Getting Ahead

Getting Ahead

by Emily Cale

Breathless Press

Calgary, Alberta

www.breathlesspress.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or

persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Getting Ahead

Copyright© 2012 Emily Cale

ISBN: 978-1-926930-94-7

Cover Artist: LFD Designs

Editor: Clarissa Yip

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in reviews.

Breathless Press

www.breathlesspress.com

Getting Ahead

by Emily Cale

Chapter One

She certainly didn’t look like any woman he’d seen on the ranch before.

To be fair, there were only two around most of the time: Jillian, the manager, and Stacey, the wife of one of the senior cowboys. Both were old enough to be his mother, though they’d kick his ass if he ever said it.

This one didn’t look like she could kick more than a tin can, and an empty one at that. She’d appeared that morning in the stables, prepping her black horse, then moved out into one of the corrals. At the time, he’d gone about his business without giving her a second glance. She was forbidden, and he intended to keep his distance. Now that the sun had started to set and he’d finished most of his work, it was hard not to stare. Although he’d only seen her back, the way she held herself—perfectly straight, her braid running down her spine as though it’d been tacked in place—mesmerized him. She’d been sitting in the same spot for the last three hours, leaning against the fence inside one of the unused pens, her horse tied up next to her.

She’d laid down the conditions of her stay before she even arrived. No one bothered her while she trained. Well, it certainly didn’t look like she was doing much work.
Damn the rules.
He’d always been more of an ask-forgiveness-not-permission kind of man. The whole way over, he tried to decide exactly how to introduce himself. He wore a lot of hats around the ranch. Unlike most of the owners in the area, he hadn’t inherited the place. He’d worked his ass off for years, figuring out how to approach people to get exactly what he wanted. Over the years, he’d perfected the art of knowing what to say to whom. She was different. He didn’t want anything from her. And so far, she didn’t want anything from him either, a rarity in his world.

“I see you’re working hard here.” He leaned against the fence, propping one foot up on the bottom beam.

“I thought I made it clear that I wasn’t to be disturbed by smartass ranch hands.” She stared straight ahead, ignoring his intrusion.

“I’m sorry. I thought that only applied when you were practicing.” He knew he was pushing her, but he really wanted to get a better look at her face. At least if she decided to go after him, he’d have a head start. She’d have to scale the fence before she could really chase him. She’d been on television more than enough times for him to have a general idea what she looked like, but cameras always skewed a person’s real appearance. Besides, in front of the cameras, she wore makeup and tied her hair into a perfect ponytail. In real life, no one ever put that much work into her appearance.

“I
am
training.” She finally turned toward him, her braid whizzing through the air as she snapped her head around. The same stern face he’d seen on television stared back at him. In person, her features were softer, more feminine. Her cheeks were flushed, though he wasn’t sure whether that was a result of his prodding or the midday sun.

He forced his jaw closed, trying to make his mind think of anything but her looks. “I’m no expert, but last time I checked, sitting on the ground staring at barrels was not a rodeo event.” He moved his other foot onto the bottom rung of the fence and leaned forward. Her red and white tubs were set up in a triangle on the dirt. She’d placed them early that morning, but so far, the dirt around them was completely untouched except for her footprints. Her tight jeans clung to her hips, showing off her curvy frame. He reminded himself that she wasn’t his type. Women in rodeo were dedicated, with little time for anything but themselves. They also had a reputation for leading men on, holding on to relationships when they were convenient, and dropping them the minute something got hard. There had been a time in his life when he’d wanted exactly that. Now, though, he needed more in his life.

“You’re right,” she snapped. “You’re no expert.” She flipped back around, leaving him with the same view he’d been looking at all day.

“If you want, I could help you. Maybe point out any areas that look a little shaky.” Her hair looked soft, and he was tempted to reach out and touch it, just to see if it was. Thinking better of it, he held on tightly to the top of the fence, giving his hands something to do. More than once, he’d sat staring at a problem long enough to lose all perspective. “Sometimes you need a second opinion.”

She chuckled and stood up, turning to face him. “Tell me, what exactly do you know about barrel racing?” Her face was hard and unyielding; her blue eyes dared him to give it his best shot.

“Plenty. You ride your horse around those barrels in a certain pattern, and the fastest time wins.”

“You think that’s all there is to it? Ride a horse in a pattern? If that was it, they’d let men compete.” The corners of her mouth twitched. She was clearly pleased with her remark.

“That’s funny. Because obviously it is so much harder than bareback bronc riding.” He’d spent a fair amount of time around rodeos, and everyone thought their event was the hardest.

“Well, yes, it is.” She shifted her weight, pushing her hip to one side.

He allowed his eyes to stray for a moment, taking in every inch of her body. Her loose top did nothing to accentuate her body, but he could just make out the tips of her breasts pressed against the fabric. “You think making a clover pattern is harder than hanging onto a bucking horse with no saddle?”

“Shows how much you even know. I have to train my horse to maneuver tight curves around barrels at top speeds while I use all the strength I have to support her through it.”

He couldn’t help but think about the well-sculpted muscles she undoubtedly hid. His cock twitched in his pants, and he focused his attention back on her horse, trying to rein in the arousal pumping through his body. “Bronc riders have to hold on while a horse bucks as hard as possible with the goal of getting him off.”

“For eight seconds. At top speed, I have at least an extra six seconds per event.” She leaned in, the scent of peaches fresh on her skin.

Damn, she was fierce. It was obvious she wasn’t about to back down, but he couldn’t let her win so easily. “Only because you aren’t going fast enough.”

“Besides, you don’t even have to train a horse. You’re given one the day of.” She took a step toward him and rested against the fence.

“Yeah, and scored based on how good our luck was in the draw.” Only the fence divided them. If he wanted, he could reach out and pull her close to him, draw her mouth toward his, and capture her lips.

“Whiny, aren’t you?” She stood on the balls of her feet. With the extra few inches, she almost reached the top of his chest.

“Not as much as you are stuck-up. I was simply offering to help you.” He took a step back off the fence, resisting the urge to catch hold of her. Her attitude only reinforced his conviction that rodeo women were nothing but trouble.

“Yes, but you can’t actually do that. You haven’t the faintest clue how to even compete in the event. What advice would you give me? Go faster? Hold on? Thanks, but I think I’ve got this.” She backed away from him, keeping her eyes focused on his face.

“You could show me.” He’d competed in another event a long time ago. His fall had put him out of the sport completely. He actually thought her accident might as well. From what he’d seen on the news, it been a grisly one. Most people saw that as a sign to step back and start thinking about other career options, but obviously she was too stubborn to get the hint. The least he could do was help her get where she wanted to be. He knew how paralyzing the fear could be following a major accident. He thanked God every day he’d lived through his, but for a long time, his prayers mainly consisted of curses for ruining his career. He might not have been competing, but even saddling up for a simple ride induced a panic attack for months after his accident. If someone who understood what he was going through had been around, things might have been different.

“I don’t think so. That would help you, not me. I don’t have time to give lessons. I’m sure there is some stable around here that takes on charity cases, though. In the meantime, I have work to do, and I’d appreciate it if you went and played cowboy somewhere else.” She waved him away with her hand.

“Play?” Now she’d pushed him too far. He may not have been competing anymore, but he sure as hell didn’t have to take crap from a stuck-up cowgirl like her. “I know you’ve spent most of your life training at an indoor arena, but this here is a real ranch, and I sure as hell am a real cowboy.”

“Don’t make me call your boss. I’ve been promised an environment free of distraction, and I’m paying good money for it.”

He snorted. If only she knew who she’d be calling. “Well then, your highness.” He removed his hat and bowed toward her as he backed away. After a few feet, he righted himself, then turned around, rolling his eyes as he did. Who did she think she was kidding? She’d frozen. He’d seen it happen to a thousand competitors. They all talk a big game until one day a brush with mortality would bring them to their senses. Who got up on top of an animal that wanted more than anything to get them off? People lost body parts, brain cells, and lives to the sport. Yet one taste of the thrill kept them coming back for more.

Not that long ago, he’d been at the top of the bareback bronc-riding scene. Won a few rodeos and came close in a handful of others. The scrapes, bruises, and broken bones were all part of the deal. The parts he didn’t intend on came later. His ride was going perfectly until he’d slipped off. As he always did, he tried to roll away from the horse to keep from getting hit by the flailing hooves. That time, he guessed wrong. He rolled left, and the horse trampled him, bruising practically every inch of his body. If the pain and weeks in the hospital weren’t enough, the doctors had to fix some internal bleeding, and one of his kidneys had been collateral damage in the process. He could live with one kidney, but a similar accident could take the second, and that wasn’t an option. For once, the risks of continuing outweighed the benefits. Hanging up his spurs was the toughest decision he ever made, but it was also the best. As much as wanted to see her get back up and fight off all her demons, he also hoped she took into consideration the risks of her profession. He couldn’t imagine that a brief period of rehabilitation had healed all her scars.

***

Amber McDonald had been leading the horse around the barrels for nearly an hour. The cowboy’s taunts were enough to get her off the ground but not enough to get her up on Black Lightning. It wasn’t for lack of trying. At least twenty times, she’d forced her foot into the stirrup and started to hoist herself up. Each time, a wall somehow stood in her way, keeping her from finishing the motion. It was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. Everything went fuzzy, her heart raced, and her lungs felt like her horse was sitting on them. Walking her horse was beginner crap. The kind of stuff she’d done when she was a child. Since then, training always meant going full-out for as long as her horse could handle it. For someone who was a championship winner, she sure didn’t practice like one. Why couldn’t she bring herself to do more? She’d fallen at least a hundred times before; why was this time different?