Chapter 24

Two cups of coffee weren’t enough to loosen the grip of the giant hand clenched around Cole’s skull, digging bony fingers into his temples. The migraine meds he’d taken the night before had worn off before dawn, but he couldn’t take any more on a driving day. This headache was a doozy, the kind that lingered for a day or two and made every noise and flicker of light an exercise in torture.

But his vision was plenty clear enough to see Brady’s pickup stop beside Shawnee’s trailer at seven forty-five in the morning.

“He showed up right after you left last night,” Analise said behind him, causing him to jerk, which in turn shot silver needles of pain through his head.

Her arms were wrapped around a plastic storage bin that held the laptop and printer she used in the rodeo office. This morning, she was in goth light—black canvas high-top sneakers, tattered blue-jean shorts, and a delicate gold lip ring. Her hair was pulled up into two spiky ponytails on the sides of her head, making her look all of fourteen. She stepped up into Cole’s living quarters to stow the bin under the banquette table, where it couldn’t slide around when the rig was in motion.

She came back to stand in the doorway, openly observing Brady and Shawnee as they sat in the pickup, deep in conversation. “Hank says they were together for a few months, before Brady moved to New York.”

Cole ground a curse word to dust between his teeth as Shawnee nodded, smiled, and climbed out of the pickup. Brady pulled away with a wave. Shawnee waved back, then flashed Cole a big, toothy smile before disappearing into her trailer. He stood rigid, the giant’s right hand threatening to crush his skull, while the left squeezed the juice out of his guts. After their kiss, the dancing last night, how could she turn around and—

“She didn’t sleep with him,” Analise declared.

Cole frowned at her. “How do you know?”

“Different clothes. And most guys don’t shake a woman’s hand the morning after rocking her world.”

She was right on both counts. Shawnee was fresh-scrubbed in jeans and a T-shirt, with her hair pulled back in a barrette. And instead of a good-bye kiss, they’d seemed more like two people sealing a business deal. The crushing grip on Cole’s intestines relaxed slightly.

“Not that you would have had any right to complain.” The ring glinted as Analise pushed out her bottom lip. “You didn’t even stay to drink to Butthead’s health.”

The…oh shit. He’d assumed that was just an excuse Mariah had used to drag him to the beer garden. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Analise made slitty eyes at him. “Don’t apologize to me. It’s not my horse. And I’m not the one you were cuddling up to before you disappeared without so much as a screw off and die. How exactly is a woman supposed to interpret that?”

As Cole being Cole. Shawnee knew that. She knew him. She understood why he had to get out of that zoo—but he’d totally blown the exit. Why hadn’t it occurred to him to follow her off the dance floor and say good night like any functional human being?

Oh, right. Because he wasn’t.

Cole squeezed his eyes shut and massaged his temples. He did not have time for this damn headache. There was equipment to pack, stock to sort, trucks to load, travel orders to be given. And instead of doing any of those things, he was rooted to the ground, staring at Shawnee’s rig.

Her door opened. She stepped out and began to fold lawn chairs, stashing them in the bed of her pickup. Cole moved abruptly, covering the distance between them in a dozen long strides. He grabbed the chair out of her hands and tossed it in the pickup.

“What are you—”

“Apparently, I haven’t made myself clear.” He yanked the trailer door open, gesturing her inside. When she only folded her arms and glared at him, he huffed out a gust of air. “Please.”

She hesitated, then scowled. “Fine, if it pries the burr out of your shorts.”

He followed her in, banged the door shut—ah, ouch, not smart—and clamped his hands on her shoulders when she spun to face him. “You are the burr,” he said, walking her back, step-by-step, until she came up against the closet door. “You go out of your way to be irritating and pushy and downright obnoxious, and unless you knee me in the nuts, I’m going to kiss you anyway.”

Her eyes went wide. “I don’t think—”

“Good. I’m probably safer that way.”

He leaned in, giving her plenty of time to protest, but she only stared at him, pupils flaring as he settled his mouth over hers, tasting one corner with the tip of his tongue. Blueberries. Waffles, he’d bet. The hint of whipped cream did crazy things to his ability to breathe.

He closed his eyes and risked another, deeper taste.

Her palms came up to his chest, but instead of another shove, she made a low, growling noise and dragged him closer. The kiss exploded like a firecracker in his hands, shooting streamers of flame through his body. Her hands slid up to latch behind his neck, her mouth taking him so high, so fast, he could’ve sworn he heard his ears pop. Or it might’ve been the closet door as he cupped her butt, lifted her almost off her feet, and pinned her there with his hips. She arched her back and did a little wriggle that was gasoline on an already roaring fire.

Cole fought to drag in enough oxygen to keep them both upright. It occurred to him that he had never been kissed. Not like this. No holds barred, see if you can take it, cowboy. Her fingers dug in, kneading his muscles in time with the hot, seeking plunge of her tongue. So much raw desire, all for him. His body picked up the rhythm, pulsing against her, his blood pounding in his groin, his chest, his head…

Oh geezus, his head. At that instant, something inside his skull cracked under the pressure.

He tore his mouth free with a tortured groan and pressed his forehead against the door, his breathing ragged. The need was so hard and desperate it could almost make him ignore the steel fangs sinking into the backs of his eyeballs. He heaved a shuddering breath, their bodies still pressed so tight together it felt as if their hearts were ping-ponging around inside the same chest. “I thought my head was gonna explode before.”

“Which one?”

“Hah.” He winced at a new stab of pain.

Shawnee rolled her head against the door, her breath hot against his cheek as she examined him from three inches away. She reached up to touch her fingertips to the tightly scrunched corner of his eye. “That doesn’t look like the good kind of pain.”

“There is such a thing?”

She flattened her palm and very gently patted his cheek. “So much to learn, grasshopper. But not today.”

She wriggled again, this time with intent, and he loosened his grip. His vision went white from the exquisite friction as she slid down the length of him. Probably an aneurysm. That’d be his luck, just when he’d discovered the sexual equivalent of a new universe.

And all she’d done was kiss him.

Her fingers were on his neck again, gently massaging wire-tight muscles. “Migraine?”

“Yeah.” He sighed the word as she found an especially tender spot.

Her voice was a soft murmur. “Did you take anything?”

“Last night.”

His eyelids drooped as her fingertips worked small circles just behind his ears. “Nothing this morning?”

“Ibuprofen. I have to drive.”

“Why?”

His eyes popped open. “We have four hundred miles to cover today.”

“Last time I checked, there are at least three other people capable of piloting your rig.”

“But—”

“You’re the only one who can do it right, even when your eyes look like you’ve been mainlining heroin?” She slithered out of the space between him and the door so quick Cole had to throw up a hand to keep from face-planting into the wood. He was still trying to come to terms with the loss of her when she flung open the door and bounded down the steps. “I’m giving your keys to Tyrell. I’ll take the brat pack so you can kick back and sleep while he drives. You go pop a pill and we’ll get this circus on the road.”

God, she was pushy. Bless her heart.

And in a minute, he would do as ordered. But first…he folded both forearms against the door and buried his face in them, concentrating on breathing. Slow. Steady. Down, boy. Katie hopped up into the trailer, cocking her head at him in question.

“Give me a minute,” he muttered. “My, um, blood pressure’s still a little high.”

She plunked her butt down and gave him a look that would’ve done Miz Iris justice. In the distance, he could hear Shawnee barking orders. Cole relaxed enough to allow the pain to dial back a notch. After a few more settling breaths, he sighed, pushed himself upright, and went to take his drugs.

An hour later he was floating in a medicated haze, but the routine was so ingrained he could walk through it in his sleep. He finished the inventory, packing the last of the halters and flank straps into his trailer while Tyrell loaded Hammer, Salty, and the two backup horses in the rear stalls. Both trucks idled nearby, the horses and bulls already settled into their accustomed quarters on board.

Cole checked that all the doors were secure on his rig, then told Tyrell, “Pull around in front of the trucks. I’ll go make sure Shawnee is set.”

In the process, he took a head count. Cruz had pulled out the night before, headed home to El Paso until Wednesday, since their next rodeo was only an hour north. Analise was planted in the front seat of Shawnee’s pickup. She got motion sickness if she rode anywhere else. That left Mariah to sulk in the back, her sunny disposition soured by a tiff with her father, who was more than happy to hand her over to Shawnee for the next few hours.

Ace rode shotgun in the first truck, having shown up just in time for all the work to be done, as usual. Hank climbed down from the second truck with a backpack in his hand. He wasn’t allowed to ride in the trucks. The boy was allergic to silence and even the Leses couldn’t tolerate his chatter. They’d be lucky if Shawnee didn’t toss him out at a rest stop somewhere along the way. Cole went on around the rear of her rig. Sometimes she had trouble with the gray—

He stopped dead, reality and the sight of her smacking into him simultaneously. Her hand was clenched on the open back door of the trailer.

“I never thought I’d miss having to shove that neurotic bastard in here,” she said.

“He’ll be back to irritate you before you know it.” But Cole folded her into his arms, back to chest, as they both gazed at the rear, now empty stall. Katie pressed into the side of his leg with a quiet sigh and Roy and Sooner craned their necks to look back, their eyes dark and questioning. Aren’t we missing someone? For a moment, Shawnee leaned in and let him bear some of the weight. Then she shook him off to shut and latch the door with a brisk, no-nonsense clunk.

And in the time-honored tradition of the rodeo trail, they put one more show behind them and moved on.