Chapter 26

Cole forced himself to keep walking, his need to get clear of the crowd warring with his instinct to scoop Shawnee up and haul her off to his trailer. He needed to know that she was all right. Run his hands over every inch of her. Every inch of Salty. Hands that wanted to shake as he pulled the bridle off of Hammer and replaced it with a halter. Cole loosened the cinches, tied them up, then pulled the saddle and blanket off and stowed them in the trailer, every movement tightly controlled.

Then he turned around, walked over to the nearest stock truck, and slammed his palm into the side of the aluminum trailer.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

“I’m sorry,” a voice said quietly behind him.

He whirled around to find Shawnee standing there, Salty at her side, watching him with her mouth pressed into a tight line. She stepped forward to tie Salty beside Hammer. The two horses touched noses, a silent you okay?

Shawnee stripped off her chaps and flung them over the tailgate of the pickup. “I screwed up. Lost my bearings. I’m just glad—” She braced both hands against the pickup and hissed a curse between gritted teeth. “Salty could’ve been seriously hurt because of my mistake.”

“Your mistake? You followed orders.” He was used to the tight quarters of the turn-back arena. And in his place, without a clear shot at the bull’s head…“If I’d led him off and let you do the roping, you would’ve heeled him before he got to me.”

She thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Most likely. But that’s not the way you’re used to working with Violet.”

“You’re not Violet.”

“Thank God for that. Leave me in charge of Beni for more than five minutes and your ranch would be a pile of smoking ruins.” She drew in a long breath and let it hiss out, the tension easing from the line of her jaw. She angled him a look he couldn’t quite read, but it made things go loop-de-loop in his stomach. “So I forgot where I was. You forgot who I was. But we all still lived happily ever after. How ’bout we don’t do that again?”

Cole shocked them both by laughing, a single, choked hah! “Sounds like a plan.”

“Excellent.” She slapped the tailgate and turned back to her horse. “Let’s get these guys put away. They earned their oats tonight, and I’m sure you want to inspect Salty from nose to tail.”

Cole took a swift step forward to block her path. “What about you?”

“My nose and tail are fine, thanks.”

“Are you sure? I’d be happy to look them over.”

She made a shocked face. “Whoa! Are you actually flirting, Cole Jacobs?”

“I…might be.” He had to stop and think about it. Yes. By God, he thought he was. He eased a little closer. “Is it working?”

His breath hitched as she pressed her palm to his stomach, just above his belt buckle, and slid it slowly, slowly up until she reached the top button of his shirt. She dipped a finger inside and outlined the V of exposed skin at his throat. His heart jumped up to meet her touch.

“I dunno,” she said, low and husky. “How’s it working for you?”

He was paralyzed, a raccoon frozen in the spotlight by that brush of her fingertip. If he so much as breathed, she might stop.

Don’t stop. Oh God, don’t stop…

A throat cleared, loud and exaggerated, somewhere in the near vicinity. Cole paid no attention. Whoever it was could just go screw themselves. He almost whimpered when Shawnee’s hand fell away.

“Don’t mind me,” Hank said. “Just grabbing some ice out of the cooler for my poor, aching knee.”

Cole thought about offering to strangle the punk so he wouldn’t have to suffer anymore, but Shawnee went to take a look.

“Ouch.” She examined the rapidly purpling bruise under the floodlight on the side of Cole’s trailer. “You’re sure it’s just a bruise? No ligament damage?”

“Nah.” Hank scooped ice into a plastic bag, twisting and knotting the top with a swiftness born of long practice. “But you definitely owe me a beer.”

Shawnee’s expression went somber. “More than that.”

“Yeah?” Hank shot Cole a sly glance, then grinned at her. “Sorry, but I don’t think the boss man would be cool with me taking it out in trade.”

The growl was out before Cole could stop it. Hank laughed gleefully and sauntered off, no doubt to spread the news far and wide that he’d seen Cole and Shawnee doing…something?

Shawnee stared after him, hands on hips. “How can he be so awesome one minute, and such a complete dipshit the next?”

Cole just shook his head.

Shawnee pulled a Gatorade out of the cooler, unscrewed the top, and took several long gulps. Then she strolled over and offered it to him, deliberately turning the bottle so his mouth would touch the same spot as hers. The tip of her tongue toyed with the corner of her top lip as she watched him drink. Heat shot through him, so white-hot he was surprised the Gatorade didn’t turn to steam and shoot out his ears.

She smiled and reached up to flick a knuckle along his jaw. “Later for that, cowboy. We’ve got stock to feed.”

And she sauntered off to unsaddle her horse.

If Cole had owned a bullwhip, he would’ve been cracking it that night, trying to hustle everyone through the chores. Geezus, could they move any slower? Then the president of the rodeo committee showed up because of course he’d told the local newspaper reporter that of course Salty would be examined by the official rodeo veterinarian. As if Cole couldn’t be trusted to look after his own horse.

“I can’t believe he went right back after that bull,” the committee man said. “I thought he’d be traumatized for life.”

Cole shook his head. “These are war horses. A bull hits one of ’em, it just pisses ’em off.”

Once the vet was satisfied, they wanted to dissect the whole incident, quizzing Cole about how they could minimize the danger of a reoccurrence. When they finally cleared out, Cole practically ran for his trailer and dove into the shower. He took the time to shave and slap on something that smelled a whole lot better than horse sweat and manure. Then he considered his clothing options and was stymied all over again.

What exactly did you wear to a…whatever this was? Good underwear was a given. No saggy butts or fraying elastic. He hoped she liked boxer briefs because that’s all he had. And jeans. Was clean good enough, or should he wear the new ones? And what kind of shirt? He didn’t want to look like a slob, but it seemed silly to put on something he’d ironed when, with any luck, it’d get tossed on the floor two minutes after he stepped into Shawnee’s trailer.

Katie rolled her eyes at him, heaved a massive, disgusted sigh, and flopped down on the rug by the table. Finally, Cole settled on a pair of almost new jeans and his Jacobs Livestock polo shirt. Not fancy, but respectable. He pulled on clean socks and boots and stood.

Katie stood, too, eyes bright and expectant.

“Not this time,” he said. “You stay.”

Her eyebrows lowered. She spun around and plunked down again, pointedly showing him her back.

He bailed out the door with only a twinge of guilt, then stopped dead in the middle of the road, stunned. He’d expected to see a light in Shawnee’s window. Instead, her trailer was pitch dark and appeared to be buttoned down for the night. He eased closer, ears straining for the sound of the television or a radio. Nothing. Even when he stood outside her door, he couldn’t detect any hint of movement.

If she was waiting for him, she’d see him standing there, right? Unless she’d given up and gone to bed because he’d dawdled too long. He waited. A minute. Then another. The trailer remained dark and silent. His heart sank, then crawled off into a corner to sulk. After another couple of minutes, Cole joined it, slinking back to his own trailer, flinging his clean clothes into a pile on the floor and crawling into bed to toss and turn and curse until, at two o’clock, he kicked off the single sheet.

Katie smirked at him while he yanked on his rattiest old T-shirt and jeans to make his nightly rounds. Being a Wednesday, the beer garden had closed at ten, so any partiers were long gone. The bulls and horses were all dozing contentedly—damn their smug hides—and he didn’t hear a single voice as he made his tour of the arena and contestant parking areas.

He appeared to be the only living creature awake on the entire rodeo grounds, other than Katie. He stomped along, head down, kicking at pieces of gravel until he rounded the last corner of the grandstand. When he looked up, his pulse leapt into overdrive. It looked like he wasn’t the only one awake after all.

The light in Shawnee’s trailer was on.