Rodeo Dreams. Sarah M. Anderson
he had to get up at a reasonable hour tomorrow and put in an appearance at True West Western Wear, his sponsor.
Not too many guys actually had sponsors at this level—Red had Red Bull, of course, but Red also wasn’t going to stay in the minor leagues that much longer. Within a year or two—sooner, if Travis couldn’t keep his stuff together—Red would be up in the bigs, riding with the real pros—just like Travis had been doing three years ago.
Before the rods and wires and Percocet.
But that girl had a sponsor—her vest had a huge America’s Real Pride Beef patch sewn right on the back. Not even a winner, and someone was paying her to ride.
Where was she? He scanned the lot before he saw the lone white car, parked on the far side, away from the lights. He didn’t see her, per se, but the dome light in the car was on. Most of the guys had parked back on the other side, closer to the bulls and away from the general crowd. How clueless was she? Didn’t she know that she needed to be in a well-lit area so people didn’t sneak up on her?
Like he was doing now?
He couldn’t make out where she was, but she had to be around. No one wandered off from a car with the door open.
“Listen, uh...” He fumbled around for the right thing to call her. “Miss, we need to talk,” he said, hoping his words gave her enough warning.
As he came up alongside the car, a fury of barking erupted from the backseat, and suddenly a dog’s head lunged out of the partially open window. Okay, maybe she already had some protection. This thing didn’t even look like a dog. It looked more like a wolf had gotten together with a fox and produced some sort of devil’s spawn. Even the faint light from the distant streetlamp was enough to catch the slobber on those killer teeth.
“Jeff!” At the sound of June’s voice, the dog reduced his volume to a steady growl, but its nose followed Travis as he stepped forward. Mental note, he said to himself as he tried to locate June from her voice, do not piss off the hellhound—named Jeff?
Then he found her on the far side of the car, in the field that bordered the parking lot. All he saw was a wide sheet of hair so black that it made the sky look bright at this time of night. It was like she was trying to hide.
“You move quiet for a white man, Travis. And my name is June.”
He caught a glimpse of a white-clad bottom that curved out from one side of that hair curtain. Compared to the darkness of her hair, that backside was a blinking neon light that demanded a guy look at it. And look he did.
She had a fine backside. Even better in a simple pair of panties than when it had been cradled by her chaps....
He shouldn’t be looking. Not why he was here.
He took a step backward—right into range of the now-snapping jaws of Jeff.
Jeans slid over the whiteness, leaving him both relieved and disappointed that he hadn’t gotten a better look.
“Jeff! Cool it!” she ordered, apparently unconcerned with the fact that Travis had chosen the moment she was changing to barge in on her.
The dog acted like it was listening. His trap snapped shut, but apparently nothing would stop the throaty growl. The animal’s reaction was like something out of a movie—the Indian princess at one with the forest creatures.
Before he knew what he was doing, Travis’s mouth opened. “What kind of Indian are you?” The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them.
“Gee, what gave it away?” He could almost hear the eye roll behind that hair. “Was it the hair? The brown skin? The last name? Most people get it from the last name, you know.”
“No, you just—”
“Just what? Trained my dog to listen? Please.” She snorted in derision. “I do not have a telepathic link with animals. I do not shape-shift into eagles. I do not dance with the wolves.” She sounded irritated, sure, but not like she was going to kill him. He relaxed a bit. “I’m not ‘some’ kind of Indian. I’m a Lakota Sioux, a full-blooded Lakota woman. Can you handle that?”
Was she lecturing him on political correctness? Well, he had that coming. “Sure. I’ll make sure to remember that. Lakota. Sioux.”
She was still hiding behind that sheet of hair, nearly invisible in the darkness. He was afraid to look again—what if she still wasn’t completely dressed? A hit of adrenaline rushed into his blood at the thought.
“Something you needed to get off your chest, Mr. Younkin?”
Oh, she was going to be like that, was she? Her body might get his blood pumping, but her mouth sure did get his hackles up. “I’m not your father’s age.”
“But you’re going to tell me what I can and cannot do?” She snorted, a sound that was echoed by a throaty bark from the backseat. Finally, she flipped that hair out of the way, just in time for Travis to see her fingers buttoning up the last few buttons on her shirt.
This was all messed up. In one short evening, this...this...this female creature had not only managed to complicate his comeback year, but she was making him feel things he hadn’t felt in a long time. Since before the wreck.
“I just don’t want to see a pretty girl like you—”
“You overbearing, egotistical, racist, male-chauvinist pig,” she said, managing to spit the words out while still sounding calm. “I’m going to be twenty-two in four months,” she went on, taking a step out of the field and toward him— pushing him closer to the growling muzzle of Jeff the hellhound. But instead of paying attention to the dog, he couldn’t look away from her eyes. They were a deep liquid-black that barely scratched the surface of the bullheadedness he was witnessing firsthand. “In a month, I’m going to graduate magna cum laude from the University of South Dakota with my bachelor’s degree in history with a secondary-school certification.”
“Really?” She was beautiful and smart? Impressive. He was sure there was another student in the circuit, but he couldn’t think of the guy’s name off the top of his head. Most bull riders weren’t cut from the same cloth as students. He sure as hell hadn’t been—and see where that had gotten him? Struggling to make it back to the pros with no other options.
That was just another reason to keep her off the bulls. She was a woman who had options. She had a real life waiting for her. He couldn’t let her risk her good looks and her education on one bad ride. One bad ride was all it would take.
“I own my car, I’m legal to do anything I want in any state I want and I don’t need a—” Travis almost heard the phrase “has-been” smacking against the back of her teeth. But she reined herself in. “An experienced professional such as yourself to worry your pretty little head over me. I’m just here to ride.”
His pretty little head? Now she was openly mocking him. No one sporting the scars he did could ever be confused with pretty. “If you’re so smart, why are you changing in the parking lot?”
She rolled her eyes at him as she began shoving her stuff into the car. “Like you and every other cowboy here tonight weren’t all changing out of your lucky jeans right behind the chutes without so much as a solid wall in sight—or did you think that those metal bars offered more privacy than the dead of night? You know,” she went on easily, “if you hold on to that double standard any tighter, it’s going to split you right in two.”
“It’s different for me. But you’re a—”
“I swear to all that is holy, Travis, if you say ‘pretty little thing,’ I’ll personally split you in half myself.” Even as she said it, her gaze danced down to his chest and back up. Was she checking him out? No, not possible. She was just looking to see if she could find the best point to start splitting.
He couldn’t help it, not when her eyes rested on his left hip. Even though the scars were well covered by denim and flannel, he still pivoted sideways. “That