CHAPTER 9
Three weeks later
Lydia fingered the club floor pass while she waited for the bartender to pass over her Old Fashioned. For at least the fifteenth time in the last two hours, she looked longingly at the exit. What had she been thinking? Hopping on a plane, spur of the moment like this was so unlike her. So was asking Travis if she could make use of his unused NFR tickets and club pass. Her face still burned at the memory of Travis’s knowing smirk when he handed over the envelope. Of course, everyone would read into it and jump to conclusions. It turned out more than a couple of folks had seen her plastered against Colton at the wedding.
It had been a mistake coming to Vegas.
She should have waited until Colton came home for Christmas, like she’d planned. But the hope that Colt might wear her boots when he claimed the title of best All-Around Cowboy tomorrow night, had been powerful. And something Colton had said about playing it safe floated back to her out of the fog of her disjointed Thanksgiving memories. She was tired of playing it safe. Where had that gotten her? A big fat nowhere.
In for a penny in for a pound. Her mother’s voice echoed in her head.
Glancing down the bar filled with cowboys and glammed up ladies, there was no doubt she was all in. She’d pulled out all her New York City fashion stops for tonight. She’d spent way too much money on a blowout and manicure, then donned a gray fringed leather skirt, a sheer black turtleneck, and topped it off with a short black leather jacket. Lastly, she’d pulled on her favorite pair of confidence-boosting booties – the first pair of shoes she’d ever made on her own. It didn’t matter she wore twice as much as any of the bleach blonde buckle bunnies posted all over Colton’s social media, she was here to make a business deal with one of the hottest cowboys in the rodeo world. She’d been stunned to see Colton’s face, larger than life, on no less than three billboards around town. In rodeoland, Colton Kincaid was nothing short of a rock star. And she could see why. He’d been mouthwateringly good in the arena tonight, and when he’d jumped off the bull named Straight Shooter a full second after the buzzer had sounded, the crowd had gone wild. Same as her heart.
Where was her drink?
She’d sipped on club sodas all evening, but right now, she needed liquid courage as her thoughts turned again to the boot box propped against her barstool. Her blood, sweat, and tears were in that box. Hell, her entire future depended on that box. She’d worked night and day on the boots over the last two weeks, spending what little remained of her savings on a set of lasts that would match Colt’s foot, and the best leather she could buy. Emmaline Andersson had saved her hide by letting her borrow the industrial sewing machine that had managed to come through the spring’s tornado unscathed.
“Will that be all, miss?” The bartender pushed forward her drink.
She slapped a twenty on the counter and nodded. “Thanks.” She downed the beverage in one long gulp, then checked her lipstick. Rolling her shoulders back, she slipped off the stool, grabbed the box, and hugging it to her chest, made a beeline for the elevator. The lobby was crowded with cowboys and couples, but she kept her gaze firmly on the buttons above the doors, even as the crush of boisterous guests swept her into the elevator. With each stop, Lydia’s heart pounded louder and louder.
At the club level, the elevator opened onto a large area, filled with high top tables, a band in the corner by the window, and a long buffet. Cowboys, sponsors, and fans mingled in clusters. It was crazy. The clock showed long after midnight, yet folks were dancing and laughing like it was dinnertime. The scene reminded her of any number of restaurants in Midtown that hosted the post-Broadway show acting crowd. Theater people lived by a different clock. Apparently rodeo people did too. But where was Colton?
Travis had mentioned he was staying on the club floor, but she’d naively assumed she’d find him here, at the party. Especially after his showing in tonight’s events. Colton had been one of only a handful of cowboys to take his rides all the way to the buzzer, and was in first place going into tomorrow night’s final rodeo.
Lydia looked longingly at the buffet, groaning under the weight of barbecue, prime rib, fruits, cheeses, and pastries. She was too nervous to eat. “Go big or go home,” she chanted under her breath. “Go big or go home.” Those had been the last words Cassie had said to her as she boarded the plane for Vegas.
She hadn’t come this far to chicken out. Straightening her spine, she walked over to the closest cowboy and tapped him on the shoulder. He swung around, swaying a touch. “Excuse me. I’m looking for Colton Kincaid.”
“I think you’re a little overdressed for his party, darlin’,” the young man drawled, eying her with bourbon glazed eyes.
Lydia fought back a sigh of exasperation. “Can you please tell me where to find him?”
The man leaned forward, his whiskey laced breath heating her cheek. “Only if you’ll tell me what all you pretty ladies see in him. He doesn’t know how to treat a lady.”
Her eyes jumped skyward. “I bet he knows how to hold his liquor, for starters,” she answered tartly. She had no idea if that was true. It hadn’t been the case for the younger Colton, but surely as a rodeo star with a reputation to uphold, maybe he’d cleaned up his act a little? He’d told her outright he wasn’t as bad as he’d been. Thanking the man, she headed for one of the halls leading off the lounge. The first open door wasn’t Colton’s room. It was a party hosted by Carhartt. All eyes turned to her when she entered. Face flaming, she pointed to the box. “I’m looking for Colton Kincaid?”
One of the older men made a face and shook his head. “Keep going, hon. You’ll know it when you see it.”
She left the room as fast as her booties could carry her, but not before she’d heard another young man complain. “Man, how come he gets all the pretty ones?”
The smile that had started froze on her face when the older man replied. “Kincaid might ride the shit out of rough stock, but he’s a rake. Don’t know how his sponsors stand it.”
Lydia went cold, and her feet slowed. Stopping, she leaned back against the wall to catch her breath. What was she getting into? Had the Colton at home been an act? Was she stepping into a den of snakes? It wasn’t too late. She could leave now, and no one would be the wiser. But this was her one chance. And if she was going to put everything on the line to take a chance making custom boots, she wanted to know right now how bad it was. What she was getting into. Steeling herself with a deep breath, she marched down the hall. She rounded one corner, then another. And then she heard it.
Giggling.
Lots of giggling.
Oh, God. He wasn’t alone. Of course he wasn’t alone. This was the same guy who’d bragged he’d had a girlfriend in every town between Prairie and Manhattan. Duh. Again, the urge to flee grabbed her. But like the girl in the horror movie who crept into the basement, even though everyone knew the axe murderer was waiting behind the furnace, against her better judgment, she wanted to see for herself.
She knocked.
“Come on in, the more, the merrier,” Colton hollered from inside.
The sound of her heart slamming against her ribs filled the silence of the hall. If she left now, she could be around the corner before anyone came to the door. But her booties remained glued to the carpet.
“Coming,” he called.
She should have called him and arranged a meeting like a normal person. Just like in the horror movie, this was a bad, bad idea. Her pulse raced with the same terror.
The door swung open, answered by Colton himself, dripping wet, wearing nothing but a towel.
Her heart stopped mid-beat.
Colton fully clothed was a fine, fine man. But Colton stripped down to his skin was a rodeo god. From his damp hair curling at his neck, to the water droplets slowly meandering down his chiseled torso, he was a sight to behold. He had a scar across his left ribcage, thick and silvery. His abs rippled and disappeared beneath the towel barely clinging to narrow hips. But it was the large, black, tribal tattoo over his right shoulder that sent heat rushing straight to her pussy. Colton Kincaid was bad to the bone. And shame on her, she wanted every inch of his badness.
Their gazes slammed together, and for an instant, neither spoke.
Colton’s widened eyes acted like a switch and Lydia spoke. “I’ve come at a bad time.”
“No. Wait.”
She shook her head, mortification singeing her with the heat of a prairie fire. “No. Really. I should have called first. I thought, I thought.” She caught her breath. “I’m sorry.”
Her booties finally came unstuck, and she spun away, tucking the box under her arm.
“Don’t go.” His hand caught her wrist. “Please? Give me just a minute.”
Something in his tone pulled at her and she paused, daring to meet his gaze again. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that arrowed straight to her soul. She couldn’t walk away. At least not this second.
“Who is it?” Tittered a feminine voice.
Lydia’s face flamed. She could absolutely walk away. What was she thinking? “Never mind. I’ll catch up with you at home.”
Colt ignored her and strolled into the room. “Party’s over ladies. I’ve got important business to attend to.”
She trailed after him, then stopped dead at the scene in front of her. Not one, but three bikini-clad women climbed out of the hot tub, each wearing too much makeup and a pout the size of Texas.
“Oh my lord. Colt, I didn’t mean to–”
“Thanks for stopping by, ladies.” Colt continued as if he hadn’t heard her, topping off each lady’s glass with champagne.
She did her best to ignore the grumbling from the other women, but couldn’t help rolling her eyes when one of them shot her a scathing glare.
Silence engulfed them when the door clicked shut behind the last woman out. All Lydia’s well-practiced speeches vanished from her brain as what she’d just witnessed sunk in. “You were… naked in there?” she choked out.
“I worked hard tonight. Needed to get the kinks out.” Colton’s mouth twitched.
Damn him, he was laughing at her. “I know. I saw,” she said baldly.
His eyes registered surprise. “You saw me ride?”
“Yeah. You’re really good.” ‘Really good’ didn’t begin to describe his talent. Granted, the last rodeo she’d attended was the county fair outside Prairie, years ago. Colton owned the animals he rode. He moved with a wild grace that captivated the viewer and demonstrated unequivocally that he was in control. She’d never seen anything like it.
He shot her a cocky grin. “Kinda makes you want me even more, huh?” His eyes dared her to disagree.
Fighting the heat racing up her spine, she gave him a slow perusal, bringing her gaze to rest right where his hand rested on the edge of the towel. He’d get no argument from her. No, you don’t, girl, her brain scolded. Do not give him the satisfaction.
She lifted a shoulder nonchalantly forcing her eyes up to meet his molten gaze. “Nope.” She wasn’t sure how she managed to let out a whopper like that and still look him in the eye, but she did. “Not really. I find other things sexier than your six-pack.”
Turning, he struck a pose. “Like my ass?”
The laugh escaped before she could rein it in. He did not need any encouragement. Least of all, from her. She shook her head. “Kindness. Compassion. Honesty.”
Momentary guilt flashed in his eyes, but quick as a wink, his bravado returned. “You look good, Lyds. Damn good. That honest enough for you?”
Ignoring his taunt, she studied his tattoo. “When did you get that?”
“This?” He lifted his shoulder. “First year I made it to the finals. I was competing only in saddle bronc at the time, but I felt like I’d finally made something of myself. I wanted to remember what that felt like.”
Lydia’s heart softened. He tossed off the achievement like it was nothing, but his eyes told a different story. And she knew the pain there, had helplessly watched so much of it unfold before her eyes, unsure at the tender age of seventeen, how she could help. Her throat grew tight. “I hope you never forget that feeling,” she said sincerely. “Not many people know how much you struggled.”
His eyes grew hard. “And not many people will. I’ve made it this far by keeping the past in the past.”
Colt’s meaning was clear. “I didn’t come here to dredge up the past,” she snapped.
“Why are you here? Exactly?”
She stared at him a full minute before answering. “Some stupid crazy itch to see you again. And to give you these.” She thrust out the box, pulse hammering.
His eyes lit devilishly. “Stupid crazy, huh?”
Okay, maybe not her best choice of words. Flames licked up to the roots of her hair. He stepped closer, one hand still on his towel. “Will you put some clothes on?” As curious as she was to see underneath the towel, his muscles were distracting her from her mission.
He smirked. “Seeing how one of us, namely you,” he pointed out, “prefers a state of undress, I’m good with the towel.” His eyes dared her to object.
She rolled her eyes. “That’s going to be you on another billboard, isn’t it?” She arced a hand. “Colton Kincaid for Grace boots. Boots so good, you only need a towel.”
His laughter rang off the walls. “Good one, Lyds.” Then he lasered in on her. “Grace boots?”