Rodeo Dreams. Sarah M. Anderson
So he did have a name. “Red did it?”
“No proof. It’s not like CSI makes arena calls for a busted rope.”
Whoa. Cutting a rider’s rope was lower than low. “The funny thing is, Travis warned me to watch out for both Red and you.”
Mitch snickered and then choked on his coffee. Yeah, the more time she spent with him, the more laughable that idea seemed to her, too. “Did he now? Well, I have a reputation to uphold. I am the Heartbreak Kid.”
“I gathered.” She glanced to Paulo the Brazilian, but he was pointedly watching some blonde in supershort running shorts.
As if he had to live up to his title, Mitch leaned forward and whispered, “Where are you staying tonight, Girlie?”
“I’ve got a friend I’m going to crash with.” She hoped.
“Oh?” His eyes danced.
She felt the blush warm her cheeks. “Actually, a friend of a friend. I’ve never met them before, but they said they had a couch. You?”
“All the finest that the Super 8 has to offer.” Paulo sighed.
“Mitch? Mitch Jenner?”
June looked up to see Running Shorts standing over them, her hands full of coffee. She had a look on her face that walked the line between shock and fury. Then she glanced down to June. By the time the woman had swept her eyes back to Mitch, the shock was gone, and there was nothing left but fury. “You’re back?”
“Bobbi Jean!” Mitch was already out of his chair, trying to spin her away from Paulo and June. “Wow! You look really—”
Bobbi Jean wasn’t having any of that. “You dared to show your face in this town again after—after—after—”
After what? Apparently, this was the Heartbreak Kid in action. And Bobbi Jean in her short shorts was not the sort of woman who took kindly to having her heart broken.
“Baby, let me explain,” Mitch managed to get out just before two cups’ worth of foam and espresso shots hit him full in the face. June waited for the screams of pain, but instead, Mitch said, “Aw, Bobbi Jean, honey—your iced mochas!”
“You—you—you!” Bobbi Jean couldn’t even get out a proper curse word. She hauled off and slapped him with enough force to send Mitch boots-over-butt onto the wet floor.
Bobbi Jean spun to face June. “He’s nothing but a lying, cheating bastard. Save yourself the heartache before he starts talking about taking you home to meet his mother.”
“We’re not—”
But June’s defense of Mitch was wasted on empty space. Bobbi Jean was peeling out of the parking lot as the rest of the patrons looked on in shock.
“Mitch! Are you okay?”
“I knew there was something about that girl I liked,” he said as June and Paulo hefted him up off the floor. “Her right hook!”
“Yeah, you’re fine,” June replied as she looked at his face. She didn’t see a red mark. “Didn’t she hit you?”
“She tried,” Mitch answered as they headed out to the Bronco. “I learned long ago that it’s best to roll with the punches. And the slaps.”
“You fell on purpose?”
“Sure did.” He grinned as Paulo popped the trunk, and Mitch stripped off his sodden shirt. “You don’t get to be the Heartbreak Kid without picking up some tricks.”
From his position in the backseat a few spaces over, Jeff whined. He wanted out. People tended to cower in fear at the sight of him running free in broad daylight, so June dug out his leash.
“That’s your mutt?” Mitch sounded properly impressed as he tucked in and buttoned up. “That’s a dog?”
“I said he was a mutt. I didn’t say what kind,” she replied as Jeff wagged his tail. Sheesh, fifty pounds of dog had Mitch more scared than eighteen hundred pounds of bull. “He’s a coydog. Part coyote, part something.” Maybe a coyote and a German shepherd, because Jeff had that long, thin nose and thick, shaggy fur that both animals sported, but everywhere a German shepherd was dark, Jeff was white and red. He was about thirty pounds lighter than most German shepherds, but close to the size of the coyotes that slipped through the Plains grasses in the dark, like Nagi spirit animals.
“Is he tame?”
Jeff answered the question by planting his paws on Paulo’s chest and licking him to within an inch of his life.
After he regained his footing and the shock passed, the Brazilian actually smiled. He pulled Jeff’s paws off him and set him on the ground, but then crouched down to eye level. “Oi, garoto,” he said as he rubbed Jeff’s ears.
She’d never heard Paulo speak before. His voice was soft and gentle, the mark of a man who knew how to handle animals. “He likes you,” she said, hoping to hear his Portuguese accent again.
“Or he’s just tasting you,” Mitch added from a safe distance.
“Trust me, I know the difference.”
Mitch’s eyes swept over her again with a look that she now recognized. She braced herself.
“But does Travis?” Mitch asked.
Travis did, but she didn’t think that “afraid of coydog” would do the man any favors. She needed Travis to be as much on her side as possible, and keeping the gossips at bay was the best way to do that. If Travis wasn’t going to talk about what had happened the other night, then she wasn’t, either. End of discussion.
“I guess you’d have to ask Travis that, wouldn’t you?”
The Brazilian looked up at Mitch and nodded his head to Jeff.
“Fine,” Mitch snorted, sounding unhappy with June’s answer. “Paulo wants to know where you got a half coyote like that.”
They had to be a couple. They were too much in sync, too easily understood with quick glances and quicker nods.
“Um, he found me—when I was twelve.” On the one-year anniversary of Dad being arrested for murder and the same day June got her first period, actually, but those were the sorts of details that made men green around the gills. “I trained him, and he’s never left me, not even when I went to college.”
“They let you keep that in the dorm?”
“Mitch. Don’t think coyote. Think mutt. A well-trained mutt.” To illustrate her point, she dropped the leash and snapped her fingers. Within seconds, Jeff was seated at her side. Another snap, and he was back in the car, patiently waiting in the front seat. “And they didn’t let me keep him in the dorm. He lived in the bushes around campus for a year until I got my own place.”
The Brazilian grinned, his normal reserve completely gone. Maybe it wasn’t too hard to understand a man who never spoke, because his eyes seemed to be saying, Can I pet your dog again?
June let out a low whistle and Jeff came bounding back out of the car. “Go on,” she said. He didn’t need another invitation. He and the Brazilian hopped up onto the Bronco’s tailgate and began to play-wrestle like they were childhood buds.
“He, uh, he ever bite anyone?” Mitch asked, cautiously moving in to pat Jeff.
“No one who didn’t have it coming.”
She imagined they made quite a sight, the Indian woman, the Brazilian and the Heartbreak Kid, all standing around a dog who looked like a wild animal and acted like a puppy in a coffee shop parking lot. Good people-watching, June noted with a smile.
“We’re getting dinner,” Mitch said as Jeff licked his hand. “You want to come?”
Dinner sounded good, in an expensive kind of way. She needed