Reckless in Texas (7 page)

Joe grinned like this was the most fun he'd had in a coon's age. “You should call this one Flight Risk.”

Violet couldn't help grinning back. “I'll keep that in mind. Ready?”

“Ready.”

Joe reined Dozer around and kicked. The big sorrel lowered his head and grunted, metal-shod hooves carving divots as he plowed ahead, skidding the bull across the hard red clay. Violet rammed Cadillac's chest into the bull's butt. The bull popped to his feet, took three steps, then locked up again. Dozer kept going. After another bump from Violet, the bull weakened, still dragging, but walking now. Joe pulled him through the gate. When the bull spotted his companions clustered at the far end of the lane, he launched for the herd, blowing past Joe and Dozer. The rope burned through Joe's gloved hand, the free end whistling as it spun loose of the saddle horn. Violet heard a pop.

Joe doubled over the front of the saddle.
“Fuck!”

“What's wrong?” Alarm shot a cold spear into Violet's gut. “Did it catch your hand?”

Joe was too busy cussing to answer. Violet jumped off her horse, swung the big metal gate shut, and slammed the latch into place. Joe slid off his horse, face contorted with pain. He pressed his back against the nearest post and eased down, knees bent, hands clasped tight between his thighs, grinding out curses between clenched teeth. Violet dropped to a crouch between his feet, stomach churning at what she might find. Just a month earlier, she'd seen a team roper lose a thumb by catching it in his rope, and last year one of the tie-down ropers had crushed his wrist in a stray coil.

“Let me see.” She took hold of his forearms, trying to pull his hand out to where she could examine it.

“No.”

“Yes.” She slid her hands down to his wrists, not feeling any gross deformities or blood, but he still had his gloves on. “Is it your thumb?”

“Go. Away.”

“Stop being a baby.”

His right hand snapped up, whip-quick, and clamped on the back of her head, bringing them nose to nose, eye to eye. “It's not my hand, Violet. It's what's underneath.”

“What's—oh!”

Joe's hand was cradling his crotch. That pop she'd heard? It was the knotted end of the rope whacking him where it counted. And her hand was right on top of his.

He bared his teeth. “Still wanna kiss it better?”

Mortification rolled over her, hot as molten lava. She tried to jerk away, but the force of Joe's grip on her nape tipped her off balance. She grabbed his shoulders and her not-inconsiderable weight knocked him sideways. They tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs. She scrambled to get her knees under her. One of them made contact with something solid. Joe yelped, twisting hard and fast, flipping Violet onto her back. She arched, bracing to fight him off.

“Stop!”

Violet froze. Joe was sprawled on top of her, his body rigid. Air hissed in and out between his teeth and sweat beaded on his forehead.

“Just…don't…move,” he panted. “Honest to God, you knee me in the thigh again, I'm gonna puke right down the front of your shirt.”

Violet held her breath. If possible, she would've willed her heart to stop beating, in case the
thud, thud, thud
disturbed his stomach. Motherhood had done nothing to disable her very active gag reflex. As her head cleared, she sorted out what was where. Joe was draped over her, chest to chest, her kneecap flush against the inside of the thigh Dirt Eater had nailed. She carefully rotated her leg, removing the pressure.

“Thank you,” Joe breathed. “Just give me a minute to catch my air and I'll get off of you.”

Her hands were still clamped on his shoulders, but she couldn't find anyplace else to put them. The longer she stayed put, the more aware she became of all the hard, lovely muscle under his T-shirt. If it were Beni, she would rub his back to make him feel better. She imagined sliding her palm down the sleek curve of Joe's spine. Imagined his reaction. Yeah. He would definitely misinterpret the gesture. Much like her body was beginning to misinterpret their current position, the lean length of him hot against her, his cheek pressed to her collarbone, his face buried in the curve of her neck. Each short puff of air was a hot stroke on her skin.

“You sound like you're in labor,” she said.

He huffed a laugh that tickled her ear. “If having a kid hurts as bad as gettin' whacked on the pecker with a nylon rope, I need to buy my mother flowers.”

“More like a new car,” Violet said drily. “And I thought it was your thigh.”

“It's both now, thanks to you.”

“I was
trying
to help.”

“Uh-huh. I'm guessing this is why you're a pickup man and not a paramedic.”

Degree by degree, the tension eased from his body, even as Violet wound up like a spring. Need coiled hot and low, and the urge to wiggle against him was almost intolerable.

“Up until then you were doing pretty good,” she said, by way of casual conversation. “I'll have to tell Beni you can handle stock okay.”

“Gee, thanks.” She could hear the eye roll in his voice. He blew out a long, slow breath—then nuzzled his face into her hair and inhaled deeply. “You even smell good when you've been rolling in the dirt.”

She jerked her head away. “Do you always go around sniffing women like a damn stud horse?”

“Nah. If I were a stud horse, I'd do this.” He gave her a quick, light nip at the curve of her neck that electrified every nerve ending and shot a blue-white current straight to where his thigh was pressed between her legs.

She shoved at his shoulder. “Stop that!”

“Just wanted to see if you tasted good, too.” He pushed up onto his elbows, groaned, and eased sideways, an excruciating slide of body against body before he rolled clear and flopped onto his back, legs splayed. He lifted one hand in warning. “Stay back. I'll be fine as long as you don't help me anymore.”

No problem. Violet couldn't move, paralyzed for a few breaths by the sudden, aching absence of his weight. Then she scrambled to her feet, slapping the dust from her butt and legs. “Take all the time you want, tough guy.”

His head snapped up. “You tackled me when I was already down.”

“I thought you were actually hurt.” She flipped a casual hand at him. “No, don't get up. Katie and I can handle it.”

He made a noise like a pissed-off rattlesnake. She shook the dirt out of her hair, tugged her cap down low, and went to deal with the bulls before she lost her head and tackled him again.

Violet slathered mayonnaise onto two pieces of squishy white bread, slapped a slice of American cheese between them, and took a huge bite, chewing furiously. She usually ate lunch at her mother's house when Beni was gone, but facing Joe across the table would ruin her appetite. For food, anyway.

She choked down the mouthful, then took another huge bite. Maybe all the triglycerides would gum up her arteries so she couldn't feel that low simmer in her blood. As if. She scowled at her pathetic excuse for lunch. Nothing short of a massive stroke could wipe the imprint of his body off hers. The man was a walking, breathing collection of all her biggest weaknesses, but didn't they say abstinence was good for the soul? If she managed to keep her hands off Joe for two more weeks, she'd qualify for sainthood.

She crammed the rest of the sandwich in her mouth, washed it down with sweet tea, then picked up her phone and tapped out a text message to her best friend.
Home sweet home. Got time for lunch tomorrow?
Melanie would slap some sense into her. No one knew Violet's baser tendencies better. She'd barely hit Send when the phone rang in her hand.

Violet checked the number and grinned as she answered. “Nothing better to do than hang around waitin' on my call?”

“I wish.” Melanie blew out a gusty sigh. “My schedule this week is proof I sinned in a former life. One meeting after another all damn day. But I've got ten minutes before the next hour of hell, so dish.”

“About what?”

“Don't play coy. Joe Cassidy. You've had him in your clutches for five days and I haven't heard a peep. Please tell me he's as hot as he looks on TV.”

Violet's fingers curled around the phone as a full-body tingle swept over her. “He's okay, I guess, but he's not in my clutches.”

“Why the hell not? When fate drops a big ol' hunk of man candy in her lap, a girl's gotta have a taste. And I hear this one isn't afraid to hand out free samples.”

“Stop!” Violet scrubbed at the spot on her neck where she could still feel the scrape of Joe's teeth. “Dammit, Mel. You're not supposed to encourage my bad habits.”

Melanie gave a little squeal. “I knew it! Has anything good happened yet? He is exactly your type.”

“Which is
exactly
why I'm trying to keep my distance.” Violet gave a growl of annoyance, more with herself than Melanie. “Everybody's got their eye on Joe, and after that mess in Hickory Springs, the last thing I need is to draw more attention to my love life.”

Melanie snorted. “Honey, you don't have a love life. You have a series of unfortunate events.”

Violet scowled, dumping her plate and silverware into the sink with a clatter. “I had a perfectly normal relationship.”

“Once. In college. Six years ago.”

“Well, I've been
busy.
I have this child, in case you hadn't noticed.”

“Hard not to, when Xena, Warrior Cowgirl is hiding behind a five-year-old boy to avoid meeting a real man.”

Violet cranked the faucet, propping the phone on her shoulder while she scoured the plate like it had been infected with ptomaine. “I have so many real men in my life, I can't take a step without tripping over one of them. Lord save me from testosterone and all of its carriers.”

“Uh-huh. Which is why you developed a sudden hankering for Cajun food last spring?”

Violet jammed the plate into the drying rack. “That was a serious error in judgment. When I do decide to date again, it will be someone sensible with zero potential for psycho ex-girlfriends.”

“You mean someone like…oh, I don't know…maybe Delon?” Melanie allowed for a thoughtful pause. Violet didn't bother to fill it with an argument they both knew by heart. Melanie blew out a gusty sigh. “The trouble with you, Violet, is you've got a head for business and a heart for thrills, and as far as I can tell, the two of them aren't on speaking terms.”

Violet stared glumly at the water circling the drain. “Stupid heart won't listen.”

“Maybe it's not your heart that's got it wrong.”

Violet scowled. “Gee, Mel, thanks for calling. You've been ever so helpful.”

Melanie was laughing as she hung up. Violet tossed the phone aside and stalked into the laundry room, brooding as she stuffed dirty socks into the washing machine. Silly to expect Melanie to be the voice of reason. After all, she was Hank's sister, and blood will tell. Violet and Mel wouldn't have spent half of junior high in detention if either of them knew when to say
Whoa
.

Violet left the socks sloshing in the washer and walked into the living room in time to see Joe stroll across the driveway, apparently none the worse for wear. She waited until he disappeared inside the bunkhouse, then hotfooted it over to her mother's, intending to grab a snack on her way to the office. The lingering scent of pot roast taunted her as she walked into the kitchen. Her stomach gurgled its disappointment. Her parents and Cole were sitting around the table. At the sight of their grim faces, Violet stopped dead, fear skittering cold fingers across her nape. Not again…

“What's wrong?”
Who died?

“Buck McCloud called,” her dad said stiffly. “His heart's getting worse. The doctor says he's gonna have to have an artificial pump implanted to keep it running.”

Relief whooshed through her. Bad news, but not the worst. She wasn't sure they could survive the worst again. Violet plunked down in the chair Joe had vacated, vaguely aware that it was still warm. “That sounds scary.”

Her mother smoothed a hand over a lace-edged floral place mat. “Any time they go crackin' your chest open, it's a big risk.”

Violet's heart clutched in sympathy. Buck was a crusty old bastard, but she'd always liked him. He and her dad were two peas from the same old-school pod. They were close geographically, too, but didn't step on each other's toes business wise. McCloud Rodeo stayed mostly north—Oklahoma and Kansas, with a few shows up in Nebraska. Jacobs Livestock didn't venture outside Texas, no matter how hard Violet tried to convince her dad to do otherwise.

“Who's gonna take care of his stock until he's back on his feet?”

Buck didn't have any family involved in the business. Like Violet's older sister, Lily, both of his daughters had married town boys.

“He won't be back,” her dad said, emotion graveling his voice. “Doc says he has to pack it in.”

“Pack it in?” Violet echoed. Buck? And do what? The man lived for his work. “You mean sell out?”

“Yes.”

Violet shook her head. Rodeo contractors didn't retire. Look at the legendary Harry Vold, ninety years old and still an active part of the business. And her dad—they'd have to back the hearse up to the arena to haul him away.

“He offered us first shot at the whole string,” Iris said.

The quiet declaration was like a bolt of lightning, electrifying Violet. For an instant, she couldn't even form words. Finally she managed to choke out, “That's great.”

Her dad glared at her. “A man losing his health and his business?”

“I didn't mean—” Violet stuttered, then pinched off the rest before she stuck her foot in any deeper. Her head spun with the unexpected possibilities. On average, Buck's stock was a little stronger than theirs, though he didn't have anything in Dirt Eater's class. If you put the two strings together…

“How much does he want?” she asked, numbers already dancing in her head.

Her dad shrugged. “I didn't ask. We can't use that much stock and we're in no position to lay out that much cash.”

“But if we picked up his rodeos, too—”

“Who's gonna move up to Kansas for the whole season?” he demanded. “Not you, with Beni starting kindergarten next fall.”

But—

Violet looked to Cole for support. He stared back, face implacable. She tried to imagine Cole on his own in Kansas, dealing with the public, and nearly burst out in a fit of giggles. But still…

“We should at least consider it,” she insisted.

“Waste of time.” Her dad thumped down his coffee cup and stood. “Let's go have a look at those bulls, Cole. Decide what we're gonna buck at the practice session on Wednesday.”

Violet grabbed a cookie, crumbling the edge with angry fingers as the men lumbered out. She counted to five after the slap of the screen door before saying, “He won't even think about it.”

“Of course not.” Her mother pushed back from the table and stood to gather cups and glasses. “He's so set in his ways, the day of the Apocalypse he'll tell the Four Horsemen they can just turn around and ride on back where they came from—he has work to do.”

Violet gave a reluctant laugh, then groaned, near bursting with frustration. Finally—
finally—
they had a chance to take a huge step up, out of their niche at the trailing fringe of pro rodeo.

“He isn't completely beyond reasoning,” her mother added. “And it would mean a lot to Buck to turn his operation over to a friend.”

Violet blinked in surprise. “You think Dad would consider it?”

“If you can figure out a way to make it all work. And if it doesn't put us in too much of a pinch.”

Violet leaned back in her chair, forehead puckering in frantic thought. She could call Buck and get a purchase price, hear what kind of terms he'd consider, then check out financing options and rates, run profit and loss projections. The number-cruncher half of her soul danced with delight at the prospect. Then reality kicked it in the shin.

“My proposal will have to be damn near bulletproof to persuade him.”

“That it will.”

And the whole thing was nothing but pie in the sky until Violet had the figures in front of her. If nothing else, gathering all of their financials would give her a leg up come tax time. The fact that it would give her an excuse to avoid a certain bullfighter for the rest of the day was a bonus.

She leapt to her feet, filched a couple more cookies and a can of Coke. “I'll be in the office.”

Ideas zinged around inside her head like bats in a cave as she strode across the lawn to the wood-shingled office out back. The places they could go. The rodeos they could produce. One step up the ladder, then another, until someday…

Fort Worth. Houston. San Antonio. Her heart did a double backflip just thinking about it. She burst into the musty, airless office, threw open a couple of windows, then fired up her old PC, her fingers jittering impatiently on the keys while the computer clicked and hummed and did whatever computers do instead of just starting. She flattened her palms on the desk and took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down.

Don't get ahead of yourself, Violet.
She'd already pinned her hopes on one long shot in the past week, and ended up with Joe as the grand prize. And that was a bad thing. Really.