CHAPTER 20
Colton hopped off the treadmill, winded, sweaty, and just as cranky as he’d been when he’d stepped on twenty minutes earlier. Screw him for ever thinking a pretend fiancée was a good idea. He guzzled the remainder of his sports drink and tossed it with extra force. It bounced off the rim of the trash can, landed and rolled halfway across the tiny hotel gym before coming to rest against the lat machine.
Nine days.
Nine days of ‘don’t even think of speaking to me until I’ve had a cup of coffee’ Lydia. Nine days of her sweet ass in yoga pants joining him for sun salutations. Nine days of her perky tits taunting him through the tank top she slept in. Worst of all? Nine days of enjoying her kisses and public displays of affection, then lying awake sleepless as she snored quietly on the couch. He fucking loved those little snores, wanted to hear them in his ear as she lay nestled in his arms, not across the room.
He stalked across the room and snatched up the empty container, beating it against his palm as he returned to the trash can. She’d played her role to perfection after they’d ironed out their little disagreement the day he’d given her the ring. He’d laid everything on the table that night – his ups and downs with Sammy Jo until he’d called it quits, and the way she’d acted since then. The way Harrison had pressured him more than once to make an honest woman of Sammy Jo, all of it.
Surprisingly, it had felt good to get all that off his chest. Between his late father and his older brother, he’d learned at a young age to not talk about anything that bothered him, hence many of his poor choices as a young man. What surprised him the most, was how Lydia listened, really listened, to all of it.
Crushing the plastic, he jammed it in the trashcan and headed for the elevator mentally preparing himself for the vision of Lydia still damp from her shower. Maybe he should get out of town for a few days before the semi-finals. Take a breather. He had three days off after tonight’s performance. There was a rodeo in Laredo he could hit, make some easy money, clear his head. But as soon as the thought entered his head, he discarded it. He’d never leave while Lydia was around. Who was he kidding? He’d take Lydia any way he could get her, platonic kisses, snoring and all. Even if it meant his balls would explode from frustration. He stepped out of the elevator and marched down the hall praying she was already dressed.
She stepped out of the bathroom, toweling her hair as he shut the door behind him. “Oh, you startled me,” she squeaked, flashing him a smile as he stood staring unabashedly, heat lighting up her eyes. “You okay?” She cocked her head after a moment, sizing him up.
“Fine.” He brushed past her. “Get dressed,” he growled. “Gotta big day.”
“The run didn’t help your mood any.”
Neither did her state of undress.
“Want to meet me for lunch today? I have a client coming at eleven to make a deposit and get his feet measured.”
“Great news,” he said, mentally rearranging his morning so he could stop by her booth around then. “How many is this?”
“Five.”
“You gonna be able to keep up?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” She caught his eye in the mirror.
“Because I know how tired you got making two pair in two weeks,” he said gruffly.
“Worry about yourself, grumpy. I’ll be fine.”
Grumpy, indeed. How could he not be, when all he wanted was to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless? Then treat her to a fancy dinner, maybe some dancing, and then make sweet love to her all night long? He should be a candidate for fucking sainthood. “I was thinking about heading down to Laredo tomorrow,” he said as he dug into his suitcase. “There’s a rodeo down there, and I could use a change of scenery for a few days.”
She turned, eyes full of concern, clutching her clothing to her chest. “Don’t you need to rest?”
“Time to rest when you’re dead,” he grumbled, pissed that he’d brought it up. Now he’d have to go to save face. “I’m not going to lose best All-Around cowboy by ten-thousand, this year, either.”
“But you’ve ridden hard for nine straight days.”
He shrugged, frowning. “That’s the way of it. Hell, I know some guys who’ll hit three performances in a day.” God, he was an ass. She looked downright disappointed.
“Suit yourself,” she said quietly. “But be careful, okay?” She retreated to the bathroom, returning two minutes later, fully dressed. “I’m gonna head over to the exhibition hall. Catch up with you later?”
“Yep,” he said, staring out the window. Hell, maybe he needed another run. He needed to work this bad mood out of his system before the night’s performance. He’d been in the money the previous two nights, but he’d drawn a good mount for tonight and was riding last. Tonight, he owned the arena.
*
Razzle Dazzle bucked and kicked in the chute while the flankman struggled to secure the flank strap. The horse’s mood matched his own. Difference was, he was gonna come out on top tonight. Colt had studied up on Razzle Dazzle, just like he did with all his draws. The horse would pull left as soon as he was out of the chute, and would give a first strong kick with his rear legs. Then, it was fifty-fifty whether or not the horse would twist. The ‘twist and kick’ as Colt referred to it, was the horse’s signature move, and the reason not one cowboy had kept his seat this rodeo. Only three men this season had. Colt aimed to be the fourth. All he needed was a score of eighty-two to come out on top tonight.
After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was probably only thirty seconds, the flankman gave him the signal, and he climbed over the rail. A guttural noise came from Razzle Dazzle as he jammed his gloved hand into the rigging and settled his grip. Warning bells sounded in Colt’s head. The last time he’d drawn a horse this feisty, he’d ended up with three broken ribs. But not tonight. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, sharpening his focus to a laser point. Lydia was in the stands, and he wasn’t some wet behind the ears greenhorn with more ego than sense. He’d studied the footage, gone over the ride in his mind and was ready.
“Tear it up, Kincaid,” hollered one of his buddies.
“Show ’em who’s boss,” added another.
A chorus of encouragement rose up, and Colton smiled tightly. This was it. He set his spurs above the horse’s shoulders, raised his arm, and nodded.
The chute swung open.
Razzle Dazzle shot out like a rocket, rebelling against the sensation of Colt’s spurs. Colt’s spine jerked at the impact of Razzle Dazzle’s front hooves, and he braced his core, throwing his right arm back, ready for the rear kick. The kick came with a twist, but he was ready, countering the movement with his body, arm high, spurs marking across the shoulder break.
Another kick and twist, but to the inside.
This time Colt nearly lost his purchase. He struggled to right himself as he met the back kick, but he was losing ground with each buck. The horn sounded, and he dimly registered the cheers from the arena, but Razzle Dazzle wasn’t done. He kicked and twisted, and Colt flipped ass over heels to the side. His training kicked in, and he went limp, consciously relaxing his muscles as he tried to pull his glove from the rigging. The horse bucked again, yanking him like a rag doll. Dammit, his glove was stuck. He caught the flash of a pickup man out of the corner of his eye, but he was in no position to get away, not with his shoulder being yanked out of its socket with each kick. One of the pickup men yelled something, but he couldn’t hear it over the din.
The horse twisted and bucked into him, and Colt tripped, losing his footing as the horse dragged and bucked. His arm was on fire, and now he was completely at the mercy of the horse. With the next buck, he turned his body into the horse, praying he wouldn’t earn a kick to his ribs. It was enough for him to pull out his hand and he crashed to the ground in a heap as Razzle Dazzle bucked away. He lay in the dirt, ears ringing loudly as he scanned his body. He wiggled his toes in his boots, tensed his leg muscles. His left hamstring answered back angrily. Slowly he drew in his belly and shifted his hips. No screaming pain there. He curled his spine as he came to his knees. Spine okay, shoulder not so much. He spread his fingers wide, then gingerly stretched his left arm. His left elbow popped loudly, shooting fiery barbs of electricity up to his shoulder. He clenched against the pain. It hurt like a motherfucker, but nothing felt broken.
“Can you stand up?” A pair of boots asked.
He shook his head, clearing his vision. “Just shook up.”
A hand came to his elbow. “Let’s go.”
With the help of the judges, he got to his feet. A roar went up from the crowd. He gave a wave and a smile, and spotted his hat in the dirt. He walked over, grateful that his legs worked, and grabbed his hat, jamming it on his head before turning and heading out the gate to the cheers of the crowd. Seventy-nine point five. Disappointment crashed through him, but he couldn’t argue with his score. Razzle Dazzle had won that round, he was grateful he’d stayed on long enough to earn a score. He’d finish in the money and move onto the semis, and that was good enough.
Lydia rushed up, eyes wide with fear. “Colt, are you okay? Are you hurt?”
Her concern triggered a sweet ache in his chest. So did the fact that she was wearing the shirt he’d purchased for her. He’d noticed her admiring it the other day and he’d given it to her in the morning. “Nothin’ that some aspirin and an ice-pack won’t fix.” He’d be sore tomorrow, for sure. But he didn’t feel like he’d seriously injured himself. “I’ll schedule a couple of massages and take it easy. I’ll be good as new by the semis.”
He held out his good arm, and she stepped into his embrace, wrapping her arm around his waist. “I’m taking you to the doctor.”
“Nope.” He shook his head. “I’m fine.”
She twisted, giving him an evil-eye that looked so much like her mother, he laughed outright. “This is not funny.” Her scowl could have melted a glacier.
“Darlin’, I’m sure you don’t want to hear this, but just now, you were the spitting image of your mother.”
She gasped, then turned bright pink. “You’re right, I don’t want to hear that.”
He leaned in, catching a whiff of her floral perfume. A welcome sensation among the sweat, hay, and manure that permeated the arena. “It’s okay, Lyds. I like it.”
“I’m still taking you to the doctor,” she said with a stubborn set to her jaw.
He had half a mind to let her. Not because he needed a doctor, but because her worry touched him. No one, not one person, had ever worried about him the way Lydia had. Even years ago, when he didn’t deserve it, she’d been there to take his keys, or to try and convince him not to get stoned. He’d viewed it as judgment back then, meddlesome behavior from the class goody-two-shoes. But it hit him like he’d been slammed into the rails – all those times? She’d been worried about him. His throat choked tight at the realization. Not once in his career as a rodeo professional had anyone insisted he see the doctor. Not once.
“Colt?” She clucked at him like a mother hen, and again, his chest tingled at the sound.
“How ’bout this? There’s a rodeo physician back here in the Justin Sportsmedicine Truck. I can have him take a look. Will that ease your mind?”
She looked dubious.
“I swear, he’s a real doctor.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “Lead the way.” They made their way back to where the enormous RV stood just outside the arena, and took a seat inside. Colt started to unbutton his vest, but Lydia pushed away his hands. “Here. Let me do that.”
He gave her a crooked grin. “So this is all I needed to do to get you to undress me?”
Her eyes lit, even as she scolded him. “Stop. This is serious.”
“Sweetheart, I promise you I’m fine.”
She eased the leather vest off his shoulders, and he winced as he moved his left arm. “See? You’re not fine.”
“Just shook up is all.”
Her hands pulled at the buttons of his shirt. And damn him for being a dirty dog bastard, but a lick of heat rolled through him. “Can you slip your arm out?” she asked, eyebrows pulled together so that two creases appeared above her nose.
At the moment, he didn’t want to move. Her hands fluttering across his chest acted like more of a healing balm than any medicinal salve. But he’d learned through experience, that moving was the best thing he could do after a hard fall. Bracing himself for the flash of pain, he shrugged out of his shirt, hiding a grin as he caught Lydia’s eyes going straight to his tattoo. He rolled his shoulders in a circle, ignoring the fire that shot across his shoulder. “See? I’m good.”
The doctor walked in and pulled up a chair. “I’m Doctor Mike,” he said with a slow Texas drawl. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
“A horse named Razzle Dazzle tossed him around like a rag doll,” Lydia interjected before he could open his mouth to speak. “His hand was stuck on the strap–”
“Rigging,” Colt corrected.
Lydia glared at him. “Rigging.” She turned to Dr. Mike. “The point is he got yanked around before he slammed into the ground, and I think he’s hurt.”
“I’m not.”
Dr. Mike chuckled. “You’ve got a firecracker on your hands there, cowboy.”
“She means well.”
Dr. Mike smiled at him appreciatively. “You’re a lucky man. Life is always better when you have someone in your corner. Now let’s take a look. Left arm?”
Colt nodded, consciously trying to relax his body as Dr. Mike took his left arm and started moving it. First the wrist, then bending and straightening his elbow.
“Ouch.” He winced as pain shot out of his elbow.
Dr. Mike squeezed around the joint. “Any pain here?”
Colt shook his head.
Cradling his elbow with one hand, Dr. Mike began to slowly move his arm in a big circle. As his elbow came level with his ear, Colt winced.
“Where does it hurt?”
“Front, just next to my armpit.” For the first time, worry clutched at him. If he sustained a serious injury this early in the season, he was pretty much done for the year.
Dr. Mike dropped his arm. “You can get dressed. No broken bones, but you’ve got soft tissue damage at your elbow and shoulder.” He reached for a notepad, scribbled something, then ripped off the paper, handing it to Lydia. “Call this guy in the morning. Tell him Doctor Mike recommended you get seen right away for an MRI.”
“Are you kidding me?”
Dr. Mike swung his gaze around. “Absolutely not. If you’ve torn your subscap, or your rotator cuff and don’t have surgery, you could ruin your shoulder. At the very least, I recommend you start using an elbow brace and tape your arm. If you ride in this condition, you could tear something, even on a good ride.”
Damn. He hated riding with tape on. He’d done it before, but had quickly abandoned it because he felt like it limited his movement and his ability to respond to the horse. But if it kept him in the game, he’d do it. Reluctantly.