The Rodeo Cowboy’s Baby Read online

  The bold offer was kind of a surprise. He didn’t usually hook up over a rodeo weekend, especially when he planned to be in the short round on Sunday morning. But he didn’t regret it when she blinked at him, obviously even more surprised than he was.

  “That’s…” She breathed. “Thanks, can I think about it?”

  It’s not a no.

  “Sure,” he said, stupidly pleased with her answer. “No pressure.”

  But just to give the odds of her saying yes a boost, he raised her fingers to his mouth, and brushed the knuckles with his lips. The gesture felt way too romantic, but he congratulated himself when a shudder rippled through her body.

  He forced himself to let her hand go. And dragged his attention back to the road, to slot into the line of traffic leading to the fair grounds and the rodeo arena.

  “Wow, it’s busy,” she said. “I didn’t expect to see so many people here this early.”

  “We take our rodeo seriously in Marietta,” he replied.

  They continued the small talk until he dropped her off at the training corral and headed toward Baby’s pen. But he gave himself a mental high five as he mucked out the stall and then fed the horse.

  Managing to get the elephant off her lap meant he had much better odds when it came to tonight and getting Evie to hang out again.

  Pouring out some fresh water for Baby, he pushed thoughts of Evie Donnelly and her sweet sighs out of his head. Before he could think about corralling Evie again, he had a calf to rope and a rodeo buckle to start winning.

  *

  The grand entry was not what Evie had expected—it was surprisingly slick and well organized for a small-town event. The bleachers were packed, and the crowd got to their feet cheering for their favorite riders, the children laughing at the clowns as the contestants circled the ring in front of the bandstand and the announcer listed the professional competitors taking part. She spotted Flynn and his mare, and she couldn’t hold in the little burst of sunshine in her soul when he took off his hat and waved at her and Charlie and Logan as they clapped from the stands.

  The way he had touched and kissed her during the truck ride had been sweet and oddly sentimental. And while she’d never considered herself to be much of a romantic, she had been hopelessly flattered.

  Of course, hanging out with him tonight for the dancing and dinner in Crawford Park probably wasn’t a good idea.

  Even so, she found it impossible to concentrate during the other events, all her anticipation concentrated on the tie-down roping, which seemed to take forever to arrive. When his name was finally announced, it was hard to control the thundering of her heart as he galloped out into the arena on Baby.

  Her heart leapt right into her throat as he lassoed the calf and leapt off the still-moving horse in one fluid movement. Grabbing the looped rope held in his teeth, he tugged the scrambling calf onto its side, his hands a blur of motion as he tied the calf’s legs while calming the animal in a matter of seconds. The crowd cheered when the time came up on the clock. A staggering seven point eight seconds.

  “That’ll be hard to beat,” Logan murmured beside her. “Our guy’s going to be in the finals tomorrow for sure.”

  Our guy.

  Evie tried to still her jumping pulse. Flynn wasn’t her guy.

  But the sight of his strong body in a blur of defined motion stayed with her. And even Charlie’s teasing—about getting a ride with a ride who knew how—couldn’t stop the jiggle of her heartbeat when he made his way toward them a scant fifteen minutes later. He’d changed into a clean dress shirt and jeans, his short hair damp from a shower and his jaw clean-shaven—Evie got momentarily fixated on the dimple in his chin.

  Charlie headed off to take photos of the cowboys and cowgirls in the upcoming events, which left Evie sandwiched between Logan and Flynn. Before she had a chance to panic about the arrangement though, and the feel of him so close, a couple more Double T hands joined them. Flynn placed a firm hand on her thigh and before she could object she found herself being scooted down next to him to make room for the new arrivals.

  The next event, which Logan had told her was called barrel racing, was already well underway. Flynn made a few comments about what was going on to her, and spoke to a ranch hand called Tad over her head, but his attention remained focused mostly on the cowgirls galloping at top speed round the barrels in the arena. So Evie attempted to do the same.

  Stop over-reacting. We’re just casual acquaintances watching the rodeo together. No big deal.

  The skill and speed of the female competitors was impressive, but as hard as she tried, all Evie could focus on was the feel of Flynn’s hard denim-clad thigh flexing next to hers every time he shifted. Or his arm, propped nonchalantly behind her back as they got squeezed ever closer together when Charlie’s sister Em and Logan’s brother Lyle joined their little group at the other end of the bench.

  She sucked in an unsteady breath as one of the riders took a tumble. And the delicious scent of spicy cologne and soap got caught in her lungs, cutting through the smell of manure and sawdust coming from the rodeo ring.

  The September weather was holding up, the sun bright and warm. But it could hardly account for the flush of heat that kept careening through her system every time Flynn moved.

  How come he was so relaxed, while she was so tense? He’d said no pressure in the truck earlier. And he’d obviously meant it.

  But why had she left the offer open? Why hadn’t she shut down the suggestion straight away?

  Perhaps because the thought of going to the steak dinner and the street-dancing alone had snagged in her brain, along with the memories she couldn’t seem to suppress from last night’s activities in his truck.

  The barrel racing finished and the rodeo staff arrived to rejig the arena for the next event, which was… Evie blinked at the program.

  Seriously? People are going to ride bulls now?

  “You’re fecking kidding me…” she whispered.

  “What’s the problem?” His low voice shimmied down her spine.

  She looked up to find his gaze concentrated on her for the first time. “What’s bull riding? They’re not actually going to go one on one with a bull are they?”

  He chuckled, the gruff sound turning the shimmy into a tango. “Nope.”

  “Oh, thank God.”

  “They’re gonna ride the bull not wrestle with it.”

  “Ride the…” Her mouth dropped open. She really should have done her due diligence last night, and checked out all this stuff on the Internet, instead of obsessing about this man’s nipple action.

  “Well, that’s just grand,” she said. “I suppose that’s not dangerous at all,” she said, trying for sarcasm but getting appalled instead.

  “It can be,” he said, still grinning at her horror. “I quit bull riding after I managed to bust three ribs and tear my cruciate ligament all in one ride.”

  “You used to ride bulls?” she asked, her stomach dropping to her toes at the awful thought.

  “Sure, back when I was a kid and a few busted bones didn’t seem like a big deal.”

  The sinking feeling got worse.

  Charlie had told her he was only twenty-eight. So she wondered what he considered a kid to be. And how on earth he could have become jaded enough about broken bones to think they weren’t a big deal? The memory of what he had confided about his background last night only spiked her curiosity more. The question hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she stopped herself from asking it.

  If she took him up on his offer tonight—and that was still a very big if—she was better off not asking too many personal questions. Because that way lay emotional intimacy. And she was in deep enough trouble with this guy already.

  “But I only lasted one season at bull riding and saddle bronc,” he continued. “It’s where the big money is, but it didn’t take me long to figure out I didn’t have the muscle bulk to make the grade in either. Speed and timing’s my thing, not brute strength. A
nd I like the calf roping because you and the calf are on the same team, instead of in combat.” The sexy smile lifting his lips made his eyes sparkle and the hollow space in the pit of her stomach heat. “These days, I’m more of a lover than a fighter.”

  No kidding.

  Ignoring the hot throb in her nipples, Evie studiously avoided embarking on a conversation about his muscle bulk, which was more than bulky enough to give her goose bumps.

  “What about steer wrestling?” she asked, attempting to keep her mind on the rodeo. And concentrate on finding out more about the event from earlier in the day. And not on the sudden desire to lick his dimple. “Did you ever try that?”

  “Sure, but that’s not too dangerous. It’s still not injury-free,” he added. “Dismounting a horse going thirty-five miles an hour to wrestle a five-hundred-pound animal to the ground by its horns requires skill, great timing and nerves of steel and it can get pretty hairy if you mess up. But guys rarely get killed doing it.”

  The announcer read out the first contestant in the bull riding, and Flynn switched his gaze back to the ring but not before Evie glimpsed the flash of pain in his eyes.

  What was that about?

  Had he lost someone during a bull-riding event? Hadn’t he said his foster father was a champion bull rider? And that he was dead? The empty space in her stomach widened.

  “Bulls are bigger and meaner than steers,” he said, still not looking at her. And she had the unsettling feeling he was trying to compose himself. But then he sent her a quick grin. “Because bulls have still got their ’nads.”

  Oh for… Get a grip, Donnelly. You totally imagined that moment of poignancy. Of connection. You eejit.

  Thank goodness she was saved her blushes when the bell sounded and the next contestant came flying out of the chute on top of a bull that looked more like a buffalo to her it was so enormous. Evie watched as the cowboy got flipped off the animal’s back as if he weighed nothing and then landed in the ring in a cloud of dust.

  The guy looked stunned. And a little shaken, before leaping up and exiting the ring while the clowns distracted the bull.

  She knew how the guy felt, when Flynn’s thigh flexed against hers again as he settled in to watch the event. And the heavy feeling that should not have been weighing down her stomach wrestled with the hot spot in her panties.

  Charlie returned ten minutes later, and Evie jumped up, wished Flynn and his distracting thigh muscles a breathless goodbye, before scrambling past Tad, another hand whose name she didn’t know, Lyle, Em and Logan to launch herself at her friend.

  “Hey, Charlie,” she said. “Let’s head out. I need to grab some cowboys to interview before everything finishes.”

  It was hardly the most discreet getaway, but beggars could not be choosers. She had a lot to think about before tonight’s steak dinner, which would be starting in an hour and a half, and thinking coherently with Flynn sitting next to her—while watching cowboys riding bulls and whatever—was just not going to happen.

  Flynn hadn’t said anything about her getaway, but as she and Charlie headed out of the grandstand, she made the mistake of looking back and her gaze tracked to his broad shoulders and the empty space beside him.

  He tipped his hat at her, but the courteous gesture was belied by the intense expression. And the hot spot in her panties throbbed.

  As she grabbed a few of the guys she’d seen in the ring to chat too, she made a conscious decision to avoid Flynn for the next couple of hours—to stop her common sense from getting sidetracked completely by the libido he had reawakened the night before. She really did not need the hot spot between her thighs getting any more delusional before she made her choice—to hang, or not to hang with him, tonight.

  *

  Flynn forced himself not to track down Evie again when she didn’t return to her seat beside him in the bleachers—or to freak out about her interviewing other cowboys. He needed to give her some space—the way he’d promised in the truck ride to the grounds. And get his own head straight about tonight. A one-night hookup was all they were talking about. So he didn’t know what he was getting so excited about.

  Unfortunately, her absence only made the bull-riding event more of an ordeal—but the sick sensation in his stomach was nothing new.

  Mitch O’Connell had died six years ago now. He hadn’t even been riding in the event, he’d been working the chutes when the bull had gone rogue. It had been a freak accident, which Flynn thought he’d come to terms with. But sitting beside Evie, listening to her breathe, feeling her squirm every time he moved, had messed with his equilibrium somehow and he’d almost blurted out something he’d never spoken about to anyone.

  After giving Baby a rubdown, feeding and watering her and prepping her for tomorrow’s final round, which he had made with the fastest qualifying time, he had opted to get a massage from Boone Telford’s girl who’d set up her tent near the prep area at the back of the grounds. She’d managed to work out a lot of the kinks from the competition, her hands firm and professional. And it had used up some of the time until he could see Evie again. But by the time he’d taken another shower in the shower block, changed into another fresh shirt, and headed into town, the tension had come back, and had nothing to do with sore or overused muscles and everything to do with Evie. Something no professional massage therapist could help him with.

  Shooting the breeze in Grey’s with Jesse Carmody—who’d wiped out in the calf roping and qualified in the saddle bronc—and Shane Marvell—who’d hit the top time for the day on his bronc—had helped eat up more time until the steak dinner. But it hadn’t managed to take the edge off the tension, or his anticipation at the prospect of seeing Evie again tonight.

  The persistent zing in his chest felt kind of weird. When was the last time he’d looked forward to seeing a woman this much? Maybe never, especially one he wasn’t guaranteed to be banging later tonight.

  But as he stood in front of the courthouse hoping to spot her at last, the sound of Lyle Tate’s band tuning up on the makeshift stage drifted on the evening air, and the zing of anticipation got all but unbearable. Fairy lights attached to poles twinkled in the gathering dusk, as the town settled in ready for the dancing later, giving the whole scene a fairy-tale feel.

  He choked out a rough chuckle. Look at him. Getting way ahead of himself with romantic notions.

  But what the hell? Whatever Evie’s decision about tonight—which he wasn’t convinced would be a yes—he planned to steal a dance with her anyway.

  Maybe they weren’t meant to hook up, but he wanted to feel her in his arms.

  He searched the tables laid out under the trees and spotted Charlie first, looking cute and dressy, in cowboy boots and a skirt and blouse. Logan stood behind her, as she clicked off shots of Logan’s brother and his guitar.

  But then the blood in his ears roared as the twinkle of lights shone on the silky blue-black hair of the slim woman standing next to his boss.

  “Goddamn it, Irish,” he whispered. He wiped sweaty palms down his fresh jeans and undid the top button on his shirt, the collar starting to strangle him.

  The woman looked like an old-fashioned movie star in the fire-engine-red dress, made out of some feather-light material that hugged her rack, caressed her hips and then spread out to flutter around her knees in the soft evening breeze. She was wearing those fancy cowboy boots again and a lined denim jacket to stave off the slight chill in the air. The outfit should have been country enough to have her blending in with the townsfolk, but instead she looked rare and exclusive to him.

  With her long slim figure, and that astonishing face, pale and beautiful in the moonlight, the riot of dark hair falling over her shoulders, she took his breath away.

  He’d never seen anyone so stunning… He made his way through the crowd and her eyes found his.

  Her gaze darkened as he approached and it was like every other person there just disappeared. There was no one on the dance floor yet—the dancing wasn’t d
ue to start until after they’d served dinner—but still Flynn found himself holding out a hand to her, as Lyle Tate’s band kicked off their set with a slow tune to provide some ambient music for the crowd.

  “Dance with me, Irish,” he said.

  She bit a lip slicked with ruby-red gloss, tormenting him more. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea…”

  “Good ideas aren’t always the best ideas.” He captured the hand that lay limp by her side. Turning toward the dance floor, he tugged her through the crowd and stepped onto the worn wooden boards. A few guys in the crowd whistled, others laughed and clapped as he swung her into a turn, and placed his hand on her waist to pull her into his arms.

  “Sometimes bad ideas are better,” he said, snuggling his face into that silky-soft hair, and breathing in the scent of her that had tantalized him all night and most of the day.

  She let out a breathless laugh and allowed herself to be led into the steps of the dance.

  Tension rippled through her as he swayed and then spun her around in a slow circle to the enjoyment of the crowd.

  “Aren’t we making a bit of a spectacle of ourselves?” she whispered against his neck when he tugged her back into his arms.

  “So what?” he said, the rush of blood to his crotch making him giddy.

  He held her close, loving the feel of her in his arms at last. And imagined all the things he would do to her if she let him.

  The dance was over far too quickly, and he knew he was going to have to let her go—or the crowd would have more to hoot about than his audacity.

  But as he led her off the dance floor and headed toward the grill where the steaks were being prepared, he kept his fingers clamped around her hand.

  “Flynn? Where are we going?” she said.

  He glanced over his shoulder. Her eyes looked dazed and more than a little wary.

  “I’m going to feed you,” he said. “And then I want to finish what we started yesterday.”

  It was kind of a dick move. He didn’t get pushy with women and he’d already promised not to get pushy with her. But the blood pumping through his system was turning him into a guy he didn’t even recognize. Or maybe he did. Perhaps he wasn’t as unlike the drunk bastard who had fathered him as he thought. He cut off the miserable thought, before it could ruin his sex buzz.