The Bull Rider's Plan. Jeannie Watt
the gas. Ten minutes later they were at the field that he called home. After his twin moved out, Jess had never felt cramped in the small camp trailer he lived in while saving money. He was going to feel cramped tonight.
After parking near the trailer, he started around to the passenger side of the truck. That was when he realized—too late, of course—that he’d parked too close to the big puddle that had formed during yesterday’s long rain.
“Em—”
Down she went. He heard her scramble and curse, and by the time he got around the hood of the truck, she was getting back to her feet and wiping wet hands down the sides of her pants.
“This sucks.”
“Sorry.”
She frowned at him first and then at the puddle next to her, all but invisible in the darkness, since he hadn’t bothered to leave the porch light on.
“Where are we?”
“My place.”
She looked around the dark field where his trailer, the only man-made structure within a mile, was parked. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. Come on.” He took hold of her elbow as they walked together toward the trailer, but Emma pulled free.
“I could have used you a few minutes ago. I’m fine now.”
“Whatever,” he muttered. He unlocked the door and opened it, then stepped back as Emma climbed the metal steps. He followed her into the trailer and snapped on the light before closing the door, thus trapping the two of them in too small of a place.
You can’t abandon Len’s little sister.
The truth was that he wouldn’t have abandoned her even if she wasn’t related to Len. That wasn’t the kind of guy he was. He’d watch out for Emma until she was in a proper condition to do battle with Selma, who wanted her to wear the dress.
How stupid was that?
Emma grimaced down at her wet jeans, then shook her head as if thrusting the matter out of her mind.
“What’s all that stuff?” she asked, pointing at the canvas duffels and plastic storage containers.
“That’s my life for the next month.”
“The rodeo. Right.” She lost interest and swayed just a little as she crossed the tiny room and sat on the seat under the window. “Can I sleep here?”
“Sleep in my bed.”
“Where will you sleep?”
She seemed only mildly interested in the answer as she once again slumped sideways.
“Tyler’s bunk.” The small built-in bed in the hallway leading to the tiny bedroom at the back of the trailer.
“I’m fine here...” Em’s voice started to trail off. She was fading fast. Jess crossed the room and pulled her up to her feet, ignoring her muttered protests.
“You’ll do better in the bedroom.” That way he could get up, make coffee, start his day, while she slept it off. He propelled her down the hall, opening the door just before his bedroom. “Bathroom,” he said. He opened the bedroom door and pointed inside. “Your bed.” He turned her so that she was square with the bathroom. “Are you good?”
“The best,” she muttered before taking a stumbling step into the bathroom and closing the door in his face.
Jess shut his eyes, let out a breath.
Len would want him to do this.
Emma woke with a start, pushed herself up on one elbow, then collapsed with a low groan as her brain let out a mighty protest.
Where was she?
Think.
She tried. Her brain was still playing games with her. She opened her eyes again, took in the clues. She was in a rumpled bed in a travel trailer—
A surge of relief washed over her. Jess. She was with Jess Hayward. She was safe from her mom. Safe from her mother’s friends.
But for how long?
It wasn’t like they could march her to the altar and make her marry Darion, who would have a few things to say on the matter if it came to that. But they could make her very, very miserable. Darion had cut and run after they’d canceled the wedding, and was currently hiding out in Kalispell, but Em didn’t have that option. She had a job at the local café. She had no qualms about quitting, but she also had only a small nest egg to support her if she moved elsewhere—which left her at the mercy of Selma, the control freak.
There was a loud thump from the other end of the trailer and a muttered curse.
Jess, who’d given up his bed for her.
Well, he owed her for the crappy way he’d treated her in the past.
Em pushed back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for her head to clear. Dear heavens, but she’d kill for orange juice.
Maybe Jess had orange juice.
She reached for her pants, which were in a heap on the floor, grimacing as she realized they were soaking wet. A memory started to crystallize...tripping, hitting the puddle next to the truck, going down...
Embarrassing.
She shook out the pants. There was no way she was pulling those clammy things up her legs, so she got out of bed and opened the closet. There, on a shelf, was a stack of neatly folded jeans. She’d been hoping for sweats, but jeans would do. Sitting back on the bed, she pulled on the Wranglers. Jess was lean, but the pants still hung low on her hips. She bent down to roll the cuffs and instantly wished she hadn’t as her head started pounding harder. Aspirin was also a necessity.
She looked around the bedroom for her purse and came up empty. Hoping against hope that she hadn’t left it at the Shamrock, she put on the sweater she’d worn the night before and then quietly opened the bedroom door and slipped into the bathroom.
Yes. Ibuprofen. An economy-sized bottle, such as one would expect to find in the medicine chest of a bull rider. Pain was part of the game. Her brother had ridden broncs and she knew about hurting. Em popped two pills, washed them down, then grimaced as she faced her reflection.
She put a hand up to her bed head and tried to push her long unruly hair into a less bent shape. After a couple of pats and pushes she gave up and pulled open the door. It wasn’t as if Jess hadn’t seen her at her worst.
Although...last night may have been her worst. She was a drinking lightweight. She blamed Jess and Len, who never let her go out with them. She’d never even been drunk until she hit twenty—only one year shy of legal age. As long as her brother and his friend were around, she was well managed.
Now, Jess’s twin, Tyler...he was fun. But he was also a friend of Len’s and made sure she didn’t get into trouble. Life after high school hadn’t been as much fun as it could have been.
The curse of being the only girl in a family of boys—although until her father had married Selma, she’d only been the youngest of two. After Len had died, she had only half brothers. Three of them. All younger and all firmly under Selma’s thumb. She’d encouraged them to rebel by setting an example, but they remained firmly managed—something she refused to be.
She headed toward the kitchen, a journey of about eight feet, past the bare bunk that Jess must have slept in to the main part of the camp trailer, wondering why she felt so stupidly self-conscious. This was Jess, after all. Worst-case scenario, he’d treat her like she was still fifteen. Best case... She wasn’t certain that there was a best case.
Jess stood at the counter staring down at the toaster. He was ridiculously good-looking.