Chapter 11

Just once, Cole had wanted to render Shawnee speechless—mostly to prove it was possible.

And he’d done it. He’d finally won one little skirmish, and all he’d had to do was keep quiet. She was bound to bring up the interview eventually. While he was waiting, he’d played every possible scenario through his head and practiced his lines. He was good at that—storing away bits and pieces of dialogue he thought he might need.

But the effect on Shawnee wasn’t supposed to stick.

He scowled over the fence at her as she loped circles on the sorrel horse he’d taken to calling Sooner, because this one was far and away the most likely to amount to something in the foreseeable future, and not giving the two horses their own names made him a little crazy.

The gray remained Butthead, because that appeared to be where he stored his brain. By the time they left this rodeo, she’d have him behaving pretty well, but when he fell out of the trailer at the next rodeo he’d be a hot mess all over again. After two or three days he’d settle down and start paying attention, just in time to pack up and leave for the next show. Cole wasn’t one to give up easily on a horse, but he was beginning to have serious doubts about this one.

Mariah gave him a mock queen wave and a smile as she jogged past on Shawnee’s buckskin. She’d insisted on teaching him the barrel racing pattern, mostly because Mariah needed something to do. Shawnee just rolled her eyes and said Roy could exercise in little circles as easy as a straight line.

They’d crossed into northern New Mexico, climbing onto the lower flanks of the mountains where the air stayed cool well into the morning, eliminating the need for predawn training sessions. Analise had even started joining in. Over on the far side of the arena, she made a precise turn on Salty. She sat a horse pretty well after only a few lessons from Shawnee, her back ramrod straight, her black leggings and matching tank top making her look like one of those English riders—until she got close enough for him to see the tattoos.

The three of them congregated along the fence, pausing to chat. Cole folded his arms on the top of the gate and considered the odd trio. At first glance, a person might think they didn’t have much to talk about. But underneath, they all had the same…well, grit, he supposed. Shawnee was a sandblaster, Analise slightly more subtle. Even Mariah, under that smooth, sweet surface, could be abrasive if you rubbed her wrong.

Cole scowled at Shawnee again. Had she actually been in love with J.P? He hadn’t seen any sign of tears, but this funk of hers reminded Cole of how Violet had acted when Joe bailed out on her—temporarily. And dammit, Cole was just getting used to loud, proud, in-your-face Shawnee. What was he supposed to do with mopey?

Not that he had to do anything. Hell, he should be enjoying the silence.

But she was one of his crew. They were all his responsibility. He considered the piece of paper tucked in his shirt pocket. On one hand, he did owe her for covering his ass and making him look reasonably coherent in that interview. On the other, if he followed through, it would seriously mess up his schedule.

But as they said in the movies, “It’s quiet. Too quiet.”

Cole pushed back his sleeve to check his watch. He didn’t want to be a jerk, but…

The PA system hummed to life, and Tyrell’s deep voice boomed out. “Please clear the arena, ladies. The boss man is gettin’ antsy.”

Mariah rolled her eyes at Cole as she rode out the gate. Analise gave him a sarcastic salute.

Shawnee barely glanced at him as she said, “Give me a minute to change horses.”

The perfect employee. Polite, obedient, and quiet. In other words, all wrong.

* * *

The stripping chute gate banged shut behind the first bunch of bulls and Katie flopped down in the dirt beside Hammer, tongue lolling, as Cole surveyed the action behind the scenes. The Leses herded the next group of four up the alley, but Mariah had paused to chat with Hank, who should’ve been pushing the bulls up into the chutes. He leaned on the pipe fence instead, grinning like a loon. Mariah smiled back. Something in the way they stood—together, but not quite—made Cole shift uncomfortably in his saddle.

Shawnee rode up beside him and stood tiptoe in her stirrups to see what had caught his attention. She glanced at his face and snorted. “Don’t worry. She’s too old for him.”

Cole frowned. “She’s sixteen.”

“Going on forty. Did you know she designs most of her own clothes and already has a line of western shirts for sale on the Internet? Trademarked. Just something she does in her spare time between school and roping and plotting how she’s gonna be the first black woman to compete at the National Finals. And then there’s Hank.”

As they watched, he tried to spin the sorting stick like a ninja staff and swatted himself in the side of the head.

Still…Cole started to make a mental note to have a word with Hank. But Mariah wasn’t one of his crew. Plus, her father was fiddling with the sound system in the crow’s nest directly above Cole’s head, and Tyrell was more than capable of protecting his own. With a vengeance.

Maybe Cole should just remind Hank that it was hard to fight bulls with your kneecaps busted.

“Hey, Hank!” the nearest Les yelled. “Bulls comin’ your way. Pull your head out of your ass, would ya?”

Hank flipped him the bird, then coaxed the bulls on up into the chutes and jogged up to slam the gates shut behind them. “Ready?” he asked Cole.

“Yep.” Cole glanced over, but Shawnee had already moved into position. As always. “Turn ’em out.”

Hank swung the gates open, one by one. Cole and Shawnee sat back and let the bulls find their own way around the arena, sniffing the dirt and spooking at a crumpled hamburger wrapper that tumbled in the breeze. At Cole’s signal, both Shawnee and his dog closed in, gathering the stock into a small herd that the three of them pushed around the perimeter of the arena, then out the gate. Efficient. Organized.

And way too damn quiet.

When they were done, Cole hung back and let the others clear out. While Shawnee stepped off and loosened Roy’s latigo, Cole loosened his own cinches, tied up his rope, and timed his exit so they met at the gate.

“Your sorrel horse is going good,” Cole said.

Shawnee barely flicked him a glance. “He’s coming along.”

“I saw you roping the dummy on him yesterday morning.” Cole reached down to scratch Katie’s ears as she plopped beside his foot. “Looks like he has some potential.”

Another slightly longer, more probing glance. “I think so.”

“Helps that Mariah is here to pull the dummy steer around for you.”

“Yeah. It’s great.” She stopped, fisting her hands and hooking her thumbs in the front pockets of her jeans, her eyes going squinty. “Is there a problem?”

“Huh?”

“With me roping the dummy. Am I disturbing the ground or something?”

He stared at her, perplexed. “With a roping dummy?”

“That’s what I’m asking you.”

He had the distinct impression that she was gritting her teeth. And she didn’t seem sad at all. More like…stifled.

“Why are we talking about the dirt?” he asked.

“I have no idea. You started it.”

“I did not! I said your horse looked good. And you—” He threw up his hands in exasperation and hit Hammer in the nose. The horse fell back, burning the rein through Cole’s hand. He cursed when the snap at the end flipped around and smacked his knuckle. Rubbing an apologetic hand over the roan’s forelock, he snapped, “I was just trying to make conversation.”

“Why?”

“Beats the hell out of me.” He yanked the folded flyer out of his pocket and shoved it at her. “Here. I saw this when I went to the feed store and I thought you might be interested.”

She took it gingerly and shook it out with two fingers, as if it might be laced with anthrax. As she read the advertisement for a team roping jackpot that would be held in this very arena the day after the rodeo ended, the annoyance in her eyes turned to a gleam. Then her mouth tipped down at the corners. “This starts Sunday at noon. We’re leaving that morning. Although—” The gleam returned. “I could stay and rope, and catch up with you later.”

Cole stiffened. “It’s a seven-hour drive. You’re not doing it alone.”

“I’ve driven from here to Oregon by myself.”

“Not when you were working for us.”

“Then why did you give this to me?” She waved the flyer at him. “Are you leaving the dog for protection?”

Katie’s eyes popped open and she shot him a you wouldn’t dare look. Cole could feel the muscles in his neck twitching with gathering tension. “We have a day to spare, and the committee doesn’t mind if we stay until Monday.”

“Seriously?” Shawnee’s gaze jumped from the flyer to his face, shocked out of her politeness. “You’d rearrange your precious schedule just so I can rope?”

He crouched to pet his dog, his voice gruff. “You gave up competing to help us out. We should return the favor.”

“Oh. Well, if you put it that way.”

Cole snuck a look at her face, but her expression was way too complicated for him. She squared up her shoulders and gave him a smile so polite it was almost creepy. “Thank you.”

He should’ve left it at that, but instead he blurted, “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. You’re being too nice. It’s not normal.”

She gave an aggravated huff. “Gee, thanks. Good to know I’m usually a jerk.”

“Not…exactly.”

“Then exactly what am I?”

Cole scowled. How had a simple conversation turned into what felt like hand-to-hand combat? “I don’t know. Um, opinionated?”

“Well, there’s a polite way of putting it.” She angled her head away. “I thought I’d try something new and not say everything that pops into my head.”

“You don’t look very happy about it.”

“It’s a struggle,” she said dryly.

He could imagine. Sort of. “I’ll trade you.”

“For what?”

He hitched a shoulder. “Most of the time, when I’m supposed to say something, nothing pops into my head.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, and heaved a pained sigh. “You know you’re killing me, right? One wide-open shot after another, and me with a shiny new vow not to take ’em.”

“That’s my evil plot.”

She laughed, a single, surprised Ha! “Not bad. You’ve got more smart-ass potential than I figured.”

He ducked his head, scratching Katie’s chest to hide his ridiculously proud grin. “We’re staying here until Monday morning. Rope if you want to.”

He stood and started out the gate. She walked beside him, but let the conversation die into what felt like relieved silence on both of their parts. As they rounded the stock pens, a car whipped into the rodeo grounds, started for the contestant parking area, then swerved abruptly toward Cole and Shawnee. They scrambled back a few steps as the gold-trimmed Cadillac SUV skidded to a stop in front of them, sending dust and gravel flying.

The driver’s door burst open and a woman jumped out. Classy was the first word that popped into Cole’s head. Somewhere between her late fifties and a very well-preserved seventy. And furious.

As she stalked around to the back of the car, the passenger door opened and a cowboy climbed out. His right arm was in a sling and he moved with great care, as if not to jostle it. The woman dragged a beat-up suitcase out of the hatchback and tossed it on the road, followed by a rope bag and a pair of boots, which she sent sailing as far as she could in opposite directions. Then she slammed the door and stalked back to the front of the car.

“I’ll see you—” the man began.

“Not if I see you first…and I’ve got my shotgun handy.” She peeled out, the passenger door still swinging.

The cowboy raised his uninjured hand to wave. She stuck one arm out the window, diamond and gold bangles glinting in the sun as she extended an emphatic middle finger.

He watched until the car screeched onto the highway, then shrugged and turned to Shawnee, pasting a big smile onto his face. “Hey, darlin’. How’ve you been?”

Shawnee closed her eyes and swore—long, low, and filthy—while the infamous Ace Pickett beamed at her from the midst of his scattered baggage.