With a sniff, she and Peanut strutted by.

Bree gawped.

Max chuckled, sounding pleased with himself. “Don’t let her get your goat. She’s like that to everybody.” He bent to retrieve his hat.

Bree watched Janet stroll out of the barn. “I’m just amazed she knows how to saddle her own horse.” Janet must have been in Peanut’s stall the whole time
. Of all the people to catch us making out.

Smooth stomped a hoof, reminding her of the business at hand. She turned to Max. “You’d better go do some stretching. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Think I’m too old, do you?” One side of his mouth kicked up in grin. “I’ll show you what a bit of maturity does for a man.” He pulled her into his arms again, and her mind spun away in the sweet demand of his mouth.

The pilot light he’d fired that day at the stream flared faster each time they came together. His lips were firm and knew what they wanted. She ached to give it to him.

“Max?” Wyatt’s voice echoed from the end of the aisle. “Where’s the—oh. Sorry.”

Max growled.

Bree patted him on the butt, relishing feeling sexy and desired. She whispered, “Later, cowboy,” in his ear and slipped out of his arms.

A half hour later, Bree leaned an elbow on the top slat of the corral fence, studying the new Stetson in her hands. Max had presented it to her at breakfast, saying that he wasn’t going in partners with a city girl who didn’t even own a decent hat. She fingered the band, loving the contrast between the creamy white and the narrow woven hatband of bright turquoise and purple. When she’d wondered aloud how he got the size right, Max had flushed and admitted to measuring her baseball cap.

She smiled down at the hat. Maybe she’d managed to work her way around the thick wall of gruff that Max used to keep people away. Or maybe his abrasiveness no longer intimidated her. In any case, she was looking forward to exploring this softer side of Max Jameson.

“Oh, quit your mooning.” Wyatt sidled up with a knowing smile.

She put the hat on, ducking her head to cover her blush, wishing her face didn’t read like a freeway billboard.

“Okay, we’re about ready!” Armando yelled as he entered the opposite side of the corral astride Smooth. Bree had argued that she should work as the safety roper, but the cowboys overruled her, saying the job was too dangerous. She’d grumbled, but knowing it was an argument she wouldn’t win, settled for cheering from the sidelines. Armando had chosen Smooth for the job, to see if a Tennessee Walker could work cattle.

“Who’s up first?” Wyatt asked.

Bree glanced at the roster she’d printed out. “Pedro. I think he was afraid if he watched everyone else ride first, he’d be too scared to try it himself.” She had doubts about letting the youngest hand on a bull. “If he gets hurt, I’m not going to forgive myself.”

Wyatt snorted. “You don’t understand cowboys. I guarantee you Pedro would rather have a bull stomp his guts than to chicken out.”

She shook her head. “What is wrong with you men?”

He put up his hands. “Hey, you won’t see this butt anywhere near a bull.” He shuddered. “Juan would pass out.”

Max yelled from atop the bucking chute. “I declare the First Annual Total Bull Bucking Event officially
begun
!”

The squeeze chute used to confine Heather stock for
vet exams was pressed into duty as a bucking chute. The bull inside it looked even larger with little Pedro perched on top, one hand in the air, the other in a death grip on the rope, his hat jammed so far down that his ears stuck out sideways.

The gate swung open into the arena. Bree squinted in case she had to close her eyes quickly to block out the wreck. Nothing happened. Max leaned over and swatted the bull on the rear with his hat, and it exploded out of the chute. Running, it sped to the exit gate, crow-hopped a couple of times, and then stood, waiting to be let out.

Armando trotted over and grabbed Pedro by the collar. Smooth backed up, pulling him to safety. He dropped the teen at the bucking chute, where the cowboys atop the fence yelled and hooted.

“Whooeee! Guess you showed him what for, Pedro!”

“That one’s a Big Mac for sure, boss.”

“We’ll run a better ’un under you next time,
pequeño vaquero
.”

Pedro, flushed and smiling, climbed the fence. “Not his fault. I just scared him.” The cowboys roared and pounded his shoulders.

“Well, that one was a bust.” Bree crossed the bull’s number off her sheet.

The sun beat down as the event progressed through five more bulls. None bucked well enough to be considered for training. Bree was hot, dusty, and discouraged.

“You knew the odds of finding a good bucker in our stock were slim, Bree.” Wyatt took off his hat and wiped a sleeve across his sweaty forehead. “It’d be like winning the Kentucky Derby with a cart horse.”

“I know, but I’d hoped.” She put the clipboard down
to climb to the top rail. “Fire Ant’s up next. Those four-legged wannabes will get a lesson on what a buckin’ bull is supposed to do.”

“Who’s the rider?” Wyatt’s eyes widened. “Tell me it’s not Max.”

“No way.” She chuckled. “This is a job for somebody young enough to think he’s invincible.”

Wyatt put a hand to his chest. “Oh, thank God. His rodeo days are ancient history, and I was afraid he was going to pull some hairy caveman routine to try to impress you. I’ve only begun to get my brother back, and it wouldn’t do for him to get killed just yet.”

“Miguel is giving it a try. His was on his high school rodeo team, so he’s got some experience.”

“Miguel? Isn’t he a bit…
large
for Fire Ant?”

She knew he turned his head to hide a smile. “Dammit, why do you all make fun of my bull?” She crossed her arms. “You’ll see.”

Across the arena, she watched Miguel lower himself onto the bull’s back. Fire Ant stood calm in the chute, looking bored, his head turned to look through the slats.

Bree cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “You go, Fire Ant. Kick butt, baby!”

The cowboys laughed.

“If you get in trouble, Miguel, just stand up. He’ll run right out from under you!”

“Cross your spurs under his belly,
amigo
!”

Miguel nodded. The gateman pulled the chute door wide. Fire Ant went ballistic. He burst out of the gate and bounced straight up, all four feet off the ground. He landed stiff-legged with a bone-jarring thump, and started bucking and spinning. Miguel’s weight shifted to his back
pockets in the first leap, and the bull spun faster with every revolution. Miguel tried to adjust to the centrifugal force pulling him to the outside, but slid farther and farther off his rope, until he lost his grip entirely. He was slung off the bull and hit the corral fence with a crack, landing in a heap in the dirt.

Armando trotted in on Smooth, herding the bull to the open exit gate. The men vaulted off the fence, running to Miguel, who lay flailing like a turtle on its back.

Wyatt grabbed Bree’s arm to keep her from jumping into the arena. “Stay here.”

“But he’s hurt.”

Max was the first to kneel by the fallen cowboy. He talked to him calmly, then stood. The cowboys surrounding Miguel helped him up.

Max looked to where Bree wriggled, held back by Wyatt’s restraining arm. “He’s okay,” he shouted. “Just had the wind knocked out of ’im.”

Bree climbed down outside of the fence and stood on mushy knees. “I’ve been so involved with the business that I forgot how dangerous this sport is. I don’t know if I can take it.”

Max jogged up. “Hell, Bree, Miguel gets hurt worse than that squatting with his spurs on.”

Glancing across the arena, she could see the cowboy moving under his own power, dusting himself off. When Pedro handed Miguel his hat, he jammed it on his head and swaggered to the gate.

Bree and Wyatt trotted the outside perimeter to stand behind the cowhands.

Max said, “Okay, men, we’re down to the cows. Who’s first?”

Silence.

“Oh, come on. You guys were rarin’ to go a few minutes ago.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. The cowboys found important things to catch their attention. Everywhere else.

He made a disgusted sound. “I guess it’s gonna be me, then.” Bree reached for his arm, but then let her hand drop. She might not know everything about cowboy law, but she did know it would belittle Max in front of the men if she tried to stop him.

He settled his hat a bit tighter on his head. “Remember one thing.” He hesitated until, one by one, he held the men’s attention. “If it gets back to town that I rode a cow, somebody’s gonna be stringing fence for a month.”

“You go, Maxie,” Wyatt said under his breath.

Max glared at them all, then stomped to the chute, spurs jingling.

Bree swallowed audibly. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

Wyatt laughed and threw his arm around her shoulder. “He’s gonna be fine, Bree. Didn’t you know Max rode the Colorado circuit back in the day? Used to piss my dad off, too. He said the only reason Max rode bulls was to meet pretty nurses.”

She shook her head. “Maybe so, but that was many moons ago, Tonto.”

“True, but Max’s head is too hard to get hurt. You, of all people, know that.”

Yeah, but there are parts of that body I’d like to become fond of.

The men had brought the three- and four-year-old cows from the mountain pastures, and they were wild. When Max lowered himself onto a black cow with
wicked long horns, she reared, trying to climb out of the tight box. Max backed up in a hurry. Pedro strung a rope through the slats over the cow’s neck to keep her from rearing again. Armando pulled the bucking rope taut as Max lowered himself again. He shoved his hand into the loop in the rigging, took the tight rope, and wrapped it around his hand, locking his fingers over it with a pound of his fist.

Wyatt leaned on the fence, a twitching muscle in his jaw belying his assurances. Bree sat, elbows on knees, hands covering her eyes, peeking through her fingers. She swallowed again, her queasy stomach churning like a washing machine.

Max nodded. The gate swung.

The cow burst from the chute, grunting and bucking. Saliva flew from the animal’s mouth as it spun in a frenzied attempt to rid itself of the weight. Max caught the rhythmic pace perfectly, rocking forward and back to negate the animal’s power.

Time slowed for Bree as the image burned in her mind: Max in a red shirt and leather chaps, balanced like a gymnast on the straining animal, his face a mask of concentration. Churned dust shimmered in the air as the hands yelled, cheering their boss on.

Tonio blew a shrill whistle when the eight seconds were up. Nobody explained it to the cow, though; she spun, getting stronger with every rotation. Max wrestled, trying to get his hand out of the rope. As Armando trotted up, Max finally freed himself and was launched. He landed on his feet, but the forward momentum made him stumble. He ran a few steps and fell forward, flat on his face, raising a cloud of dust.

Armando and Smooth cut the cow toward the gate. The minute the animal cleared the corral, Bree and Wyatt were off the fence, running across the arena. The cowboys were faster.

Bree broke into the circle of shouting men to see Max, sitting in the dirt, grinning like a little kid, a smear of green cow poop spread from his hat brim to his waist.

Wyatt burst out laughing and slapped his brother on the back. “That one’s a keeper.”

Max looked at the men around him, a swagger in his voice. “Okay, you pussies, who’s next?”

Bree slapped her hand over her mouth and ran, barely making it out of the corral before upchucking her breakfast in the dirt. Sides heaving, she leaned her hands on her knees and tried to catch her breath.