Ride Hard (Roughstock Riders Book 1) Page 4

  “Well you’re going to have to get used to it,” she said stubbornly. “I’m not going to redecorate.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be sleeping on the porch.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she snapped, heat rising. “You’re bound to get rained on.” Three a.m. gully washers this time of year were a guarantee. You could set your clock by them.

  “Better the rain than suffocation by pink.”

  “Better suffocation by pink than hypothermia,” she snapped back, raising her chin defiantly. His eyes lit with something more than amusement. Something that made her body tingle.

  His chest shook. “You’re a feisty thing.”

  “I’m no thing. Please don’t objectify me,” she answered primly, but with an undercurrent of steel.

  He stopped, dropped his head and laughed outright. A deep throaty baritone that made her almost want to join in. Almost.

  “That’s not funny.”

  “Oh yes it is, feisty Maybelle,” he answered with a cock of an eyebrow. “I think it’s time we discussed those roles and responsibilities your uncle mentioned.

  Maybelle blew out through her nose. “Fine. Follow me.” She’d learned early in life that place mattered in negotiations, and she felt most at ease on her aunt and uncle’s porch. Maybelle didn’t bother to wait for Ty, he’d follow. When she reached the steps, she hopped up, skipping the creaky middle one, and walked to the far end. Her favorite wicker rocking chair sat at the edge of the house, looking out over the property, but she had no intention of sitting. “What do you want?” she asked, staring out at the party.

  “What do you want?” he asked from slightly behind her.

  A hundred dirty thoughts jumped into her head, the kind with sweaty bodies and heavy breath, soft caresses and hot kisses. She clenched her thighs in an effort to staunch the pulsing at her core. What was it about his voice that immediately set her on the road to Sin City? She gave herself a mental shake. This was business, dammit. The chance to prove herself. She cleared her throat. “I’ll take charge of the horses and the cattle.”

  “That’s a two-person job,” he pointed out.

  It irked her he was right about that. “I’ll manage,” she bluffed. After all, Teddy had helped her today.

  “This ain’t my first rodeo, princess,” he said sharply. “Or my first ranch job. You know darn well managing cattle’s a two-person job.”

  “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “We’ll share the cattle. You take charge of the fences.”

  “Also a two-person job,” he pointed out. “At least if there’s repairs to be made.”

  She spun, registering the amusement on his face. “This is not funny.”

  “No one said it was.”

  “Then-”

  “I’m not a noob. I’ve been sitting on a horse since before you were born, honey. I may have ridden bulls for a living, but I grew up on a ranch. Let’s cut the crap.”

  The tone in his voice brooked no argument. “Fine,” she said, crossing her arms. “Tell me what you want, then.” For a split second, she saw exactly what he wanted, and it made her weak in the knees. Could he see she wanted it too? And holy smokes, if he could, what then?

  He stepped closer and his voice dropped. “What I’d like… is to be a team.”

  “A team?” she echoed, voice lifting at the end.

  He nodded, taking a step closer. She could feel the heat radiating from him, and it made her head spin like too much wine. “Yes. We don’t need to compete.”

  His voice was smooth, hypnotic. She swayed toward him. “We can share,” she uttered breathlessly.

  “Exactly,” he said, dropping his head.

  Her heart beat wildly, like a frisky colt running free for the first time. He was going to kiss her. She could feel it, and heaven help her, she wanted it as much as she wanted that first taste of strawberries in summer. “My cousins said you went to jail,” she blurted.

  That… was not what she’d wanted to say. She was supposed to say something flirty and lightly teasing. Something to make him laugh.

  Ty went still, and his face shuttered, and the blood drained from his face. The amused light in his eye disappeared, replaced with a bleakness that arrowed into Maybelle’s soul. What had happened? He nodded once, body tight and stiff. “I did.”

  Oh.

  This was no asshole filled with bravado. Whatever happened had broken him. Instinctively, she reached out to lay a sympathetic hand on his arm.

  He jerked away.

  She dropped her hand, face burning. “I-I-”

  “I don’t need your pity,” he snarled.

  “I wasn’t offering it,” she snapped back. This wasn’t going at all like she’d imagined. For a stupid, blind second, she’d let her raging hormones take over. Just once she’d wanted to be kissed by a real man. Someone who would make her knees weeks, not an overly enthusiastic boy who only wanted to squeeze her breasts.

  He stepped closer, crowding her. “Then what were you offering, princess?” he said harshly. “Because up until a few seconds ago, you were offering something very different, weren’t you? Is kissing an ex-con on your bucket list? Or is a kiss with a bull rider what you want, so you can brag about it to your other rodeo princesses?”

  Her body went hot with anger. So hot, that before she could stop herself, her hand made contact with his cheek. The sound hung suspended between them. “I-I-I… How dare you?” she choked, as shocked at her behavior as she was at his words. A red mark erupted on his cheek, but even that wasn’t enough to douse the inferno inside her. “I don’t care what you did, but whatever it was, you deserved it.” She stumbled back, blinded by the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. No way would she stick around for him to see that. She pushed past him, letting her feet carry her as far away from Ty Sloane as she could get.

  Chapter Six

  Cheek stinging, Ty watched Maybelle disappear into the crowd, regret burning his tongue. Better a slap than a kiss. A slap he could handle. He’d been in fights before, even been slapped before. He brought a hand to his face, covering the mark.

  I don’t care what you did, but whatever it was, you deserved it.

  Truer words had never been spoken. Lord knew, he’d been an asshole before. The only difference was this time, he’d been an asshole on purpose. He had no business mixing it up with the likes of a young thing like Maybelle. The heavens would rain fire on him for kissing someone as pure and sweet as she was. Still, hearing the word jail fall from her mouth, when he’d expected her to beg for a kiss was like getting stomped on by a bull. He’d heal from it, sure, but it hurt like hell.

  He shook his head, rolled back his shoulders and left the porch in search of more of Big Mike McCallister’s root beer. Colton fell into step beside him, his son Bubba perched in the crook of his arm. “Everything okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Ty frowned and shook his head. “Nah, just gettin’ used to normal life again.” And all the shit that went with it.

  “I checked with the guys next door, but they’re full up for the next month. I’m real sorry.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m sure you can stay up at the house once the wedding guests have cleared out.”

  Ty stopped and turned to Colt. “I’ll manage. I appreciate the job, but I can do the rest on my own.” He’d always prided himself on not having to take charity. That he’d been able to be the magnanimous one. He wasn’t about to let people take care of him now, even if they felt they owed him.

  “You sort everything out with Maybelle?”

  Ha. “We’ve reached an understanding.” The understanding being they stay as far away from each other as possible. What had he been thinking, suggesting they team up? He’d been seduced by her big blue eyes, that’s what. Never again. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down, not even for a second. It was too risky.

  “Good, good.” They stepped up to where Mike was pouring root beers right from the keg. “Mike, you’ve met my friend Ty Sloane?”

  “Sure thing,” Mike said with a grin, holding out two root beers. “I love a good root beer connoisseur.

  Colt turned his direction. “Mike owns the local brewery, but every now and then he needs muscle at the door.”

  “I don’t drink anymore,” Ty muttered, eyes focused squarely on the countertop.

  “Even better,” boomed Mike. “Can I call on you when it’s time for the county fair?”

  “If I’m around,” he said.

  “Does that mean you’re going to take us up on the offer to train up?”

  Ty didn’t miss the hope in Colt’s voice. He made a face, lifting a shoulder. He’d been thinking about it all afternoon. “I’m not sure about competing, but it won’t hurt to get back in shape.”

  Colton let out a whoop and clapped him on the back. “Damn straight it won’t. You’ll be back on top in no time.”

  If only it were that simple. He might still be able to balance on a ball for twenty minutes, but that didn’t mean he was ready to let a bull throw him around, even a mechanical one. He was rusty, his muscles tight and sore. Worse, his head wasn’t in the game. He’d lost his mental edge. And to hop onto two-thousand pounds of pissed-off bellowing bovine without laser focus and complete mental preparation was just plain dumb. Life threatening at its worst. He hadn’t survived this long in the business by letting his bravado get the best of him, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to start. But Colton was excited, and Ty appreciated his friend’s faith in him, so he let the comment roll off his back, even though he knew better. He was a long way from making a comeback.

  Cody joined them. “Well?” he asked, taking a seat at the makeshift bar. “Are you in? Can we start advertising that the great Ty Sloane is teachin
g aspiring bull riders how to keep their seat?”

  Ty snorted. “I don’t recommend that. But… I’ve considered.”

  “And?” Cody leaned forward, an excited gleam in his eye. Ty recognized that gleam — that was the anticipation of cold, hard cash.

  “I’m willing to give advice, maybe train up myself, but that’s it. I’m not teaching any classes, and I’m sure as hell not charging any money.”

  Colt cocked his head. “Why not? You’re the best. You should charge for it.”

  “I don’t think that…” he caught himself. “I don’t think…”

  “You don’t think riders will pay to learn from someone fresh out of jail?”

  Heat burned in Ty’s chest. Twice in one night. He better get used to it, now that jail was a part of his life. He hated that word, everything it stood for, everything it meant that he was.

  “I think that’s crap,” Cody supplied before he could answer Colt’s question. “People know you’re the best, and if they want to break into the big leagues, they’re going to pay good money to learn from you. Jail aside.”

  “Hell, some will come because of it,” Colt added with a grin.

  “Not. Funny,” Ty muttered under his breath.

  “Come again?” Colt asked.

  “I said, it’s not funny,” Ty answered more firmly. “None of it. I don’t wanna be a damn freak show. I want to put what happened as far behind me as I can. Coming here was supposed to be a fresh start. Don’t fucking glamorize what happened,” he growled, standing, his insides suddenly souring on all the root beer he’d consumed. “I’ll help you out, but I don’t want anybody knowing about it. Understand?”

  Both men nodded without saying a word.

  “Sorry, man,” Colt said after an awkward silence. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Ty nodded. He got it. Truly. They wanted to help, but they had no idea how fucking awful it had been. How demoralizing, how dehumanizing. There was no way to erase the memories, but hopefully in time, they’d fade. Move forward or die. “I’m gonna turn in. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon?” He turned away before they could answer.

  The outside light was on when he arrived at the cabin, a friendly and welcome intrusion into his dark thoughts. He stepped onto the porch. It was freshly swept, all the items he’d tossed onto it, retrieved and presumably returned to their rightful spot. Guilt flashed through him. As soon as he saw Maybelle, he’d make amends. He raised his hand with half a mind to knock on the door, but it stood ajar. It fell wide open with barely a creak when he pushed against it. A quick scan showed his duffel still on the floor where he’d left it. The curtain rods had been repaired, the frilly white and pink material returned to their position glowed like specters in the darkened room. Maybelle had obviously made the repairs herself. Impressive.

  He stepped inside and grabbed his bag, unsure of how to proceed. The last thing he wanted to do was enter the wrong room. Or step on that blasted cat. Hellfire would rain down on him for sure if that happened. But he didn’t have to worry, because before he could step further, one of the bedroom doors opened, and Maybelle slipped out wearing nothing more than a short silky robe. She stopped with a gasp, hand flying to her chest to pull her robe tighter. They stood there eyeing each other until she moved, making a beeline for the kitchen where she opened a cabinet and reached to the top shelf for a glass, robe slipping dangerously high and exposing a creamy expanse of luscious thigh.

  Christ almighty, she was lovely. He should say something to break the icy silence, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. She filled her glass with water and padded back toward her bedroom door. His tongue came unstuck just as her hand touched the doorknob.

  “Maybelle,” he said thickly, voice rough with emotions he wasn’t quite brave enough to analyze.

  She turned, eyes wide. “Yes?” she asked in a husky voice, barely above a whisper.

  Words pressed up into his throat, threatening to tumble out. But now wasn’t the time for flowery confessions. “I’m sorry,” he said after a long moment.

  She held his gaze, eyes searching him for god only knew what. After an even longer moment, she nodded once. “I’m sorry, too,” she mumbled, then pushed through the door.

  Ty stayed rooted to the floor long after the snick of the latch echoed through the tiny cabin.

  Chapter Seven

  Maybelle awoke to the aroma of fresh brewing coffee. She yawned and stretched, rolling to her side, then sitting bolt up. It was five in the morning, she shouldn’t be smelling coffee. Unless… She bounded out of bed, slipped on the pair of jeans she’d draped over the back of the chair the night before, then threw on her favorite sweatshirt. Blinking hard as she stumbled out of the bedroom, her eyes confirmed what her nose had already announced. Ty was in the kitchen, standing at the stove, and next to him was a steaming cup of magic, just waiting to be consumed.

  “Is that?” She pointed to the mug, not yet awake enough for more than two words.

  “Coffee?” Ty supplied, his mouth curving upward.

  He didn’t look her direction, but she didn’t care. They could talk about last night when she was coherent. Or not. If he wanted to act like nothing had happened, she could too. Right now, there was coffee that someone else had made, and from the smell filling the room, good coffee. She stumbled forward, willing the cobwebs from her mind, and clutching the cup to her chest when she reached it. “Ohmygod, I could kiss you,” she said with a delighted sigh as she leaned against the counter, then instantly regretted it. She should know better than to open her mouth before caffeinating. “You made coffee.” She smiled brightly and lifted her mug, trying to fill the awkward silence that now stretched between them.

  Ty cleared his throat. “It’s black.”

  “I like it any way it’s prepared,” she rushed to assure him. “Especially when I didn’t make it.” She inhaled deeply and couldn’t help another happy sigh. “You have no idea.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I do,” he answered dryly, stirring something at the stove.

  “Are those eggs?”

  He grunted, not really answering.

  “Did you find the cheese?” He slid her a glance that was more a glower, but that didn’t dampen her mood in the least. Maybelle couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a real, hot breakfast, so she was content to let him cook all he wanted. To be honest, she hated cooking. When she was on the road, she lived on ramen, and other instant food. Not exactly the diet of champions, her aunt liked to point out. “There’s toast and jam in the fridge, too.”

  “Do you ever stop talking?”

  “Do you ever stop grouching?” she tossed back.

  “I like my mornings quiet,” he said scooping the eggs onto two plates.

  She snapped on the radio that stood under the cabinet and the sounds of Kelly Clarkson crackled to life. Maybelle wasn’t about to let his dark mood ruin hers. Just to prove her point, she started singing along. He brought the eggs to the table and then came to the counter, stopping right in front of her. He’d already shaved but he smelled like her soap. It was simultaneously startling, and weirdly sexy. The realization made her a little breathless. “Is that my soap?” she blurted.

  He scowled. “It sure as hell wasn’t mine.”

  “Well aren’t you Mr. Sunshine?”

  “Do you think I like smelling like a girl?”

  “Better a girl than a horse’s ass,” she snapped. He was downright infuriating. Even more so when he reached in front of her and snapped off the radio. “Hey.” She scowled up at him. “What was that for?”

  “I said, I like my mornings quiet.”

  “Well I don’t.” She turned the radio back on.

  Ty’s eyes narrowed, his blue eyes piercing her. Her pulse jackhammered at the base of her neck. Once again, she was overwhelmed with his… maleness. The pure animal strength of him, and the way she heated under his gaze. Suddenly the room felt too close, and way too hot. Her skin itched underneath her clothing, but she stood her ground. He couldn’t intimidate her. Of course, if he’d grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her, she’d have melted into the floor, but after last night, she needed to keep her libido in check around him. Easier said than done when his mouth looked so inviting. And his forearms. Her nipples hardened, aching to be touched. Taking a steadying breath, she stepped back, away from the pull of his aura. She snagged a plate from the table and scurried back to her bedroom. “Be ready in five,” she called over her shoulder. “Uncle Teddy’s already waiting for us.”