Chapter Six
Tanner spent the rest of the afternoon reviewing footage of Carnage. The animal had all but perfected a midair torso twist that almost never failed to unseat his rider. Watching rider after rider bite the dirt after facing off with the big black bull was definitely a sobering experience.
But every bull rider was a chancer at heart. A man would never settle himself on the back of that much ornery power and muscle without having a daredevil streak a mile wide, and Tanner was willing to admit his was wider than most. He’d happily take his shot at Carnage, knowing there was a high chance he wouldn’t make the eight-second ride necessary to ensure his performance counted, because if he did stick the ride, he was going to score big time. There was no way he wouldn’t be rewarded for conquering one of the tour’s most aggressive, rank bulls, and a high score would kick him ever closer toward that million-dollar prize at the end of the tour.
Once he was done with the footage, he prepared his bull rope, tying it to the rail set up in the change rooms and brushing out last night’s rosin, working his way up and down the tail and giving special attention to the handle. Once he was confident the rope was clean, he rubbed saddle soap into it to keep it conditioned. Then he applied fresh rosin, the stringent, resinous pine smell deeply familiar after nine years of pro riding.
Once he was satisfied his gear was prepped, he spent some time with one of the trainers stretching and strapping his shoulder and wrist, before having a light dinner at the stadium, chowing down with Kane Wilder and T.J. Casey, both long-time tour veterans. They talked about this year’s rookies, and discussed the likely contenders for the finals.
Every now and then, Tanner caught himself thinking about Evie, wondering how her talk with Troy had gone. He didn’t sight Troy himself until it was almost show time. The other man seemed preoccupied and subdued, keeping to himself and sidestepping any shit-stirring going on in the change rooms.
Tanner figured that meant it had been a difficult conversation and toyed with the notion of sending Evie a quick text to check she was doing okay. Fortunately he caught himself before the impulse was more than a stupid idea in his head.
He wasn’t Evie’s keeper or her friend, and she would be just fine without him checking on her.
“You ready to do this?” Casey asked.
Tanner blinked and looked around. They were the only riders left in the change rooms and he could hear the booming bass of the loudspeakers working overtime out in the stadium. The muted roar of the crowd shivered along his nerve endings, and suddenly he couldn’t wait for it to be his turn to tempt fate and climb into the chute.
“Hell, yeah,” he said, pushing himself to his feet.
His boot heels echoed loudly as he followed Casey along the corridor to the tunnel that took riders out into the arena. His red and black tooled leather rodeo chaps flared with each step, the red fringes fluttering. His competition shirt was stiff with starch, the better to display his sponsors’ logos to the crowd.
The rest of the riders were gathered in a double row in the tunnel, and when the MC announced the riders they all filed into the arena, fanning out to face the crowd in two semicircles. The glare of lights and the roar of the crowd worked their magic to crank up the buzz in Tanner’s blood, and he lifted a fist into the air when his name boomed out over the speakers. He saw moms and dads and kids in the audience, rows of young men in their cowboy best, countryfolk who’d come to town for a big night. The lights flashed and pyrotechnics fired up, then the riders all gave one last wave to the fans before filing out of the stadium and heading back to the change room to finish preparing for their rides.
He was scheduled to ride tenth, which meant he’d be waiting hours to see if his points were enough to win the night—if he qualified. Back in the change room, he zipped into his protective vest and buckled on his spurs. He swapped out his black Stetson for his protective helmet, then collected his bull rope. A couple of the backstage crew wished him luck as he headed for the chutes and he acknowledged them with a brief nod. He didn’t like talking before a ride, preferring to focus on the challenge ahead. He pictured the high twisting kick that was Carnage’s signature move as he approached the chutes, his gloved left hand clenching as he imagined himself holding on to the rope for those precious eight seconds.
As was usual on the tour, there were a couple of bull riders in the chute to help with the ropes, as well as Dylan and Dan, who spotted and handled the latch respectively. Once he’d ridden, Tanner would be helping out guys out with their ropes, too, but for now he was getting in the zone, and his fellow riders knew not to try and engage him or interfere with his routine.
Just like always before a ride, he checked his pocket to make sure his lucky medallion was there, then he checked the buckles on his spurs and rolled up the sleeve on his rope arm.
The rider before him exploded out of the chute on his bull, a milky-white monster called Moby Buck. Tanner watched impassively as the other man stuck the ride for nearly five seconds before being thrown and stomped on the chest. Not so many years ago, a blow like that could have killed a man, but these days Kevlar vests meant that riders were safer than they’d ever been.
Which wasn’t saying too much, when you got down to it.
The bull fighters swarmed in to lure the bull away before the animal could cause any further damage, and the rider scrambled to his feet and limped toward safety. One of the medical crew helped him behind the protection of the rail, and the MC, Clint, explained to the audience that the ride did not qualify and talked up Moby Buck’s stats so the crowd understood they’d just seen a truly rank animal athlete in action.
Clint switched his attention to Carnage then, filling the audience in on the bull’s history and Tanner’s own bona fides while the bull was fed into the chute and Tanner’s rope snaked around its middle. Dylan gave him the nod, and Tanner stepped forward, climbing onto the side rail and leaning across to grasp the opposite side of the chute. Carnage’s big black body was directly beneath him, and he climbed over the rail and rested his boot on the bull’s back to let him know someone was coming on board.
The bull moved restively but didn’t start bucking, which meant the coast was clear for Tanner to slide into place. He positioned his boots on the low rails, careful to keep his spurs away from Carnage’s sides. Austin held the tail of his rope high and Tanner began the ritual stroking of his hand down the bull rope, warming the rosin until it was sticky and pungent. He loosened off the rope a bit to activate the resin in his handle, then placed his rope in the anatomical dip behind the bull’s shoulders and signaled for Austin to pull it tight.
Carnage moved angrily as Tanner confirmed his hand position—pinkie centered on the bull’s spine, handle deep in his gloved grip. He wrapped the tail of his rope around his fist once, then doubled it back and gripped it. Then and only then did he slide forward so that he was sitting almost on top of his rope. The bull moved again, slamming his hindquarters against the side of the chute, ready to rumble.
Tanner’s world slowed, the space between each breath, each heartbeat, stretching as he prepared himself to pit his strength and flexibility against Carnage’s deep, instinctive desire to rid himself of an unwanted rider.
One breath, two. He tucked his chin into his chest, every limb throbbing with adrenalin, his heart in his throat now. He focused on the patch of hide just ahead of his hand, homing in on nothing but this moment—and then he gave Dan the nod.
The gate opened on his signal, quickly swinging wide, and Carnage sprung forward, already twisting and bucking in his first attempt to unseat Tanner. Instinct and experience kicked in as Tanner settled his spurs into the folds of skin on Carnage’s side, using his thighs and calves to cling to the big animal as the beast bucked and jumped and twisted. Tanner twisted and wove, swiveling off his rope hand, his wrist burning with the strain as his body was whipped around. He kept his free hand high and loose, careful to keep it away from both his own body and the bull. Nothing burned more than a disqualification because of a touch before eight seconds.
Each second seemed to last a lifetime as he fought to keep his center of balance, countering every move the bull threw at him with a countermove of his own. His bones jarred with each buck, his teeth biting into the mouthguard. Just as he felt his grip start to give, the buzzer sounded. Carnage helped him out with an awesome back leg kick, and he took advantage of the momentum to vault from the bull’s back. For a split second he was airborne, sailing over Carnage’s wild-eyed, thrashing head. And then he was on the dirt of the arena, staggering forward a few steps but essentially sticking the landing. The crowd went crazy, and he thrust his hand in the air, his whole body shaking with the aftershock of his ride.
Long experience had taught him to always know where his bull was at, and he kept an eye on Carnage until the bull had bolted from the ring and into the exit gate. Then and only then did Tanner whip off his protective helmet and hold it in the air, accepting the crowd’s roar as his due. His score flashed up on the screen—88.5—and he did another fist pump.
That was going to take some beating.
He climbed the rail and clambered back into the chute, ignoring the many hands extended to help him. Then he was being hugged and thumped on the shoulders by his fellow riders.
“God damn, Hard Man, but you are a hard act to follow,” Austin said, shaking his head.
“I got lucky,” Tanner said. He’d put the prep work in, too, but everyone knew that luck was the biggest wild card on the AEBR tour.
The rest of the evening sped past as he waited for the remaining riders to face their bulls. By ten it had become clear no one was going to beat his score and he left the stadium knowing he was the favorite to win the event. Not only would the $28,000 prize money be a nice addition to his development fund, it kept him high in the rankings, which was where he needed to be to make finals.
All he had to do was stick his ride tomorrow night and he was home free. The thought made him grin in the darkness of his truck cab as he drove into the hotel parking garage. He rubbed his aching wrist as he rode the elevator to his floor, looking forward to a shower and maybe something to eat. If Evie was around, maybe they could even go downstairs and he’d buy her a meal. The thought was appealing enough that he lengthened his stride as he approached his room.
He could hear the TV as he opened the door, which answered his question about Evie being around. She was sitting on her bed, legs crossed at the ankles, as he entered, a miniature tub of ice cream in one hand, a spoon in the other. She swiveled her head his way, and the moment he saw her glassy eyes, he knew something was up. Then he saw the half-full bottle of amber-colored fluid on her bedside table and the penny dropped.
“You’re back,” Evie said, spoon frozen halfway to her mouth.
“I am,” he said cautiously, trying to get a grip on the vibe.
Because she didn’t look happy drunk. Not even close.
Must have been one hell of a conversation with Troy.
“Did you win?” she asked. The ice cream on her spoon was listing dangerously to the side.
“You’re about to lose your ice cream,” he warned.
“Oh. Thanks.” She slipped the spoon into her mouth. “So dif foo vin?”
It took him a couple of seconds to work out she’d repeated her question.
“Event’s not over till tomorrow night.”
“Bummer.”
She blinked slowly, then turned her gaze back to the TV.
“This movie is really bad. But I couldn’t get the remote control to work properly.”
He glanced at the screen. Superheroes threw punches at animated monsters while city buildings fell down around them.
“Want me to turn it off?” he offered.
She shook her head. “No.”
Her doleful gaze was glued to the screen, the spoon forgotten in the ice-cream tub now.
Yeah, she was really plastered.
“I’m going to have a quick shower, then order some food. You up for a burger?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, thank you.”
He couldn’t help smiling. Even when she was off her tree Evie was polite.
Out of deference to her he took a pair of tracksuit pants into the bathroom before stripping and washing off the dirt and sweat of the arena. When he returned to the bedroom ten minutes later, Evie was struggling out of her jeans, hopping around on one leg.
“Maybe you should sit down and do that?” he suggested.
“Oh. Good idea.”
She sank down onto the carpet and finished tugging off her jeans. Then she reached under her long-sleeved T-shirt and undid the clasp on her bra. Tanner quickly averted his eyes, taking his dirty clothes over to his corner and placing them in his laundry bag. When he turned back, Evie was crawling into bed in nothing but panties and her T-shirt, her long hair sliding over her shoulders and across her chest like a blonde waterfall.
“You sure you don’t want to rethink that burger?” he asked.
“Very sure.” She punctuated her words with a small, ladylike hiccup.
He rang room service and ordered a cheeseburger, then sat on his bed while the rest of Evie’s movie played out. As she’d said, it was pretty bad, and he was happy to see the credits start to roll. A knock at the door announced his meal, and he crossed to the door to answer it.
Sixty seconds later he was biting into a juicy cheeseburger. He could feel Evie watching as he ate, and he spared her a glance, cocking an eyebrow in question.
“Sorry. Am I staring? It’s just you’re such a neat eater. I get food everywhere. It’s like a crime scene when I have spaghetti Bolognese.”
She was sitting cross-legged on her bed now, completely unaware of how appealing she was, her slim, tanned legs on display, the outline of her braless breasts discernible beneath the soft fabric of her T-shirt.
“Thirty-one years of training. Don’t worry, you’ll get there one day,” he said in between mouthfuls.
Evie frowned, trying to puzzle out what he meant. Then comprehension dawned on her face.
“You mean because you’re older than me. That’s funny. You’re funny. I thought you were just bossy at first but you’ve got quite the sense of humor under that gruff cowboy exterior and that crazy-ripped body.” She seemed to register what she’d just said then, clapping both hands over her mouth, her blue eyes wide with consternation at her indiscretion.
“Why don’t you try a few fries?” he said, passing the bowl over.
Evie glanced at them, then shrugged and took a handful.
“Thanks.” She shot him a glance from under her eyelashes as she nibbled on a fry. “Sorry about that thing about your body. Shouldn’t have said that—makes it weird.”
“We’re good, Evie,” he said, wiping his hands on the stiff linen napkin the hotel had provided.
“I suppose you already know you’ve got an amazing body, so it’s not like it’s news to you if someone mentions it,” Evie mused, licking the salt off her fingers now.
She might be drunk as a skunk, but he was only human and the sight of her pink tongue made him very glad he had a tray across his lap.
“You ready to turn in?” he asked.
“I guess. Just let me brush my teeth,” Evie said.
Her legs got tangled as she tried to stand and she all but fell off her bed, disappearing over the edge. He heard her muffled laughter as she attempted to right herself.
“Probably shouldn’t have had so much to drink,” she said.
No kidding.
He waited until he could hear her brushing her teeth before leaning across to confiscate the bottle on her bedside table. Checking the label, he shook his head. Rum. Strong stuff, too. No wonder she was wasted.
When she was done, he brushed his own teeth, returning with a glass of water along with a couple of painkillers.
“You might want these in the morning,” he said, sliding both onto the table beside her.
She blinked slowly, as if she wasn’t quite sure what she was looking at. Then she waved a hand dismissively.
“Oh, I’ll be fine. I never get hangovers.”
“First time for everything,” he said, crossing to his own bed.
He flicked off the lights, then slipped off his tracksuit pants and climbed between the sheets.
He could hear Evie rumbling around in her bed, thrashing around to get comfortable. She punched her pillow at least half a dozen times, the blows so forceful he half expected the pillow to burst and feathers to rain down.
Silence fell, but not the good kind. He could practically hear Evie’s brain whirring away and he wasn’t surprised when she piped up.
“You haven’t asked how things went with Troy.”
“I figured you might not want to talk about it.”
He’d hoped, anyway.
“I don’t. It was horrible. The most insulting conversation of my life,” she said hotly.
And yet clearly she wanted—needed—to vent. It was a little scary that he found himself unable to deny her, even though every instinct he possessed told him not to get involved.
“What did Jensen say?” he asked, resigned.
Because if the other man had deliberately hurt Evie, Tanner was going to be hard put to keep his hands off him.
“He said I was like his sister. That he didn’t even think of me as a woman. He said the only reason he slept with me at my brother’s wedding was because I didn’t look like myself. That I’d pretty much tricked him into it.”
Tanner winced. If that had been Troy trying to deal gently with Evie…the guy had a long way to go when it came to understanding women.
“I knew he didn’t feel the same way,” Evie continued. “I accept that you can’t make someone feel something that they don’t. But I’m a woman. How can he not see that?”
Tanner didn’t know what to say. Of course Evie was a woman. She was a very attractive woman. The fact she seemed unaware of the extent of her appeal only made her more attractive in his book.
“Tell me honestly, Tanner,” Evie said, her voice husky with emotion in the darkness. “Do you think of me as a woman? Do you think I’m sexy?”
Whoa. Tanner might not be a rocket scientist, but he knew a no-win situation when he heard one.
“You know what? All of this is going to look and sound a lot better in the morning,” he said. “Why don’t you just sleep on it and see how you feel then?”
“So that’s a no. Bloody hell. What is wrong with me? Is it the way I dress? Do I wear jeans too much? Do I need to buy one of those push-up bras and a miniskirt?”
His brain automatically supplied a Technicolor image of Evie wearing nothing but a skintight leather mini and a push-up bra.
Sweet Baby Jesus.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said.
“There must be. Troy doesn’t think I’m sexy; you don’t think I’m sexy. Maybe I’m pheromonally deficient.” Her voice was ragged with alcohol-soaked despair.
“I didn’t say I didn’t think you were sexy.”
“Don’t lie to me, Tanner Harding. I don’t need your kindness right now,” she said hotly. She slapped the bed with both hands to emphasize her words, the sound loud in the closeness of the room.
“Look, we have to share a room together, okay? I was trying not to make you uncomfortable.”
“Exactly, so now you’re throwing me a bone, telling boring old Evie Forrester she’s real pretty and Troy’s an idiot, blah blah blah.” She deepened her voice and put on a truly awful American accent for the last part.
“I’m not throwing you a bone, okay? You’re very sexy. Plenty of guys look at you. You do not have a problem in that department.”
“So you’d sleep with me? If I got into bed with you right now, you’d have no trouble getting an erection and having sex with me?”
Good God. How on earth had this conversation gone in this direction?
“Go to sleep, Evie. Everything’s going to look better in the morning.”
“Answer the question, Tanner.”
“For Pete’s sake.”
“Yes or no?”
“Yes. I’d have sex with you in a heartbeat, okay? I’d do you till you couldn’t walk and you forgot your own name. Now go to sleep.” He could hear the frustration in his own voice.
There was a moment of profound silence. Then: “Liar.”
He shook his head against the pillow.
“Go to sleep, Evie.”
There was more rustling of bed linen on Evie’s side of the room, but she didn’t say anything further and he hoped he’d finally gotten through to her. He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes—then opened them again as he felt the bed dip.
“Evie.”
“Prove you’re not a liar,” she said, and before he could stop her she’d lifted the covers and slipped into bed beside him.
Slim legs tangled with his and he made an involuntary sound when he reached out to push her away and found himself touching nothing but smooth, bare skin.
Holy cow, she’d taken her T-shirt off.