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“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 doesn’t change the fact that this was a stupid thing for you to do, sweetheart. Out here, all alone—you’re just asking for it!”
Her face solidified into a fearsome look—the kind of look he’d seen a hundred times on a bull. Without a doubt, he knew that this girl—this woman—was about to trample him.
And he had it coming.
“Is that what this is? Am I asking for it, Travis?” Underneath the fierce look, there was something else. Disappointment, if he didn’t know better. “And it’s your job to put me in my place, is it?”
“I didn’t say that.” But even as he said it, his gaze moved down and then back up her body. He couldn’t help it. He was a man, after all.
She flipped her hair back, something new in her eyes. “Are you going to kiss me?” she whispered in an inviting tone as her back arched, pushing her breasts out front and center.
Another hit of adrenaline caught him off guard. God, he wanted to. He could pull her into his arms and feel the warmth of her body molding to his. He couldn’t remember wanting to kiss a woman as much as he wanted to kiss her.
A flash of hardness crossed her eyes, and he realized it was a trap. She was trying to distract him. If he got close to her, she’d set him down—of that he had no doubt. He’d seen what she’d done to Red earlier.
So that’s how it was going to be. She would threaten her way onto this circuit and when that failed her, she’d use sex.
Once he’d been misled, back when he was still green around the edges. It wasn’t until after the wreck that he’d seen how Barb was only using him to climb onto bigger, better prospects.
Red or his cohorts might be stupid enough take her up on her “invitation,” but Travis wasn’t. Not anymore.
He wouldn’t get to kiss this woman, no matter how much he wanted to. What a crying shame.
“Not without the right invitation.” He held his hands in front of his chest to show he wasn’t going to grab her. “But some guys would—they’d do a whole lot more than kiss you, no matter what you were offering. It doesn’t matter how tough you are, June. A bull in the arena, a rider outside of it—this circuit is no place for you. I don’t want you to get hurt, sweetheart.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I am so not your sweetheart, Travis,” she said, her voice low enough that it was hard to hear over the sound of that dog barking his head off. “It would behoove you not to forget that.”
Why couldn’t he make her see sense? She was being stubborn for stubborn’s sake. “You should be worried about guys like Red or Mitch, or the hicks who hang around after a show, hoping to pick up the bunnies the riders cast off. Those are the guys I’m trying to protect you from. It would behoove you to remember that.” At least, he was pretty sure that’s what behoove meant.
She glared at him, but he stood his ground, even though it hurt like hell. “And you.”
“I told you, I wouldn’t do anything without the right invitation—and I’m a man of my word,” he shot back.
She tilted her head to one side. All that black-silk hair draped over her side. What would it feel like, wrapped around his hands? What would she feel like?
“I just want to ride,” she said, the toughness gone from her voice. “I’m not out here to take you down. I...” She dropped her gaze, staring at the tips of her boots as she scuffed one against the dirt. He couldn’t tell in the dim light but it sure looked like she was blushing. “I just want you to believe I can do it.”
What—she wanted his approval? “And I just want you to be safe. If you won’t do the smart thing and quit, at least get a damned helmet. You got lucky on Hallowed. You have no idea what some of these bulls are capable of.”
A helmet wouldn’t have prevented his wreck, but it would have saved him that shattered jaw and a half-dozen surgeries. If he couldn’t keep her off a bull, the least he could do was try to keep her from getting herself killed.
She shrugged. Standing there with her hands in her pockets and her head cocked to one side, she seemed more like a woman and less like a bull rider. “I don’t know what they’re capable of?” She snorted. Anything soft or tender about her seemed to disappear into the night sky. “I’ll take my chances, Mister Younkin.”
She sounded confident—but didn’t they all? How many times had he said that himself, right before he climbed up on a bull and walked the line between winning and throwing his life away?
She got into the car—now, up close, he could see it was a slightly rusty Crown Victoria, like the cops used to drive. In fact, he thought he could even see the faint markings where 911 used to be.
“It’d matter if you got a bull like No Man’s Land. A bad draw can destroy you.”
If she knew anything about bull riding— anything about him—she’d know he was right. This wasn’t about her being a pretty little thing or him being a has-been. This was a matter of life and death.
She looked up at him from the front seat, the door still open. “It doesn’t matter, Travis. Not even if it’s No Man’s Land.” He gaped at her. How could a woman as smart as she claimed she was be so damned stupid? “I’ll ride what I draw. You’d do the same.” Then she shut the door, as if she’d won the argument.
“But what if you get hurt?” he shouted over the roar of the engine.
She rolled down the window. “This isn’t about you, Travis,” she said softly. “It never has been.”
He wanted to scream that of course it wasn’t about him—this was about her! But before he could get the words out, she gunned the engine, shouting, “See you in Mesquite!” as she took off, gravel flying out from her wheels and that dog barking wildly from the backseat.
She was going to Mesquite.
She was going to ride.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_f491e3b2-dfb7-5426-8eeb-318ec5d29b6d)
MESQUITE WAS NOT a bad town.
June kept telling herself this as she slowly cruised the strip with her laptop propped against her thigh, searching for a network connection. She had two days to finish the paper for her Twentieth Century American Frontier class before she had to muscle her way back onto a bull.
Five days after she’d driven away from Travis Younkin, she was still steamed. He might not be able to keep her out of the arena, but she knew he was going to fight her every single step of the way, the whole time thinking he was being chivalrous and protective.
The argument in the parking lot ran through her head again. What had he meant, warning her to be careful around Mitch? The one guy open to the possibility of a woman bull rider, and she was supposed to keep her distance?
And she wasn’t supposed to be worried about Travis? He was the best rider on the circuit and the one who most wanted her gone. There’d been a moment when she’d been sure he was going to press the issue in a physical way...
Except he hadn’t. He’d stepped back. Yes, he’d called her sweetheart, but he hadn’t kissed her. Because she hadn’t invited him to.
She shivered at the memory of how he’d looked at her when he’d said he was a man of his word. He’d wanted to kiss her, that look had said. Wanted to very much.
And yet he hadn’t.
She’d never been a buckle bunny—she’d get her own damn buckle, thank you very much—but in that moment, she’d felt like she was seventeen again, watching Travis Younkin nail ride after amazing ride and wondering what it would be like to chase just the one buckle—his.
He’d proven himself to be an honorable man. The wreck on No Man’s Land hadn’t changed that. If anything, it had made Travis, the bull rider, more fascinating. He’d survived something that would have killed a lesser man and come back for more. Clearly, he was something more.
He was an honorable man who didn’t want her to ride.
Fine. That was the way it was. He was another man she had to prove wrong. The only difference was, she was attracted to this man. And that was a problem. When Red hit on her, he was trying to put her in her place—let her know she was nothing more than a girl among men. But Travis? He took her need to ride as a personal insult.
All the more reason for her to get on a bull in two days’ time.
Finally, she spotted Apollo Coffee Shop. Coffee shops usually had free Wi-Fi. Free was the important point.
Jackpot! She had a connection. She parked as far away from the building as she could while maintaining the link.
It had taken a lot of planning to get permission to finish her final semester online. She’d taken several courses out of order, and curried serious favor with important professors to make sure the chips would fall in her favor. She’d even invited the Native Studies chair to a tribal wedding and funeral so that he could document indigenous ceremonies firsthand.
If there was one thing June hated, it was being documented.
But it had paid off. She would finish her final eighteen credit hours online. She’d left campus during spring break and driven to the Illinois rodeo to twist Mort’s arm into letting her on the TCB Ranger Circuit.
That had been the deal. Her boss, Joseph Yellow Robe, and the Real Pride Ranch he owned, would kick in the seed money if—and only if—she finished college. He hadn’t been happy about her long-distance learning plan, but she’d convinced him that the sooner she got on a professional bull and earned enough money to live above the poverty line, the sooner she’d be able to get back into the classroom as a teacher.
Right after she finished this paper.
After her quick purchase, with green tea in one hand, iced water for Jeff in the other, she settled back into her seat. The car was a disaster zone, what with Jeff shedding on the sleeping bag in the back and two days of fast-food wrappers all over the place, but it was easier to think about the New American Frontier out here than inside where hipsters and past-their-prime yuppies blew wads of cash she didn’t have on organic, shade-grown, fair-trade coffee.
At least tonight, she could crash at a friend of a friend’s—if they were home. No one had picked up the phone yet.
“Could be another night in the car,” she muttered. Another in a long string of nights in the car. On hot nights, Jeff slept on the floor, legs twitching as he chased prairie dogs and jackrabbits in his sleep. On cold nights, he hefted his bulk onto the backseat with her. “We can handle the car, right, boy?” The only response she got was his wet nose on the center console, and the thump of his tail in the back. At least one male liked her.
She dove into her work.
* * *
FOUR HOURS LATER, June was far more interested in getting a third cup of tea than in the sociopolitical tensions of the New Frontier. All she could do was watch the people and hope her eyeballs uncrossed sometime soon.
Even from the parking lot, the people-watching was good. Mesquite was a hopping place at rush hour. Standard pickups dominated the traffic, but there were also minivans and sedans.
Traffic hadn’t just picked up at the intersection. People were pouring into the Apollo drive-thru. Still, the actual parking lot was fairly empty. Not another car within four spaces.
Until a Bronco that sounded like it had left its muffler by the side of some dirt road pulled in three spaces down from her. The windows were tinted, but the passenger’s was down, and what sounded like old-fashioned country music wafted toward June. She had a clear view of the occupants and darn it, she couldn’t help taking a look.
The passenger removed his cowboy hat. The dark hair, the carved jaw—was that the Brazilian?
June watched in shock as the Brazilian leaned over and apparently kissed the heck out of someone. That someone was kissing him right back. She could only see the back of the Brazilian, but hands were everywhere as the two threw caution to the wind.
What little she knew of the guy said he wasn’t the kind who made out in the front seat of a Bronco in a parking lot. She knew she shouldn’t look, but she couldn’t stop. The kiss went on and on. And on.
She looked away to blot out the hot and heavy next door, and found herself thinking about the glimpses she’d had of Travis Younkin unbuckling his pants behind a see-through gate.
Not that she’d seen much—all the guys wore compression shorts underneath their jeans for support—but still, he’d been a whole lot closer to naked than he had been when the jeans were up. She’d seen the tail end of a wide, raised scar just below the bottom of his shorts. It’d made her hurt for him.
Despite the scar, he’d still had the kind of Wrangler butt cowgirls sang songs about. His legs were muscled, the tight bike shorts highlighting each curve—and bulge. Not that she was the kind of girl who stared at bulges. Not for very long, anyway. Just enough to know that he bulged in all the right places. Combined with the intense way he looked at her and that near-beard he wore? If she wasn’t so mad at his overbearing, Travis-knows-best attitude, she’d be forced to admit that the man was hot. Well, he’d always been hot. But now he carried a certain amount of smolder about him. She wondered if he even realized how attractive he was. Probably not. He hadn’t acted like a man who knew he could turn a woman on with one focused gaze.
Luckily, the chances of someone forcing her to admit that Travis Younkin still had it were slim and none. She couldn’t let her appreciation of the hotter things in life distract her. And she wouldn’t. She needed to ride to earn enough money to get off—and stay off—welfare, but more than that she wanted to prove she was good enough to ride with the big boys.
That she was good at something.
