Chapter Two
Joss’s breath hitched at the sudden seriousness to his tone. He suddenly didn’t seem twenty-seven. He seemed old beyond his years. Her arms prickled with goose bumps and her nipples scrunched into tight points.
God. He was so damn enticing. She’d never been tempted to drag a stranger into her car and do him on the side of the road at midnight.
Never.
But she was now. Except she didn’t do crap like that.
“Well…” Joss clawed her way back from the edge. “There are plenty of them as well.”
He looked like he was going to push some more but then he shrugged and smiled. The guy obviously knew to quit while he was ahead. After all, there were plenty more fish in the sea for someone young and cocky and bulletproof.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying, right?”
Joss shook her head at his unabashed statement. “I guess not.”
“Troy.” He held out his hand. “Troy Jensen. Ask for me at security if you change your mind about coming to watch.”
She slid her hand into his, shutting her eyes briefly as the erotic rub of work-roughened fingers played havoc with her self-control. She opened her eyes. “I won’t.”
His shrug was dismissive as he held on to her hand. “And you are?”
Oh Christ. He touched her and she lost her mind. “Oh…sorry. Jocelyn. Garrity. People call me Joss.” Why she told him that she had no idea. As if he’d care anyway.
“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Joss.”
Oh God. That was why. That was why she’d told him. She’d wanted to hear it roll off his tongue, all slow and lazy and accented, dragging out that double s, somehow making it his own.
She pulled her hand back before she did something really crazy like tug him forward. She knew the way women knew, he’d totally be up for a midnight quickie, stranger or not, and her knees went weak.
Sweet baby cheeses. What the hell was wrong with her?
“Good night, Troy. Stay safe this weekend.”
He touched the brim of his hat in salute. “Always.”
So damn cocky.
*
After sleeping late, Troy spent the day checking out the town and the venue for tomorrow night’s rodeo. As a veteran of the American Extreme Bull Riders Tour, he’d played much bigger but that’s what happened when you got busted down to the pro circuit because you didn’t have enough points to compete in the big league.
It was the first time it had happened to him in seven years on the US circuit. He’d taken out the world championship his rookie year, won Barretos in Brazil a couple of years later and won just about every city on the circuit at one time or other. He’d been ranked in the top ten for the last five years. But this last year hadn’t been great as his injuries had accumulated and it was the first time he’d been kicked out of the top rankings.
He wasn’t worried though. He knew he’d make up the points to rejoin the big league. Winning in Plainview, Big Spring and Lubbock should get him enough points to put him back on the extreme circuit in time for Tucson in August.
And there was something about the feel of the smaller events. He felt closer to the fans, his roots. It reminded him of how it was in the beginning, when he first started out in the circuit back home, sleeping in the back tray of his ute at each event because he couldn’t afford a hotel room.
All he’d needed was his swag and the stars and the prospect of riding the meanest, most ornery bulls on offer and he’d been happy as a pig in mud.
Of course, bull riding had given him the means to afford the best hotels but he’d never been interested in the trappings. Or even the money really. It was nice but it didn’t mean much when he was living on borrowed time.
He had absolutely no doubt that one day, a one-ton beast was going to get the better of him and a healthy bank balance meant squat when you were dead.
You couldn’t take it with you, right?
What he loved more than anything was the camaraderie that came from hanging out with the guys at cheap motels. The smack talk and bullshit. The stories of wild rides and near misses. The celebrations at the end of each night.
And after all that was done? Whatever woman was happy to continue the party privately. And there was never any shortage of them. Bull riding was a high-adrenaline, high-danger sport and that was better than any female Viagra on the market.
Women loved him. Women who, like him, got off on the high of defying death and understood that riding a champion cowboy was a one-night deal.
Not women like Joss Garrity.
Troy took a swig of his beer. He’d been shooting the breeze two doors down with a couple of starry-eyed rookies for the last few hours but it was nine p.m. and everyone was bedding down for the night in preparation for the heats tomorrow. So he was back in his room with just the television, Chinese takeout and his own thoughts for company.
He smiled at the vision of a woman beating the crap out of a set of lug nuts with a wrench. He laughed out loud and shook his head. In all his days, he’d never seen a more magnificent sight, her long ponytail flying, her lips set in a determined line.
Strong too. Her legs evenly spaced, her biceps flexing. He’d half expected to see sparks.
He’d thought about her a lot today. More than had been good for him. In fact she’d been distracting as hell. For someone who thought of women only in relation to the fun he could have with them between the sheets, it puzzled him that instead of thinking about her naked, he’d been replaying that scene from last night.
And hoping like crazy she showed up this weekend.
He reached for his phone—maybe he could track her down? He knew her name, he knew she lived in Plainview and he knew she was a doctor. How hard could it be?
His phone was down to ten percent battery and Troy rose from the small dining table to grab his cable. After searching through his bag he remembered he’d left it in his truck and headed out to retrieve it only to discover the door open and somebody inside it.
“What the fuck?” he bellowed.
The person—male, young, wearing a hoodie—went bug-eyed as Troy descended on the vehicle. He scrambled out of the pickup, just out of Troy’s reach, and bolted across the deserted parking lot with Troy in hot pursuit.
He didn’t get far. They were evenly matched weight wise but the kid was probably only five eight, to Troy’s six foot. Easy enough to crash tackle him to the ground.
“Get off me,” the kid yelled, squirming like a fish on a hook, as Troy straddled his back and wrestled with his arms.
“Quit movin’.” The kid tried to wriggle out from under him and Troy copped a kick to the ribs. He barely felt it—he’d had worse. “I ride one-ton bulls for a living; you ain’t going to buck me off.”
After a few more seconds, Troy managed to shackle the kid’s hands in his and pull him to his feet. The hoodie had fallen away to reveal a spotty teenager with a scrape on the side of his face where he’d eaten the tar. It was oozing slightly but nothing too deep.
“What in hell were you doing in my car?”
The kid glared belligerently as he tested the strength of the hold Troy had on him. He winced as Troy exerted a little more pressure on his captured wrists. “Looking for money.”
Money? Troy understood what it was to be poor. To be on the bones of your ass. To steal to eat. But this kid didn’t look like he wanted for anything. His clothes were good; his shoes were decent; he had braces on his teeth for fuck’s sake.
“How old are you?”
The boy looked at the ground. “Fifteen.”
“You ever heard of a job, mate?”
“Got a job,” he mumbled belligerently.
So the kid had no need to steal. Was it a bet? A dare? Boredom? Troy also understood stealing for the thrill of it.
For the thrill of getting away with it.
“Do your parents know you’re out on the streets?” The kid continued to stare at his feet, the set to his jaw mutinous. “I take that as a no. Don’t you have school tomorrow?”
“Summer vacation.” Another mumble.
Of course…Troy had forgotten about summer break. “Not starting out so great for you, huh? How’d you even get here?”
“Bike.”
Troy looked around the parking lot, spotting an expensive brand of bicycle leaning against the far hedge. It even had a helmet hanging from the handlebars.
“You’re a real badass, huh?”
“You talk dumb.”
Troy laughed. The kid needed to work on his insults. “Yeah, well you are dumb.”
The kid’s head snapped up and he glared. “What are you going to do with me?”
“I guess that’s up to you.” Troy searched the teen’s face. Beyond his big talk he was jittery. He didn’t have that hard edge, that lack of fear for the consequences that had made Troy such a successful delinquent. He was clearly shitting himself. Which told Troy he had a conscience.
And it wasn’t too late for him.
“I can take you to the cops or I can take you to your mother.”
“Oh but—”
“Your choice, kid.”
Troy cut him off without compunction, noting how he’d paled at the mention of his mother. The red spots of his acne stood out even more. Good. He obviously had a mother and cared about what she thought, which meant she was important to the kid and, judging by appearances, Troy guessed he was important to her as well.
Those kinds of threats hadn’t meant squat to Troy. Home had been a nightmare and his parents had been the major cause of his delinquency.
“You want to have the cops ringing your momma to come get you or you want to bypass all that official unpleasantness and have me take you home instead? Either way, mate, she’s going to find out.”
Troy would know in seconds of meeting the woman whether there was hope for the kid or not. His radar for these kinds of things had been honed through bitter experience.
The kid glared some more but eventually muttered, “Home.”
“All right then.” Troy gave the kid a shove toward the pickup. “Get in the truck.”
*
The only conversation that passed between Troy and the kid for fifteen minutes were directions. Troy figured he was too busy framing excuses for his mother to chat. And letting the kid stew for a while in the quagmire of potential punishments and possibly, his crap-filled underwear, was penalty itself.
“It’s this one.”
Troy pulled up outside a very middle-class-looking suburban house. It wasn’t anything flashy but it was a decent-sized house on a big block, with a picket fence, a neatly trimmed path, a small front porch and a driveway that ran down the side to an A-framed building he assumed was the garage. He’d have killed to have had this growing up.
He cut the engine and undid his seat belt.
The kid threw a startled glance his way. “You don’t need to come in.”
Troy laughed. “Nice try, kid.” Obviously he’d been planning on not saying anything at all to his mother about the incident.
His gaze darted from Troy to his front door and back to Troy again. “She won’t be home for ages.”
“No worries.” Troy opened his door. “I can wait.”
The kid didn’t move to unbuckle his belt—he just sat in the passenger seat staring through the window at his house, a picture of misery. It was Troy who opened his door. “Come on, dude. Best just to get it over with.”
He felt sorry for the kid in a way. How many times had Troy wished that someone would cut him a break when he’d been in trouble, usually in the back seat of a cop car? It had happened eventually. Not in the way he’d hoped or that he’d even appreciated at the time but his fork in the road had come.
Tonight was this kid’s fork in the road. He wasn’t playing in the same ballpark Troy had played in but delinquency was a rocky slope.
The teen sighed and undid his belt and for a brief moment Troy caught a glassy shimmer in the kid’s eyes before he pushed rudely past and headed for the house. Troy followed behind, slowing as the kid’s pace slowed the closer they got to the door. He took the two steps to the porch and stood in front of the door like it was the gallows.
Troy drew up beside him. “Key?”
The kid stared straight ahead. “Nope.”
So, it was going to be the hard way. For the person on the other side as well when they opened the door to find their guilty-looking son and the stranger he’d tried to rob. Troy lifted his hand and knocked, two quick raps against the solid wood.
Footsteps could be heard almost immediately and the kid shifted uneasily beside him. The porch light flicked on, illuminating the kid’s guilt tenfold. There was the sound of a dead bolt releasing then the door swung open.
Troy blinked at the woman standing there. He remembered that ponytail from last night. And the generous mouth and how it balanced out her pointy chin and cute chipmunk cheeks.
He hadn’t been able to make out the color of her eyes though. Until now. Gray.
“Joss?”
The kid’s head turned, a frown crinkling his brow as he stared at Troy.
“Troy?” She looked at the kid, at the scrape on his face. “Damien?” She reached out to touch it but he pulled away. She glanced at Troy again then back to her son.
This kid—Damien—this sullen, really crap thief was Joss-from-last-night’s son? Joss who’d given him a hard-on just from her unorthodox use of a lug wrench.
She was a mother? She hadn’t been wearing a ring last night, or tonight either. And she hadn’t thrown a husband in his face when he’d flirted.
Troy performed a quick calculation in his head. Joss must have been nineteen when she’d had him.
“Damien?” she repeated, looking him up and down as if searching for other injuries. “What happened? You went to bed over an hour ago.” She glanced at Troy again. “What’s going on here?”
“You’re his mother?”
“Yes.”
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
Troy was speechless. If this wasn’t the world’s biggest coincidence he didn’t know what was. If he was a religious man he might have fallen to his knees and praised Jesus. But now wasn’t the time to get religion.
Now he had to go ahead and break the woman’s heart.
Troy cocked an eyebrow at Damien. “You want to tell her or you want me to?”
“Tell me what?” she demanded, her ponytail swishing as she continued to glance between the two of them. “Damien? Oh God…what have you done now?”
Now? Interesting… This obviously wasn’t the first time the kid—Damien—had been in trouble. Damien shoved his hands into the front pockets of his hoodie and dropped his gaze.
Troy sighed. “I caught him ransacking my car. For money.”
Her gasp was loud enough to be heard in New Mexico. “Damien William Garrity!” Her fiery hiss and demonic glare even scared Troy a little bit. “Is that true?”
Damien couldn’t even look at his mother. Man, he sucked at this. Troy hoped he was getting a good education because he was not going to be able to pull off a life of crime. Guilt poured off him in visible waves.
“How could you?” she demanded, grabbing his arms and giving him a shake, despite the kid being bigger and taller. “You’re a thief now? Are you freaking kidding me?” She shook him again. “I didn’t leave Chicago for you to become some two-bit hoodlum in Texas, do you understand? You want to go to jail? Because that’s what happens to thieves.”
Not if they don’t get caught. God knew for every time Troy had been caught, there’d been nine times he hadn’t.
She dropped her hands. “What do you think your dad would say about this? You think he’d be proud of you now?”
Troy winced internally at the well-aimed guilt trip. So, there was a dad. He noticed a tear roll down Damien’s cheek and felt absurdly like putting his arm around the kid.
“Do you?” she yelled.
“No, ma’am.” Damien’s voice cracked.
Her expression softened for a moment and Troy thought he saw a shimmer of moisture in her eyes caught by the porch light before her features hardened again. “Apologize to Mr. Jensen.”
“I’m sorry,” Damien mumbled at the ground.
“Look. At. Him,” she barked. “And mean it!”
Damien raised a miserable face, two wet tracks glistening down his cheeks. He looked Troy directly in the eye. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jensen, for breaking into your truck.”
His voice was clear if a little shaky, the apology sincere.
“Thank you,” his mother snapped, her fists clenching and unclenching by her sides. “Right. You’re grounded. Indefinitely. That’s going to suck for summer vacation, isn’t it?”
The kid didn’t protest. So perhaps he wasn’t as dumb as Troy had thought.
“Go to your room. I’ll be in to clean up your face after I discuss what extra punishment Mr. Jensen would like to see meted out.”
Damien didn’t need to be asked twice. He hightailed it into the house faster than a thrown cowboy gets up off the dirt. They both watched him retreat until a door slammed somewhere inside the house and she turned back to face him.
Her big gray eyes looked tired. And sad.
“I’m so, so sorry…”
She drew in a ragged breath and wrapped her arms around her middle, which emphasized very nice breasts beneath her navy tank top. No bra.
“I perfectly understand if you want to get the police involved.”
Troy blinked. Now that he hadn’t expected. She hadn’t tried to feed him a bunch of BS excuses or blame her son’s actions on anyone else. She’d accepted responsibility and made him do likewise. And he admired the hell out of her for it.
It was the kind of discipline and lesson in consequences his parents hadn’t cared enough to give.
Nobody had given a shit about him.