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“Don’t you think you should slow down a little?” she asked as they started to slow. “I need you sober to sign this.”
“Don’t worry, sugar. I can do just about anything under the influence. I’m sure I’ll be able to scribble my John Hancock.” He set the remainder of the pitcher on a nearby countertop as they rolled to a complete stop. He grabbed the T-shirt draped across the back of his chair and pulled it on just as the bus door powered open.
“If you could just do this really fast for me,” she said, blocking his path toward the door. “I’ll be out of here in a flash—”
“I knew you’d make it!” The excited voice came from the doorway.
Wendy turned and her elbow slammed into the pitcher, knocking it onto its side. Margarita oozed over the countertop and dripped onto the floor.
She snatched up a dishrag and wiped at the mess just as a tall, lanky young man bounded onto the bus. He had the same killer-blue eyes as his older brother and the same whiskey-blond hair, which brushed the collar of his red-and-blue plaid Western shirt.
“A promise is a promise.” Pete grabbed Wade Gunner in a quick bear hug while Wendy wiped at the spilled margarita and frantically scooped as much as she could back into the pitcher.
“You’re just in time, too,” the young man told Pete. His eyes flashed with excitement. “It’s happening.”
“Right now?”
The boy’s head bobbed. “She’s about to pop any friggin’ second.”
“Hot damn!” Pete exploded. “That’s my girl.” He headed for the door on the heels of his younger brother and panic bolted through Wendy.
She dumped the last of the iced drink into the sink before her gaze dropped to the pale green stain on the front of her shirt. Great. Now she was going to reek of tequila.
Except she didn’t.
She caught a whiff of the almost-empty pitcher and smelled only fresh-squeezed lime juice and the sharp, pungent scent of vitamins.
Wait a second—
Her speculation stalled as she realized the counter was clear. Pete had bolted, and taken her contract with him.
“You forgot the pen—” She started after him, but his long strides had him yards ahead of her by the time she lunged off the bus. He was a man on a mission.
That’s my girl?
His words echoed in her head and her throat tightened. In all their meetings on the topic of Pete Gunner, her boss had never mentioned anything about a significant other. Just a long list of temporary flings while he was on the road, including a week with a recent Country Music Association award winner and a few weekends here and there with a Victoria’s Secret pinup.
She thought of the margarita that wasn’t really a margarita and the Yorkie named Tinkerbell. Maybe Pete Gunner wasn’t half the badass he pretended to be.
Just as the notion struck, a grizzled voice echoed in her ears. “The name’s Eli,” said the old man who stepped up next to her. “Why don’t you follow me up to the house and I’ll help you get settled into a room?”
Settled? She shook her head. “No, thanks, Eli. I’ll be leaving shortly. I just need to get that contract back from Pete and then I’m on the next cab out of here.”
He belted out a laugh. “First off, darlin’, there ain’t no cabs around these parts. And second, if you’re thinking to disturb Pete, you’d better think again. When he’s with DeeDee, he don’t like to be bothered.”
“Which one is she? The singer? The lingerie model?”
“Hell’s bells, gal, DeeDee ain’t no singer and she sure-as-hell ain’t no dad-blasted underpants model.” The man laughed again, his belly shaking with the effort this time. “She’s his horse.”
“EASY, GIRL.” PETE SOOTHED the animal and gathered the slippery bundle in his arms for one more tug. The animal gave a loud snort and the foal slipped out in a tangle of arms and legs.
He handed over the animal to the vet who’d driven out for the occasion and turned his attention back to the black cutting horse stretched out in front of him.
DeeDee whinnied and lifted her head before settling it back down on a pile of straw.
“I know, girl.” Pete stroked her smooth flank. “You’re plum tuckered out.”
He knew the feeling. Six hours of sleep and he could still feel the exhaustion tugging at his muscles. Which made no sense whatsoever because Pete Gunner was the friggin’ Energizer bunny. He’d pulled all-nighters time and time again. Hell, he’d be pulling one tonight once the celebration for Wade’s birthday got under way. They had fireworks. Barbecue. Music. It was going to be one hell of a party and he was damned excited about it.
His heart sure wasn’t pumping overtime because of Wendy.
Sure, he liked the way she smelled and the way she wiggled her nose when she slept and he even liked her smart mouth. Despite the fact that she wanted something from him, she wasn’t the least bit anxious to impress him. A fact that stirred his curiosity.
But not his lust.
At least that’s what he tried to tell himself for the next few moments as he soothed his tired horse.
Seriously, she was a pain in the ass. Sneaking onto his bus. Cornering him in the shower. Bullying him while he ate his pancakes. Following him all the way home. Just who did she think she was? All she had to do was send him the damned papers and he’d sign them. He would sign them.
Not this set in particular, of course. His gaze went to the discarded paperwork lying next to DeeDee and the slimy substances blurring the words. He’d meant to be more careful, but then DeeDee had crowned and he’d forgotten everything except the foal. Western would just have to send out another one.
Then he would sign. Probably.
And then it was on to another PBR title, even if half the world expected him to give it up once he had the Western money in his pocket. That’s what battered veterans did. They gave in to their aches and pains, signed endorsements and stepped aside to give the newbies their shot. Not Pete. Bull riding was his thing. The one thing that had kept him going in the early days when having his own ranch had been just a pipe dream and he’d been living in a trailer in Lost Gun with his five-year-old brother and his alcoholic mother. She’d rammed her truck into a telephone pole on the way to the liquor store when he was barely sixteen. He and Wade had been on their own ever since.
But he’d made it. He’d started riding in local rodeos for whatever purse had been offered, and he’d kept riding all the way clear to his first championship. And he’d kept going after that, not just because of the money, but because when he was on the back of that bull, he felt as though he was in control of his life, a master of his own destiny, and that meant everything to a kid who’d watched his mother slip away night after night, powerless to stop her downward spiral. She’d taken him and his brother down with her, until Pete had managed to climb atop that first bull.
“Everybody’s comin’ tonight,” Wade said, effectively drawing his attention and distracting him from his thoughts. “Even Ginny.”
Ginny Hooker was the daughter of J. R. Hooker, the local sheriff and the meanest son of a bitch Pete had ever had the misfortune to run into. J.R. was strict, holier-than-thou and he hated the Gunners and the Lost Boys.
A feeling that had been born way back when Pete was thirteen and he’d “borrowed” old man Riddle’s horse and ridden it down Main Street, right up to the fountain in the town square. The animal had taken a crap just inches from the water and J.R. had hated him for that ever since. Even worse, Pete had taken in a handful of lowlifes—at least that’s what J.R. called them—and given them a second chance.
The Lost Boys had been just that at one time—lost, lonely, destitute. Boys without a home or a family or a purpose. Pete knew what is was like to be alone and struggling, and so he’d given them a place to stay and a chance to make something of themselves. They were now the hottest riders on the circuit and the family he’d never had.
J.R. didn’t see it that way. He despised the Lost Boys, and Pete even more for being their leader.
Rightly so. The whole town knew that Pete went out of his way to yank the sheriff’s chain. Partly because J.R. was a pompous ass who thought he was better than everyone, but mostly because it was just so much fun.
Why, he would have ridden DeeDee down Main Street tonight if she’d been in any kind of shape.
Pete held tight to the thought, ignored the crying in his shoulder that told him he wasn’t going anywhere except into another hot shower and arched an eyebrow at his brother. “Does J.R. know his pride and joy is coming out to our place tonight?”
Wade frowned and handed Pete a blanket for DeeDee. “Probably not, but it doesn’t matter. Ginny’s almost eighteen. She can do what she wants. And James will be here.”
James was J.R.’s oldest son, Ginny’s older brother and a once-upon-a-time bull rider. Pete had trained with him way back when and they’d actually forged a friendship based on mutual respect. A fact which made J.R. hate Pete that much more.
“Besides,” Wade went on, “the sheriff might not like me now, but that’ll change. Once Ginny and I get married and have kids—”
“Wait a second,” Pete cut in. “You’re not telling me—”
“No, no. We’re not getting married now, and we sure as shootin’ ain’t having a kid. But after she graduates college and I win the PBR finals, it’ll be time. We won’t let anyone stop us then.”
“After you go to college and then win the PBR finals,” Pete added, relief washing through him.
“Ain’t that what I said?”
“No, you said Ginny was going to college and you were going to the PBR finals.”
Wade shrugged. “What difference does it make?”
“It makes all the difference in the world. I already told you, you’re not climbing onto a bull in a professional arena unless you’ve got a degree under your belt. That was our agreement. I’ll teach you everything I know while you go to school, but you’re not hitting the circuit until you graduate.”
“About that …” Wade started and Pete shook his head.
“There’s no ‘about that.’ You’re going to college, Wade. We already talked about this.”
“I’m much better with bulls than I am with calculus.”
“All the more reason to stick it out. Just because something’s tough doesn’t mean you quit.” Their mother had quit on them by drowning herself in a bottle, an example Pete never intended to follow. “We don’t quit.” He eyed his brother. “You and me, we never quit.” Not back when he’d been dirt-poor with a six-year-old depending on him, and not now that he had his own spread and a great career.
When his little brother didn’t look half as certain as Pete felt, he added, “I bet Hooker would be even more inclined to come around if his daughter was settling down with a college-educated bull rider.” Not that J.R. would ever come around as long as Wade’s last name was Gunner, but Pete didn’t want to say that. Not when Wade looked so hopeful.
“You think so?” Wade asked.
“It’s worth a shot. That is, if you really like this girl.”
“I don’t like her, Pete. I love her.” Wade said the words with such conviction that Pete almost believed him. Except that Wade was young, his hormones raging, and it was too damned easy at his age to mistake lust for love.
What’s more, Pete didn’t necessarily believe in love. Not the give-it-all-up, do-anything-and-everything-to-hold-on-to-it kind that people wrote about in books and bad country songs.
Lust?
Now that he believed in.
He pictured a certain stubborn marketing executive and his groin tightened. Okay, so maybe he was lusting after her. How could he help himself? They had chemistry. Fierce. Immediate. Inexplicable.
While he couldn’t begin to understand the pull, it was still there. Burning him up from the inside out and making him want to forget everyone and everything and take her to bed right here and now.
If only Wendy was a here-and-now kind of hookup. She’d watched her father live in the fast lane, however, and so she’d put the brakes on in her own life. She was settled now, and he wasn’t. Settling down meant slowing down in Pete’s book, and that was the last thing he ever intended to do.
Even if his aching shoulder had other ideas.
No, as much as he wanted to, he wasn’t sleeping with Wendy Darlington.
“We’ll talk about all this later,” he announced, eager to get out of his own head and forget the damned heat licking at his nerve endings. He finished covering DeeDee with the blanket and pushed to his feet. “Right now we need to get cleaned up.” He grinned and winked at his younger brother. “It’s time to party.”
5
THIS WAS CRAZY.
Wendy glanced at her watch for the umpteenth time as she paced the front porch of the massive ranch house. She’d been waiting for Pete Gunner for hours and he still hadn’t come out of the monstrous red barn sitting just beyond the corral.
And when he eventually did make it out, she had the gut feeling he wasn’t coming out with the signed contract in hand.
Which was why she’d come prepared with an extra copy.
She’d almost marched number two down there after the first hour had ticked by, but Eli had stopped her. He’d insisted she join him for breakfast in the big kitchen. Then he’d taken her on a tour of the ranch. Then he’d forced her to play dominoes. And throughout it all, he’d told her story after story of how he used to ride the rodeo circuit and how he could still rope with the best of them. And how she really ought to consider signing a more seasoned man to represent Western American.
They were parked on the porch now, watching a massive truck unload dozens of picnic tables just beyond the corral. The barbecue pits had started hours earlier and the musky scent of mesquite filled the air. A stage had been erected and the band had already started setting up. In the far distance, a John Deere front loader stacked wood into what she guessed was going to be a massive bonfire.
“Modesty aside, y’all put too much emphasis on selling stuff to these wet-behind-the-ears young ‘uns.” Eli’s voice drew her around. “Why, they ain’t got a nickel in their pocket to spend on all that expensive hoorah that you all sell. Now a man like me is a different story. I got a nice chunk in the bank, an even nicer chunk under my mattress. I can appreciate the finer things. There’s a load of folks my age who buy from Western. I’m sure the female customers would break open the piggy bank if they saw a fella like me all decked out on some big poster hanging over the cash register.” He sipped the glass of tea in his hand. “What do you think?”
“I think I’ve been waiting here long enough.” She paced the length of the porch yet again.
“Slow down there, girlie. This ain’t the big city. We like to take our time out here. Kick back. Relax. You ought to try it. It might help those two pinch lines between your eyebrows.”
She came to an abrupt stop and touched her forehead. “I don’t have pinch lines. Do I?”
“All’s I’m sayin’ is a woman your age has to be careful about stuff like that.” He shrugged. “Say, did I tell you about the time I roped this nasty sumbitch horse called Smoochey over in New Mexico?”
“Yes and can we please stop talking?” Eli grunted and she started pacing again. Two steps this way. Two steps that way. Three steps this way. Three steps that way. Her temples pounded and anxiety rushed up and down her spine. The seconds crept by.
“So where do you live?” she finally asked after several silent moments that made her even more nervous than his constant bragging.
“I thought you wanted to stop talking?”
“I changed my mind. So where do you live?”
“Nearby.”
“A neighboring ranch?”
He nodded toward the front door of the massive house. “You’re looking at it.”
“You live here? With Pete?”
He nodded. “And Wade. And Tinkerbell, here,” he scratched the tiny Yorkie behind her small ears. She licked frantically at his hands and he fed her a tiny bit of sugar cookie. “And the Lost Boys, too.”
“The Lost Boys?” Her mind rifled through the various articles she’d read about Pete Gunner. The Lost Boys, so-called because they all hailed from the same small town of Lost Gun, were his protégés. They weren’t champion status yet, but they were gaining serious momentum on the rodeo circuit. She’d read that Cole Chisholm, a twenty-year-old bronc rider and one of the infamous Lost Boys, had caused an uproar in Phoenix when he’d unseated the reigning champion. Rumor had it he was good. They all were.
Rumor also had it that they were the wildest bunch of riders on the circuit. Now she knew why. They had Pete Gunner, the king, as a daily example.
The hum of an electric guitar sizzled through the air as the band started its sound check and she glanced yet again at the big red barn.
“Just ‘cause you keep starin’ don’t mean he’s going to come out of there.”
“He has to come out sooner or later.”
