Chapter 6

Cole was never going to unsee what he’d just seen.

Prior to that morning, if he had been asked to describe Shawnee, he would have said something like stocky, or strong. He might have been thinking round. But not the kind of round that made a man raise his eyebrows and sketch her shape in the air with his hands.

Yeah, she was that kind of round.

Now he wouldn’t be able to stop noticing. Ever. And it wasn’t just her cleavage. It was the way she moved, the unexpected agility born of hours of the physically exhausting ground work he’d witnessed today. Cole had trained enough horses to know the strength and endurance it took. Shawnee had the muscle to show for it.

He should have walked away the instant he’d realized he could see through her shirt. He’d damn sure been raised better. His ears stung from the thought of how his aunt would react if she’d caught him. Honestly, though, he’d been mesmerized even before the peep show. The way Shawnee handled that horse—fierce, powerful, and…well, it sounded stupid, but exultant. As if she reveled in the challenge. Worshiped at the altar of Equinus, as some horse magazine liked to say.

Damn. Why did those useless snippets get stuck in his head? Now he was picturing her as a Greek goddess wearing nothing but a droopy sheet. But the way that flea-bitten gray had all but bowed to her in the end—words couldn’t describe that moment, when a horse gave you their complete trust.

And the woman was so focused she had no idea she was as good as naked from the waist up.

Cole hissed a curse that made Katie’s head jerk up from where she was hunkered in the shadow of his horse. He was never, ever gonna get that out of his mind. And Shawnee would know. Probably use it against him every chance she got. He yanked up on his cinch hard enough to make Hammer pin his ears in protest.

“Sorry,” he muttered, and backed it off a notch.

As he swung aboard the blue roan, Hank strolled in from the stock pens. He flashed Cole one of the grins that, along with his slender build and baby face, made him seem like a perpetual teenager. “We took bets on how long before you and Shawnee butted heads. Cruz won—he’s the only one who thought you’d make it through the whole rodeo last night. ’Course, he hadn’t met Shawnee yet. She don’t step aside for anyone.”

Cole refused to growl, tempting as it was. “She didn’t know the schedule.”

“So we’ll be back to running the stock at eight from now on?”

Cole shifted in the saddle, irritated. Shawnee had a legitimate reason to use the arena and was willing to get up before dawn to take advantage of the coolest part of the day. Cole had to respect her dedication. He supposed there wasn’t that much difference between eight and nine as far as running the stock went. If he said so now, though, it would look like she’d won.

“We’re working out a compromise,” he hedged.

“I wouldn’t mind lettin’ her compromise me.” Hank’s grin turned into a leer. “That’s a woman who knows stuff, ya know what I mean?”

Cole snorted. “As if she’d look twice at a punk like you.”

“I’m only a year younger than J.P. and she’s got plenty of use for him.”

J.P. Azeveda? Cole had to fight off a scowl. Figured, Shawnee would go for a guy who was a genius with a rope. Age aside, though, J.P. was Hank’s polar opposite—polite, respectful, and thankful for every time he set foot in a rodeo arena. He’d come from Brazil with nothing but a suitcase and a rope. Six months later he was on track to qualify for the National Finals.

Yeah, he could see Shawnee with J.P. But Hank…

“I wouldn’t put you and J.P. in the same class,” Cole said.

“Yeah, he’s just a team roper,” Hank said with a sneer. “But it ain’t like she’s picky.”

Irritation congealed into cold fury at the implied insult. “And you are?”

“That’s different. I’m a guy.”

“So you can stick your dick wherever you want, then call a girl a slut for letting you?”

A smart man would’ve backpedaled. Hank just shrugged. “I don’t make the rules.”

“I do.” Cole leaned down, grabbed Hank, and hoisted him up until his feet were thrashing in the air as he choked and clawed at the fist bunched in his T-shirt. Cole hauled him close, so they were eye to eye. “If I hear you talk about a woman that way again, I’ll take you out back in the bull pens and teach you some respect.”

Hank tried to gasp out an answer. Cole let him work at it for a while, then tossed him on his butt in the dirt. “Get on my other horse. I need some help out here.”

“I’ve got it,” a voice said behind them.

Cole cranked around in his saddle as Shawnee led her buckskin through a side gate covered by a banner advertising the local Dodge dealership. Damn. How long had she been back there listening? And why was his face going hot, as if he’d been the one spouting off? “I didn’t expect you.”

“Why not? This is part of the job, right?”

“Yes, but—”

Her face was still flushed from heat and exertion. She’d barely had time to pull on a baseball cap and…shit, don’t look…a dry shirt. She had to be down at least three quarts of fluid, some of which she’d replaced from the clear plastic water bottle in her hand. She stepped on her horse, polished off the rest of the water, and set the bottle on top of the nearest fencepost, all without a glance at Hank as he scrambled to his feet, knocking dirt off his jeans.

“Whenever you’re ready, boss,” she said.

If she’d heard even part of what had been said, she should be ripping Hank in two, with her tongue if nothing else. She just kept pretending he didn’t exist as he hightailed it out the gate to the stock pens. Her silence should have been a nice change.

So why did Cole feel let down?

He reined Hammer around and signaled to the boys in the back pens. Ten head would buck in each event that night—bareback, saddle bronc, and bull riding—plus three extras drawn for possible re-rides if the first animal didn’t perform up to par. They worked the stock through in groups of four, letting them trot around snorting and blowing as they checked out the fences, got a feel for the ground, and found the exit gate. Nothing killed the momentum of a rodeo performance faster than a horse or bull that refused to leave the arena. Plus, they’d be more likely to have their best trip if they were familiar with their surroundings.

After every animal had made the tour, the crew ran them through the bucking chutes and turned them out one at a time, testing every gate hinge and latch in the process. Overkill probably, but that was Cole’s middle name. His job was to be sure the rodeo went off without a hitch, that every horse and every bull was prepared to give a hundred percent. If that made him an anal-retentive bastard, so be it, as long as the people in the stands got their money’s worth.

Shawnee followed his instructions without a word, either plotting ways to murder Hank or on the verge of keeling over from heat exhaustion. The quiet was nerve-wracking. Cole kept trying to check her out without making her think he was, you know, checking her out. Which he wasn’t. Intentionally. Could he help it if his mind jumped in all the wrong directions?

When the last bull had been herded out of the arena, Cole climbed off Hammer and loosened his cinches. Shawnee did the same. They both stepped toward the gate, then stopped, each waiting for the other to go first. Cole felt like he should say something about their encounter that morning. Apologize. Explain. Express his appreciation.

No. Wait. That was not what he meant.

She paused, then waved toward where Hank had hit the ground. “You can’t fight that bullshit.”

“Habit.” When her head tilted in question, he hitched a shoulder and inspected the dirt between his boots. “You know, um, Violet…”

“Ah. Small town, single mom, big mouths.”

He was blushing again, for God’s sake. “I had to set ’em straight now and then.”

“By setting them on their asses?”

“Sometimes.”

She slugged him in the arm. When his head jerked up, she smiled, and for once he didn’t feel like he was the butt of the joke. “Never thought I’d say this, but I like your style.”

“Uh, thanks.” As she started for the gate he blurted, “We can run the stock at eight thirty from now on.”

“Damn. I should have flashed you sooner. As long as you’re feelin’ cooperative, what I’d really like is the key to the arena lights so I can be done before the sun comes up.” She tipped her sunglasses down and cocked those eyebrows at him, her grin sharpening to its usual razor edge. “Get it for me and I’ll show you my ass, too.”

Cole stared after her, dumbfounded, as she sauntered away. And damn it to hell, he could not stop himself from looking at the ass in question. He turned, folded his arms on his saddle, and buried his face in them. What had already been the longest summer of his life had officially become eternity.

In hell. With his own personal demon.