Just a Cowboy and His Baby (Spikes & Spurs) (16 page)

Gemma settled into the saddle, touched her lucky horseshoe hat pin, and measured the reins. She wiggled in the saddle to make sure it was exactly right, shoved her boot heels down into the stirrups, got her legs in the right position for the mark out, and cleared her mind of everything.

Eight seconds after she motioned for the gates to open the ride was over. Thirty seconds afterwards she was already on the ground waiting for the announcer to give the score and holding her breath. Trace had drawn a meaner-than-hell bronc that had a buck like she’d never seen before. The damned horse’s hooves barely hit the ground in the whole eight seconds and Trace had come away with a seventy-nine, tying it up with Coby Taylor who also had a seventy-nine.

“And here they are, cowboys and cowgirls. Scores for the last ride of the evening, and Miz Gemma O’Donnell beats the guys by one point with an eighty. So put your hands together and let’s hear it for the lady rider tonight from Ringgold, Texas, who is headed for the playoffs if she keeps riding like she just did.”

Gemma took a bow and headed back behind the chutes to collect her saddle. She’d done it! By golly, she’d won and she could take that news home to Ringgold. She was now the top money winner in the bronc busting competition. Eight seconds could change it in Dodge City at the end of July, but right that minute she was on top of the pile.

“Good ride,” Coby said from the shadows.

“Thanks,” Gemma said.

He stepped out and grabbed her arm, spun her around, and landed a hard kiss right on her lips. She was so stunned that she couldn’t move for a few seconds, and when she could regain her senses she pushed him hard and took a step back.

“You sorry sumbitch; what did you do that for?” she asked.

“You didn’t mind when Trace Coleman did it. You fussed at him, but I hear you two have hooked up quite a bit,” Coby said.

“That still didn’t give you the right and it’s none of your business.” She wiped her mouth. Her lips felt like they’d been raped, not loved.

“Aww, come on, Gemma, don’t wipe it away. You deserved that kiss. You beat out me and Trace to get it,” Coby said.

“I don’t like your way of thinking. Do you kiss Trace when he wins?”

Coby’s laugh was brittle. “You’re playing in a field where you don’t belong. Get ready for some backlash, woman.”

“Don’t call me woman!” She gave Coby her meanest go-to-hell look and walked away from him. In a few long, easy strides he was beside her.

“Darlin’, don’t be like that. We could be good together. I’ve had my eye on you since St. Paul and I felt the vibes when we danced together,” he said.

She stopped and jabbed a finger in his chest. “But I didn’t. I’m not interested, and don’t ever try that stunt again or you’ll be picking yourself up out of the dust.”

“And who is going to put me there? Trace Coleman?”

“I fight my own fights, Coby. Just don’t touch me again and stay away from me,” she said.

“He said you were a hellcat.” Coby laughed.

“He must know me real well.” Gemma took her saddle from a tall, middle-aged cowboy. Dust shot up around her boots with every step on the way to her trailer. She set the saddle on the steps, opened the door, and picked it back up. When it had been put away, she took her shoebox out and opened it. The Cheyenne shamrock was right on top and the glue stick at her fingertips on the counter. She covered the back of the four-leaf clover and smacked it on the horseshoe, stood back, and wiped her mouth one more time.

A hard knock on the door made her jump. If it was Coby, she fully well intended to kick him off the step and out into the dirt. Damn him, anyway, for taking all the joy out of the win. She slung open the door to find Trace standing there with a grin on his face.

“Good ride,” he said. “I expected to see you dancing around, not looking like you just sucked all the juice out of a lemon.”

“I’m sorry. That damned Coby made me mad.”

Trace stepped inside and his expression went stone cold serious. “What did he do?”

“Nothing that I didn’t take care of.”

“Don’t be getting too happy with your place. It’s a long way from here to there.” He pointed to the top of the horseshoe.

Gemma smiled. “Oh, yeah, cowboy! Well, I intend to make the journey and be the winner.”

He pulled her into his arms. Every nerve ending in her body purred. She actually felt her back arching like a cat.

“I missed this all last week.”

“Me too, but you were being a stubborn ass and wouldn’t talk to me. Which reminds me, we still haven’t had that talk yet.” She quickly turned around. No way was he kissing her in her trailer.

“Want to blow off the dance and fall into bed?”

“I want to go to the dance and then…” She let the sentence drag.

“As long as there is a then, I can wait. And we’ll have that talk later,” he said.

“Give me two minutes to get out of these chaps and get my spurs off,” she said.

He sat down on the edge of her bed and unbuckled her chaps. “Anything else I can remove for you, darlin’?”

“Later, maybe. Right now I want to dance and I don’t want to see Coby again,” she said.

“If he comes around I’ll take care of him,” Trace said.

“No, if he comes around, I’ll take care of him again. He doesn’t think I belong in the competition and he’s just mad because he’s getting his ass whipped.” She brushed out her hair and reapplied lipstick. “You ready?”

“Sure I am,” he said.

When they reached the arena, Trace led her out into the center and drew her into his arms for a slow dance. The lead singer of the band was doing a number by Josh Turner called “Angels Fall Sometimes.”

It seemed like everywhere he turned lately Josh was singing. Was it an omen?

The lyrics talked about her being out of his league and that she’d found out he wasn’t a saint. It said he woke up every morning surprised to find that she was still around and said that every now and then angels fall sometimes.

Trace swallowed a lump in his throat. He felt the song rather than heard it, and he would give his kingdom if the angel in his arms would fall in love with him.

They danced through six or seven dances. During the slow songs she melted into his arms so close to his body that air couldn’t get between them. During the fast ones, he swung her out from him until she was giggling and breathless.

And then a redhead tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Mind if I cut in?”

Gemma stepped back and laughed when Trace rolled his eyes toward the star-studded sky. It was all part of the dance and she’d had him to herself for half an hour. She turned to walk away and Landry Winters grabbed her arm and spun her around. She came to a screeching halt right at his chest and he tipped her chin up with his fist.

“Rumor has it that you and Trace are getting awful close. Is that really true?” he asked.

Gemma backed up. “I’d say that’s our business. You said something like that this afternoon when we drove up on the grounds, remember?”

“Yes, but I heard some more. I hear you are living with him now.”

“That’s none of your business, Landry. But even if I was, is there something wrong with that?” she asked.

“Be careful, darlin’. He’ll break your heart.”

Landry was a good dancer, but other than the hot July night, there wasn’t a bit of heat between them. She looked up into his pretty face and smiled.

“Would you break my heart?”

Landry’s dimples deepened when he smiled. “Of course not. I’d be right up-front and say that it was a fling, but that Trace, he’ll promise you the moon and deliver a heartache.”

“That’s a helluva pick-up line.” She laughed.

“It’s my best one. Is it working?” Landry asked.

She shook her head and took a step back when the song ended. “You’d best try it on one of those girls over there staring right at you. I bet they’ll be willing for a rodeo fling.”

“You get tired of him, come on around to my trailer. I’ll kick them all out for a night with you.” Landry tipped his hat and in a few long strides he was shooting a line of bullshit to the women who’d been eyeballing him.

“You ready for that game of poker?” Trace whispered right behind her as he slipped both arms around her waist.

“I’m ready to go, but I forgot to buy cards and I bet your deck is marked, isn’t it?” she teased.

“Forget the cards.” He laced his fingers in hers and led her out of the light into the shadows.

They’d only gone a few yards toward the trailers when he scooped her up into his arms and carried her tightly against his chest the rest of the way. He unlocked the trailer door and set her down on the steps, stood back, and let her go in ahead of him. When he was inside, he shut the door, locked it, and wrapped his arms around her tightly. His lips found hers in a clash of passion, and he backed her up toward the bedroom. His big hands splayed out on her bare flesh under her shirt, and every sane thought left her mind as a tsunami of raging desire took over her body. With one tug she undid the pearl snaps on his shirt and ran her hands across the hard muscles on his chest and abs.

“You are getting pretty good at undoing my shirt,” he whispered.

“Yes, I am. I love the way those snaps pop and reveal that big broad chest,” she said.

Sugar whimpered when they landed on the bed and took off in a trot into the kitchen. Trace pulled the door shut with one hand without stopping the steaming hot kisses. Suddenly, she was undoing his belt buckle and he was removing her clothing as fast as his hands could move.

She didn’t even think about a long hour of foreplay or about him taking off her bikini underpants with his teeth. She just wanted him. The foreplay had happened on the dance floor when he dropped his hat over the small of her back as they danced, when he’d sang along with Josh Turner about angels falling out of heaven and how lucky he was, and when he’d picked her up and carried her to the trailer.

Clothing flew into every corner of the room and she wasn’t even aware when she lost her boots, but when he rolled on top of her on the bed, his lips still on hers and his tongue doing wicked things inside her mouth, she realized she was still wearing socks. She wrapped her legs tightly around his body and he found his way into her with a firm thrust. Trace’s lips felt like fire on her mouth and she didn’t want his hands to ever stop playing all over her body.

She arched against him and called out his name, “Trace!”

“What did you say?” he groaned.

“I said, Trace!” she repeated.

It was over in a flash.

“God, I’m so sorry, darlin’. I wanted it to be so good tonight. I wanted to take you to the top a dozen times, but you said my name,” he growled.

He eased to one side and she cuddled up next to him, her face buried in his shoulder. Landry had been wrong because something that felt so right couldn’t produce a heartache.

“Who gives a damn about a dozen times when the first one knocks your socks off?” She panted.

He buried his face into her hair. “You really are an angel.”

“I’ve got you fooled. All this hair isn’t covering up a halo. It’s hiding horns,” she said.

“Gemma, you said my name. You didn’t call me cowboy!”

“Well, I’ll be damned. I did, didn’t I?” She laughed. “Rolls off the tongue right well.”

“Say it again.”

“Trace… Coleman,” she whispered seductively into his ear.

“God, that’s so sexy.”

“And that’s a corny line,” she said.

“Well, try this one on for size. You are sexy even in your socks, and you are beautiful even with your hair all mussed up,” he said.

“You are sexy with one sock on and one off and all sweaty in tangled up sheets,” she whispered.

He sucked in air to say something, but a hard knock on the trailer door brought him to a sudden sitting position. “What the hell?”

He threw his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed a pair of plaid pajama bottoms, jerked them on, and opened the door. Sugar bounded up the stairs and into the bed, turned around three times on his pillow, and laid down, her big eyes staring right at Gemma.

Moonlight silhouetted Trace in the doorway. Gemma sat up for a better view of him standing there, shirtless and his pajama bottoms riding low on his hips. But she couldn’t see well enough so she grabbed the top sheet, wrapped it around her, and tucked the ends under her arm. She stepped around the corner out into the kitchen to see three young women circling the steps below him like coyotes after a roadkill possum, all giggling and pointing one to the other.

Trace shook his head and one woman stepped out away from the others. “I drew the long straw so I get to be the one since you don’t want a group party. But I’m telling you we could have a hell of a foursome if you’re willing.”

Her voice was tinny and slightly slurred. Her hair was that brassy red that comes from a bottle. She wore skin-tight shorts, a skimpy halter, and cowboy boots. Her face looked like she’d been ridden hard too many times.

Trace shook his head and chuckled. “No thanks, ladies.”

“You sure, honey? We promise to give you a ride even wilder than that bronc did tonight,” the redhead said.

“Good night, ladies.” He started to shut the door.

The redhead stuck her foot in it. “I got a message for you since you don’t want to play ride ’em cowboy with us tonight. Ava says hello and she’s got a surprise for you. Says she’ll definitely have it for you at Lovington, New Mexico.”

“And what is this big surprise?” Trace asked.

“Can’t tell you now, but it’s goin’ to blow your world apart.” The redhead laughed and backed away from the door. “Okay, girls, we’ve bombed out. Let’s go back to the bar and see who is left.”

Trace shut the door and leaned on the backside. “Guess you heard that?”

“I did.”

“Ava was my one big journey into the groupie world. It happened last year and it lasted one weekend. And she wasn’t even a groupie. She just came to a rodeo to see if cowboys were all she’d heard they could be. After one weekend, she went on her way and I’ve not heard a word from her since.”

“Thank you, Trace. You don’t owe me explanations about your past, but I appreciate that. Come on back to bed and let’s get some sleep.”