He grabbed her up off her feet and bent his head. Found her mouth with his. His hot mouth.

Kissing her; without so much as a “Hi there, Elle.” Burning her up. She wanted to struggle, but he had both her arms pinned to her sides.

And she wanted to stay right where she was forever because the shock was wearing off and she was starting to feel. A lot more than she ever had before.

The lift moved up. But Chase kept on kissing her.

She had to make him stop it. Right now. Who did he think he was, anyway?

Somebody who could send lightning right through her whole body, that’s who he was. Lightning so strong it shook her to her toes.

He had to stop this now. But she couldn’t move any part of her body. Except her lips. And her tongue…

Also available by Genell Dellin

MONTANA BLUE

MONTANA GOLD

GENELL DELLIN

www.mirabooks.co.uk

My husband Artie helps me reach

for a piece of the sky every day

and does it with all his heart.

My son David inspires me to give

it all I’ve got every time he makes

another one of his own gold-buckle

dreams come true.

My daughter-in-law Julie and

grandson Gage bring me whole new

worlds full of stars. Thank you all.

MONTANA GOLD

CHAPTER ONE

ELLE TOOK THE FIGHT to the bull. She shot the gap between him and the rider he was going after while the announcer yelled, “Chase Lomax! Yes, there’s the score, folks. Eighty-seven points! How’s that for a thirty-eight-year-old bull rider? Come on, let ’im hear from you, rodeo fans!”

She felt the air moving as the mass of the bull created a wind behind her, and then John McGee’s voice and the crowd’s noise faded away. A surge of adrenaline pumped through her blood in a river of power that held her flying feet off the ground and her mind in the zone.

She could do anything. She could make him do anything. This big, snorty beast was all hers.

He stopped, and she turned in that instant to see the huge head wobbling to focus on her, horns shaking, front hoof pawing the dirt, fixing her with an evil eye. Elle wasn’t going to let him think he could decide what came next, even if he did outweigh her a hundred times over. She was the boss. She’d be the one to say how this little rendezvous ended.

She flew to him, in close, and raced past his nose again, just the way she’d done a thousand times, in and out in less than a heartbeat, using the move she thought of as her “hummingbird.” He came after her, so close she could feel his breath and smell it. She ripped off her hat and slapped him in the face with it at the same time as she reversed directions. Her heart lifted, went lighter than the cloud of fine dust she was running through, and the shaking ground behind her roused her blood to a fever’s heat.

She whirled to face him again. The tip of a horn thrust at her and missed but the keen edge of danger touched her mind. She danced away, running backward now, speeding up to angle sideways. She loved this job. Standing in the arena always felt like being in her own house. Despite her heart beating hard as anything, these were the most calming, peaceful, private times she ever had.

The bull rider was safe because she’d gone into the maelstrom of the whirling bull and jerked his rope loose when he had that little hang-up. That was a thrill in itself. She loved helping the cowboys in danger, loved feeling that she might’ve saved somebody’s life. Now this bull was hers.

It was just her and the bull, mano a mano.

Elle felt a huge smile come over her face as she backed up, took a running jump into the air, soared over the bull’s head, and landed on his back. She took a couple of steps before she leaped over his tail and off to the ground again, still running. One of the safety men rode horseback in between them and drove the bull toward the out gate.

That was when she finally heard the roar of the crowd again.

“Miss Farrell Hawthorne, ladies and gentlemen,” John yelled. “How about them apples? Little bitty girl, great big bull. Y’all won’t see a better protector for these brave cowboys, nowhere, no way, and she sure can entertain a crowd, too. Tell her how you feel about her!”

The roar got even louder. It picked her up on a wave of noise and washed the joy she was feeling into an explosion in her veins. She swept off her hat and threw it into the air the way the cowboys did when they made a great ride.

Then she looked for Rocky, the painted clown who’d been acting silly all night, and Junior, who’d been inside the barrel for the bulls to butt around. She beckoned the crowd to acknowledge them, too. John began announcing their names and talking about their years of experience.

They ran to her and Rocky clowned around, gesturing for more applause from the fans. Elle turned to one side of the grandstand and then to the other, bowing and then holding her arms out as if to embrace the fans while they screamed and yelled and stomped even louder. Smoke ’Em had been the last bull of the evening.

Once again, way too soon, the rodeo was over. People were already pouring into the aisles.

“You done good, kid,” Junior said as they began to gather up their equipment.

Rocky agreed. “Mighty fine bullfightin’, girl.”

“Freestyle American,” she said lightly. “I’m just glad we don’t kill the bull like they do in Mexico. I wanna meet up with him again.”

“That’s the challenge,” Rocky said. “We let the rascals live and that’s how they get so smart.”

“And valuable,” Elle said. “Those stock contractors would kill us if we killed a bull.”

They all laughed at that and joked with each other but the fun was draining out of the evening for Elle. A family walking away along the arena fence, mother, father and three little girls proudly wearing their cowgirl hats—one pink, one red, one purple—caught her eye and she watched them until they turned the corner at the end of the bleachers. In only a moment the arena and the area behind the chutes would be as empty as the grandstands. All gone.

All the life, all the noise, all the excitement and the danger and the people. Gone. It was that quiet, lonesome moment that Elle hated every time. Nobody much around the arena, the animals back in their pens, the big lights shining down on vacant seats, dusty dirt and deserted pieces of trash slapping against the fence to glare white and ugly at the night.

The end of the rodeo always gave her a little chill.

Now, instead of electricity and excited voices and the thud of hooves and snorts of challenge, the clatter of the chute gates and the clang of the bull bells, the only thing filling the air was the wind.

CHASE LOMAX WALKED INTO the swirl of music and laughter that was Larry’s Steak House after a rodeo and grinned because somebody yelled out his name the minute he came through the door. Tater Gibbons, a calf roper he’d known for years, waved him over to shake hands.

“Eighty-seven, huh?” Tater said. “Congratulations, Chaser. Reckon you just might make a bull rider in your old age, after all.”

Chase couldn’t stop smiling. Getting into bull riding, going for the All-Around, had put the excitement back in his life.

“You’re my inspiration, Tate,” he said. “Seeing as how you’re living proof a man can still cowboy when he’s 102.”

Everybody at the table laughed and jeered, joining in.

“Yeah, but I ain’t gettin’ on no roughstock,” Tater said, when he could be heard again. “Gotta hand it to you, man.”

Chase slapped him on the shoulder and moved on among the tables, looking for Robbie. The place was full of people, pulsing red-dirt music and the smells of steaks and onions sizzling over mesquite coals. His mouth watered and his stomach growled. He never ate much before he rode and afterward he was ravenous.

Somebody all the way over by the dance floor stood up. Robbie. Smiling all over his good-looking Brazilian face because they’d both had great rides tonight. Good old Robbie. Without doubt, the best buddy he’d ever had and one heck of a bull rider. They’d had a lot of fun since they’d partnered up for traveling some of the time, hitting the big rodeos and competing on the professional bull-riding circuit, too.

Chase headed that way, stopping here and there to shake hands and hear compliments about his bull ride and his bronc rides, to swap jokes and good-natured insults. He knew, at least by sight, probably half the people in Larry’s tonight and some of the ones he didn’t know were watching his progress, smiling, pointing him out. He’d probably sign some autographs before the night was through.

Robbie was rustling up another chair from somewhere and the dozen or so friends around the long table were moving over to make room for Chase when he reached them. The first thing he spotted was Elle Hawthorne among them.

The welcoming flash of her smile before she turned to say something to her friend Missy Jo gave him a little prickle along his spine. He’d never met her and he wanted to talk to her and here she was, put right in his path.

It’d be interesting to see what she was like out of the arena. A woman who wanted to be a bullfighter—no, who was one—was bound to be a whole lot different from all the other girls, and he wasn’t quite sure how to approach her to get his message across with the least blowback.

He wasn’t prejudiced. He believed that anybody, man or woman, ought to do anything they were big enough to do. But maybe women should do anything they wanted except be bullfighters.

Once they got the chairs arranged, somehow the empty one ended up so that he sat just across from her. She looked right at him, direct and sassy—and young, so young—sizing him up.

“I don’t think you two have ever been introduced,” Robbie said in his soft, lilting accent. “Elle Hawthorne, this dangerous cowboy is Chase Lomax. Chase, this is Elle. Now you can see her beautiful face, my friend, instead of only a blur in the arena.”

She stuck out her hand and Chase stood up to shake it. Beautiful might be a bit of an exaggeration, with that dusting of freckles across her nose.

Or not. Her smile was a hundred watts and her eyes were something else. She sure didn’t look like a bullfighter right now.

Best plan of action might be to try to charm her into seeing things his way, just as he would any other woman.

“Pleased to meet you, Chase,” she said. “Are you truly dangerous?”

“Some say so,” he drawled, returning her smile with a big one of his own. “But then, you look like you can handle a little danger, Elle.”

Robbie favored her with his famous grin.

“Come to me, Elle,” he said, “if you should need any help. I know how tricky he is.”

“Now that right there is a trick,” Chase said to her. “He introduces me, but then he tries to keep you for himself.”

“That’s life, right?” Elle said, grinning. “Always something to watch out for. If it’s not a bull, it’s a cowboy.” She held the floor for a beat and added, “Or as M. J. always says, if it’s full of bull, it’s a cowboy.”

They all laughed and then she turned to her right and started talking to Tim Traywick.

As if he were the interesting one. Nothing against Tim, but any other woman would’ve been all over Chase and Robbie instead. Face it: Tim was no champion, and he looked hardly old enough to be away from home alone.

Then the waiter came by and when Chase had finished ordering, he saw that she was really laughing it up with Tim. Far as Chase knew, the boy wasn’t known for being a wit. Without really trying, he overheard Elle say something about one night when Cooder Graw was playing live at Billy Bob’s. They could be dating, for all he knew. Or cared.

But when he turned to listen to whatever it was that Robbie was trying to tell him, he decided he’d dance with her. That would be the way to talk to her privately. And this definitely had to be private.

In a minute, the band switched to the lively Alan Jackson song “Burnin’ the Honky Tonks Down.” Chase looked back at Elle. She was still busy with Tim, but too bad. Chase didn’t care if they were dating. This was his chance to get rid of the rock stuck in his craw.

“Come on, Elle,” he said, pushing back his chair, “dance with me.”

She glanced up at him, startled, but he held her gaze and she didn’t try to look away. She grinned and stood up, too. “How do I know you can dance?”

Cute grin. But he had enough women on his case already, and she was way too young for him, to boot.

“You saw me gettin’ clear of old Smoke ’Em tonight.”

That made her laugh. He liked her laugh, too.

“I hate to hurt your ego, Lomax, but I didn’t have time to watch your footwork.”

Well, you certainly had time to interfere with my dismount.

He would dance one dance with her and tell her that in the nicest possible way.

He met her at the end of the table, which was at the edge of the dance floor, took her hand, and they went with the music. Really went with it.

She was a dancer who put her heart in it, no holding back, reading his mind like a gypsy woman and adding plenty of flourish during the guitar, the fiddle and finally the mandolin breaks. He had a whole new respect for her.

Elle Hawthorne was one of a kind. She threw herself into play as hard as she did into work.

When the song ended, they just stood there for a minute, grinning at each other, pretty proud of themselves.

“I love a partner who’s not afraid to dance,” he said.

“Me, too.”

So when the band struck up a slow one, she just naturally moved into his arms. He started to say something but then he didn’t. He didn’t want to ruin this yet.

She was warm in his arms, small and just the right height to lay her head on his chest. She didn’t, though. She kept a little distance.

He pulled her to him and brushed his legs against hers as they danced. She threw him a surprised glance, as if to say she wasn’t quite sure if she liked it, but she didn’t pull back. After a while, she even moved a little closer and slid her free hand higher onto his shoulder.

But instead of looking at him, she stared off into space. At first he thought she must be looking for somebody else who was on the dance floor, but then she tilted her chin up, met his eyes and held them like she was thinking him over. Her eyes were so clear and deep they made him think, too.

No matter what, the whole time they were moving in sync. Perfect partners.

“You’ve got the moves,” he said.

That made her grin.

“Yeah,” she said dryly. “I have the moves.”

“In the arena, too. I watched you and Smoke ’Em after I got off.”

“Thanks,” she said. “You made a good ride. What was his score going in? Smoke ’Em thirty, riders two?”

“Sheer luck,” he said. “When he started that really hard whippin’ around with his hind end, he came within a hair of scooting me down off my rope.”

“Yeah,” she said. “He is one strong boy who loves his work with all his big old ugly heart.” She flashed an impish grin. “Nearly as much as you.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Are you saying I’m big and ugly? Or big and strong?”

“Whatever,” she said, with a definitely flirtatious tilt of her head.

Her soft laugh mingled with the music.

“You looked like you were having a pretty good time, yourself,” he said.

She nodded. “I love it. Everything and everybody fades away and it’s just me and el toro.”

Then she bit her bottom lip—a really nice bottom lip—as if she’d said more than she meant to.

“Me, too.” Then he said way more than he’d meant to. “I don’t know what I’ll do when I can’t ride anymore.”

She shot him a look. “I noticed the announcer mentioned that you’re thirty-eight.”

He laughed. “I’m gonna jump him out about that. I’m sick of hearing it.”

And he was. He still had the want-to and he still had the talent.

“To be fair,” she said, “earlier, he also called you a great champion.”

“Fear’s what makes a rider good,” he said lightly, “and I’m scared.”

He took the conversation back to tonight’s ride. Which, after all, was the reason they were dancing together right now.

“I was really glad when Smoke ’Em finally started to spin. I couldn’t believe how high he could kick and how hard he could buck.”

“Yeah, the spin’s what kept you on,” she said. “I sure thought you were hung up bad there at the end, though.”

Good. Great. She’d brought it up herself. Maybe he could get his message across without stirring her up.

“Well, you did come in too soon,” he said. “I was okay.”

She stiffened and gave him a narrow-eyed look.

“You’re the first customer I ever had that complained I tried too hard to keep him alive and healthy. And you looked pretty much hung-up with your hand there in the rope.”

“I wasn’t.” He brought out his most charming smile. “I don’t mean to be critical,” he said. “I like to be in control as long as I can. I was just looking for the best way to get off.”

She was staring at him like he had two heads. “What happens after the buzzer, Chase, doesn’t get you any more points. I could drag you away from the bull by your hair and it wouldn’t change your score.”

The image—and her tone—sent a quick shot of anger through him. Wasn’t it always the cavemen who did the dragging?

“I’m not talking about points. I’m talking about control, and I had it all covered. Winning is all about control.”

“You’re talking about image,” she said, and now she was mad, too. “This is the most ridiculous thing I ever heard. Ty Murray or Tuff Hedeman or Donnie Gay or Larry Mahan or any of the best bull riders in history never felt any shame at running from a bull, much less being helped to get loose from one.”

“Look,” he said, “I’ll run from a bull just like anybody else. I’m not proud. But I don’t want any help if I don’t need it.”

She studied him, eyes full of fire, but her body still moving flawlessly with his.

“What is the deal here? Tell me, would you be talking to Rocky or Junior like this?”

“Of course.”

“Of course not.” She glared at him. “I’m thinking you just don’t like to be rescued by a woman.”

“I wasn’t,” he snapped. “You didn’t rescue me because I didn’t need to be rescued.”

“You’re criticizing me because I’m a woman in a man’s job. It’s as simple as that. I know it.”

He shook his head and opened his mouth, but she was too quick for him.

“Since when does a cowboy second-guess a bullfighter? At least to his face? If he’s not a woman? I can tell you right now that I intend to be the best. I’m gonna win that new championship contest Bob Moss and those other money men are putting together for this fall. Have you heard about it?”

He spoke without thinking about what he was saying, because what he was thinking about was how good she felt in his arms.

“Yeah, but from what I’ve heard, no way can they call it a world championship. Not compared to what the Wrangler Tour used to be. Rob Smets won that five times and you can’t let somebody who hasn’t fought very many bulls hold the same title as he—”

She interrupted him, snapping each word off like a shot.

“Last I heard, you’re a bull rider and a bronc rider, not king of the world. No matter what the title’s gonna be I am going to win it. Remember that, Lomax. I know what I’m doing whether you think so or not.”

Damn, she was mad. This was exactly what he’d tried to avoid. He didn’t need the bullfighters mad at him for getting into their business and the cowboys mad at him for making their protectors mad.

He tried his charming smile again.

“Look, Elle, all I’m doing is just trying to tell you how to read me when I’m on a bull. Trying to save you until I really need you.”

She gave him a long, mean look, reassessing whatever it was that she’d originally thought of him, no doubt.

But the hell of it was that her body wasn’t reassessing anything. Not one damn thing. It was still dancing on, as close to his, as in sync with his, as if they were longtime lovers.

Insane thought. She was only a kid.

He tried again to make her smile back at him.

“It’s hard to run from a bull and look cool at the same time,” he said, grinning his mischievous grin. “What I need is for you to come in right when I start to run and distract the audience with your guts and skill.”

She kept on giving him that look.

“Since, as Robbie pointed out, you’re such a blur in the arena that they can’t be distracted by your beautiful face.”

“You wouldn’t say that to a man bullfighter, either,” she said. “You may be a control freak, but you can’t control me with flattery.”

He hadn’t defused her one bit.

Lomax, get a grip. This is not worth a big fuss-fight and the resulting gossip. This is stupid. You should’ve kept your mouth shut.

He smiled at her, trying to get back on the easy footing they’d had at the beginning.

“I’m just funny that way,” he said lightly. “I like to hang on a little after the buzzer in case I’ve only imagined that the eight seconds are up. That has happened more than once, you know.”

She scowled at him. Fiercely scowled at him.

“You were in trouble when I pulled you loose, and you know it. Get over it, Lomax. I’ll do my job my way. I’m not going to have it on my conscience that you got hurt or killed when I could’ve saved your life.”

Quick anger hit him. He didn’t even know for sure if he believed it, but he blurted, “All right, it is because you’re a woman. By nature, women are overprotective. Men have sense enough to know that if I get hurt or killed, well, that’s just bull riding.”

Her blazing eyes narrowed to slits.

“I know the danger. And I’m not overprotective.”

“I hate to break it to you, Elle, but you can’t save everybody. Somebody’s gonna get killed and somebody’s gonna get hurt while you’re fighting bulls and it will not be your fault. You won’t have anything to do with it.”

“And I know I’m not God.”

“You don’t talk like it. You talk like a naïve, little-girl greenhorn out to save the world.”

“Don’t ‘little-girl’ me, buddy. I may only be half as old as you are, but I’ve had more than twenty-four years’ worth of trouble to face up to and I know what my job is and how to do it.”

“I don’t need a nursemaid,” he said. “And I am not twice as old as you are.”

They glared at each other as the song ended but even when they stopped moving, their bodies wouldn’t part. They stood just as close together as when they were dancing, breathing hard and looking daggers at each other.

Finally, Chase let go and Elle stepped back out of his arms as if she couldn’t wait to get away. She whirled to leave him but then she turned.

“You can dance,” she said. “Sorry I doubted you, but with an old man, you never know.”

CHAPTER TWO

ELLE HAD FORGOTTEN how much she loved driving at night. It gave her that same feeling—or nearly—of being wrapped up in her own world that always came over her in the arena. But tonight, instead of her and a bull, it was her and Missy Jo, who’d just gone sound asleep in the back seat. They rolled on through the dark down a mostly empty Texas highway with Missy’s mares, Skitter and Shine, standing quiet in the trailer hitched on behind and Aussie, her dog, sprawled all over the passenger seat and half the console, riding shotgun.

She reached out and turned the music up a little. Yep. Nothing like being in charge of the universe and feeling it in motion.

Elle rolled the window down a little more. She didn’t care if her hair did whip around her face, she loved the smell of the wind and its power on her skin. For late March, she wasn’t used to the weather being so nice and warm.

She flew on, shooting in a straight path through the dark endless space, with the dashboard’s glow the only light. Headed for somewhere new, another place where she wouldn’t have to stay. Another place she could leave whenever she wanted. This was freedom.

She glanced at the speedometer and eased her foot off the pedal. No sense ruining a good run with a ticket from the highway patrol. When the needle hit seventy, she punched on the cruise control and shifted in the seat. Holding the wheel with one hand, she took her cup from its holder and sipped the coffee. Still hot, still fragrant. Per-fect.

Los Lonely Boys were singing about heaven from the CD player, their voices soothing her mind and tickling her ears, rocking her in their rhythms.

Heaven’s right about here. On earth, it won’t ever be any better.

RodeoAustin had been a great one for her and also for Missy Jo, sleeping with a smile on her face. And now they were speeding toward the next arena, toward that eternal chance of an even more spectacular performance that kept all the rodeo cowboys and cowgirls on the road.

Toward the ultimate thrill, that primeval gamble of life against death.

That gamble that required everything the players possessed—skill, intelligence, wit, physical strength and agility. The game to end all games.

What else could she want? She was one of the most successful players. She had a talent for it. A love for it. Making her every dream come true was definitely possible.

One of these years, the top forty-five bull riders in the world would vote for her and she’d be working for the Professional Bull Riders. That was when a bullfighter knew he or she had really made it to the top—when the riders chose her to protect them.

Oh, and she’d never forget Austin because that was where she’d danced with that bronc-riding legend, Chase Lomax. The small of her back arched toward the memory of his warm hand. Her whole body wanted to move with his again.

The remembered feel of him flowed over her skin and brought his woodsy, citrusy scent to fire her blood.

Maybe that was heaven, too, being in his arms.

Heaven or not, it was a miracle. She might pretend to other people, she might keep secrets and lie or evade the truth all the time with them, but she had taken a vow not to lie to herself anymore, so she had to face it: Chase Lomax made her feel something sexual.

But she mustn’t get her hopes up too much. A thrill or two during one dance was a long way from real lovemaking.

It’s a start, though. It proves it’s possible.

Oh, yeah, and what an irony. The first man whose hands really touched her had to be a sexist woman-chaser rude enough to tell her she was in the wrong line of work.

Was it worth the risk to take it further? She knew she could by the way he’d looked at her when they left the dance floor and the way he’d kept saying things to her during dinner. He was intrigued.

However, sleeping with him could be a risk to her career, if she let his remarks about it invade her head. It might even be a risk to her heart because she couldn’t take sex lightly, and wasn’t her goal to make it mean something as well as to really feel something? Chase Lomax was famous for breaking hearts.

But the greatest risk of all would be that it would fail and destroy her hope.

Which is stupid to even think about because approximately half the human race is male and there are millions more men out there.

Too bad she wasn’t the type to try them all, one after the other. No way could she do that.

But if she decided she was afraid to go further with Chase, how would she ever know? He might be her best chance for the rest of her life to find out whether she could ever really feel anything with any man or if she would always be damaged goods. Or perhaps sexually-challenged, to be politically correct.

She felt a wry grin curl her lips. Politically correct she wasn’t.

But there was something more in Chase that drew her. A shadow of something in his eyes that made her want to know enough about him to name it.

Which made it even more important to leave him alone. She needed to find out about herself, not him. She was tangled up enough inside without getting involved or falling in love. She wasn’t ready for that. No way could she fight bulls with a distracted heart or a broken one.

On the other hand, this had to be worth pursuing, because there’d been some tension or something in the air between them last night—right from the minute Chase walked up to that table.

Yeah, sure. He wanted to tell you about your mistake.

She could go into this without her heart, though. It’d be for her body only. All she wanted was to find out if she could ever be normal.

Oh, yeah, for double sure. Remember how you couldn’t look away from that family last night? Three stairsteps, little cowgirls. A mommy and a daddy still in love, holding hands?

True. She did want that. Someday. But she had to find out about herself first. She could never get married again until she knew. She’d gotten so sick of pretending with Derek and she was not going to spend the rest of her life like that.

So if you had the guts to leave Derek, and you have the guts to be a bullfighter, why are you scared of giving Chase Lomax a whirl in the name of research? You’ve never been known for a coward, Farrell Hawthorne.

Right. She couldn’t be a coward when Farrell was her name. Her mother named her, not one of her three brothers, after their legendary great-great-grandpa.

Farrell St. Clair, legend among the real, old-time cowboys, had made a name that, to this day, still came up in every discussion of Montana’s best bronc riders ever. In spite of being born sickly and with a crippled arm during the winter of the great die-up in 1886, he’d survived and thrived as a man who could ride anything with hair on it.

Besides that, they said he’d fight a grizzly with a willow switch. He had absolutely no fear, or if he did, no one ever saw it.

Remembering those stories and knowing she was named for him was what got her through those terrible days when she was twelve. They gave her courage when she was scared to death and helpless, and they gave her courage the first time she walked into the arena as the bullfighter.

Her mother had unfailingly called her Farrell, but everybody else, from the time the baby girl had tried to say her own name, called her Elle. When she started bullfighting, though, she insisted that the rodeo announcers use her full name because it made her spirit even stronger.

Elle punched the Forward button on the CD player. Time to quit looking in the rearview mirror.

And time to quit worrying about whatever lay ahead down the road. Trying to plan for that was a waste of energy.

Worse, it was a waste of a beautiful spring night with the smell of rain on the wind.

“Really, Aussie,” she murmured, glancing at the Australian shepherd who’d put his front feet on the console to stand up and look at her, “you’re the only male animal we need around this outfit.”

Aussie gave her a melting look of agreement. Elle set the coffee back in the cupholder so she could reach over and scratch him a little. He sank back down, closed his eyes and nestled his nose between his paws. She patted his head and grasped the leather wheel again, firmly and with both hands.

She really ought to travel with Missy Jo more often. But it was hard to do—M.J. had to enter the rodeos and barrel-racings that offered the most prize money and Elle had to work the jobs that offered her contracts, of which more and more were package deals for her and Rocky and Junior. They’d just have to make the best of these rare times when they both worked the same rodeo.

Which probably was just as well. Missy Jo had romance on the brain now that she had a serious boyfriend, and she wanted to fix Elle up with somebody, too. It was sweet of her but maddening. Last night, Missy Jo had sensed the attraction between Elle and Chase and today that had been her main topic of conversation.

Something moved at the side of the road. A long way up ahead, at the end of the headlights’ beam, but Elle knew she’d seen it. She started slowing down.

Probably it was an animal. If it ran across the road in front of them, she might have a wreck trying to miss it. She looked away, then tried to spot it again as she let the speed drop all the way down to fifty.

The night was black around them. Whatever it was had been white, or she would never have seen it. She kept searching and slowing and then she saw two eyes shining in her lights, looking down the road at her. She’d have to stop, just long enough to check it out.

When she got close enough, she signaled that she was going to pull over, gradually moved onto the shoulder of the road, and slowed the rig to a stop. As she set the parking brake, Missy Jo sat up.

“What’s going on? Where are we?”

“Middle of nowhere,” Elle said. “I just want to check on something.”

“You think we’ve got a flat?”

“No. It’ll only take a minute.”

“Skitter? Is she kicking again?”

“No, M.J. Nothing’s wrong. Hang on a second.”

Elle could feel Missy’s eyes on her back as she walked along the side of the highway, following the headlights’ beams to the yellow eyes looking at her from the ground.

“You’ll get your hand bit off,” Missy Jo screamed from the truck. “Elle, you don’t even know what that is.”

“It’s a dog,” Elle called back. “It’s a Husky. Or an Eskimo.”

“If it’s hurt, it could be dangerous. Wait ’til I get there.”

Elle squatted down at a safe distance while Missy Jo ran to her, talking as she did so.

“I’m not going to let you drive another mile,” she said. “Nobody but you would stop out in the boonies in the middle of the night for a hurt dog. You can’t help him, Elle.”

But the dog stood up right then and they saw that, aside from his left hind leg hanging at a weird angle and a cut bleeding into the fur of that shoulder, he appeared to be healthy. Sort of. Under the thick—and admittedly, horridly matted—haircoat, he was too thin.

Elle started talking to him and holding her hand out for him to sniff.

“It’s just a broken leg,” she said. “A good veterinarian can fix him right up.”

“Do you see one anywhere around here?”

Elle let that pass without comment except to say, “He’s not wearing any tags.”

“You can’t do this to Carlie,” Missy Jo said with an exaggerated sigh of sympathy for the woman who was Elle’s landlady. “If you take in any more strays, you’ll have to stay home and take care of them yourself.”

“Carlie calls them her grandchildren,” Elle told her, letting the dog lick the tips of her fingers. “She likes them. They keep her from being lonesome.”

“You’re her biggest stray,” M.J. said, with her usual tendency to speak truths that struck too close to the bone. “She just doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, Elle.”

M.J. definitely had a point, but Elle did, too.

“She says—all the time—that she’s a rich widow with nothing else to do but feed, water, doctor and entertain the hurting four-footed creatures I drag in there.”

She was stroking the dog’s head by now. He was whining his thanks.

“Talking to you is like talking to a rock,” M.J. said.

“Well, what would you do?” Elle said, keeping her voice as calm as she could so as not to excite or scare the dog. “Leave him here to suffer?”

“I never would’ve stopped in the first place,” M.J. said. “But now that you’ve done it, damn it, I’ll go get a blanket.”

HE’D DONE IT NOW.

Chase moved slowly as he sat up in bed, swung his feet out onto the floor, and stood up. He was sore all over and the pain in his bad leg seared through him like a firebrand, but he tried to shut it out of his mind. He had two pins and a screw in his left femur and that same kneecap had been cracked like a walnut in his very next ride back from that surgery, but all that had healed up six months ago. Surely it didn’t mean he couldn’t take it anymore.

He wasn’t going to let his body crater on him. Not yet. No way.

He’d planned to do a little cutting today to try a couple of his colts that’d just been started. But maybe he ought to take it easy instead.

Damn. The day a man couldn’t do anything and everything that he wanted to do was the day he might as well count himself old. He wasn’t there yet. He still had two more buckles to win.

He set his jaw and walked to the window in spite of the hurt, which began to turn into a sharp ache that ran all the way up into his teeth. Probably that was only because this Montana morning at the end of March was a whole lot colder than Texas, where he’d just been. Surely it wasn’t because he had too many bones that had been broken too many times.

Carefully, he widened his stance and began to stretch, bending to one side and then the other, breathing deep against the pain and keeping his eyes on the pinkening dawn outside the window. He’d been having crazy dreams, which were what had wakened him.

He rarely dreamed. Or else he didn’t remember his dreams. All his life, he’d been so tired when he finally went to bed at night that he had no trouble sleeping no matter what. Except maybe when he was a kid and never knew when his dad would jerk him out of bed in the middle of the night to berate or beat him.

Retirement wasn’t going to change that. Whenever the day rolled around that he had to get off the road and come home to this new ranch to stay, he would keep on working. Maybe not riding all the young ones, but he’d work. He’d ridden through the pain and worked through the pain and he was going to keep right on doing it as long as he could move.

That decided, he pulled on ragged jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, his wool-lined Carhartt jacket and sheepskin moccasins. Coffee and the sunrise. That was the ticket. After that, he wouldn’t jog or run, but he’d damn sure shovel some shit. He wasn’t gonna let being the big boss and the ranch owner go to his head.

Two hours later he was on his second pot of coffee and still on the porch, feet propped up on the railing, still no boots on, doing nothing but looking around like a pole-axed steer. What a lazy bum.

In a rocking chair, no less, like he was on his last legs. He’d have to talk to that designer woman who’d picked out the furniture. What’d she think this was? A rest home for old cowboys?

He’d get up and get to work as soon as he finished this pot. He’d just sit here for a few more minutes and decide what all he needed to do today. Only two days home and then he’d be back on the road.

Home. That seemed so strange to him. This new place was home.

Big house, good quality, but not fancy. Lots of glass and wood and stone but homey. Make it look like it grew out of the ground, there in front of the big grove of aspen at the foot of the mountain. That’s what he’d told the architect. That’s what he’d got.

Now he couldn’t believe it was his. And he couldn’t believe that someday he’d be here all the time. No cowboy could rodeo forever.

Looking that fact right in the face made him feel the earth shift underneath him: What would he do with a home? Home wasn’t just for one person, was it? But two people—him and his dad—hadn’t been a home, either. Not even the three of them, when his mom was still there, had made one. He didn’t know what a home was.

But if building could make one, then he’d have one. There were two buildings and several miles of fence under construction that he could see from here, just by turning his head. There were more that he couldn’t see right now. All of it belonged to him. He was the one making it happen.

His new barns, his new outdoor arena, his new shop, his new breeding lab, his new landscaping, his new manager’s house for Tucker and his wife Helen, his new bunkhouse for whatever help they needed, his new indoor arena, his new garage, were all springing up out of the ground because he’d ordered them to be built. Except for the mountain ranges rising against the sky, all the land he could see from this spot where he sat belonged to him, either deeded or leased.

He, Chase Lomax, was settling down. Well, he was preparing to settle down. Sometime. Not yet.

But he couldn’t deny that he was building a homeplace. Something to last, a fine ranch of the kind men handed down to their children.

Which was insane. When he died, he would leave it to Shane, since he certainly wasn’t the marrying kind and wouldn’t be having any more children.

He’d put his money in the bank since those first years on the rodeo road when all he’d had was that little old trailer he’d lived in with Andie Lee and Shane. Since then, he’d operated out of one friend’s place or another, usually whichever friend was boarding Tardy Girl for him. The now twenty-five-year-old mare he called Teege or T.G. was the only thing he’d managed to hold on to all his life.

Except the saddle he’d made with his dad. The only dadlike thing his dad had ever done. He didn’t like to think about his old man but sometimes he did wish he could show him this ranch, after all the times he’d called him worthless and no-good and told him he’d never amount to anything.

He slammed his mind shut on the memory of his dad’s voice and concentrated on looking at the snow-covered mountains. This had to be the most spectacular view in the state of Montana. The best view he’d ever seen anywhere, and he’d been all over the U. S. and a lot of Canada and to Brazil with Robbie.

Chase, chilled to the bone, even though they were having a good spell of open weather, stood up and threw what was left of the coffee into a bush by the steps, set the mug on the table and gave his arms and shoulders a mighty stretch. His joints popped and his bones creaked, but at least he was all in one piece.

The sun was warming things up and he should get out in it. Maybe the wind would become a chinook—after all, most of the snow was melting from the lower elevations.

He would go change into running shoes and put in a mile or two. This afternoon, he’d lift weights and do a lot of crunches. Robbie’s Brazilian buddy, Paulo, did two thousand sit-ups a day. No wonder he was in perfect control of his body when he got on a bull. Of course, he was a lot younger than Chase.

He turned to start for the door, but the grinding of wheels on gravel stopped him. He turned, waiting idly, to see who was coming. More workmen, probably.

This was pitiful. He was so hard up for entertainment he was watching the builders drive in to work.

Nope. He knew the pickup as soon as he saw it. Andie Lee, coming to see him.

Only once before had she driven the hundred miles to his place from the Splendid Sky, the ranch where they’d met all those years ago. They’d been so young then. So young they didn’t understand the world they were in, happy in the rebellion of forbidden love: Andie Lee the princess, the owner’s stepdaughter, and Chase the saddle bum/drifter/colt breaker/wannabe rodeo champion.

The one time she’d been here was to bring their son, Shane—well, technically, her son—to camp with Chase for a couple of days. That had been before the house was completed. What would she think of it?

He didn’t really care what she thought of the house. Suddenly, he just wished he’d held on to her somehow so he wouldn’t be lonesome now.

Lately she’d been dating just one guy, a guy she’d looked at with a million feelings in her eyes the day she introduced him to Chase. And, later, she hadn’t wanted to talk about him on the phone, so that had made him feel sort of shut out. They hadn’t been lovers for several years, but they’d been friends and they were accustomed to telling each other just about everything.

Come to think of it, she’d been too busy for weeks now to talk to Chase much at all.

If she was here, this was serious. It must be bad news. Shane might be in trouble again.

She drove up to the center of the circle drive and parked in front of the steps. He took them two at a time to go meet her, hardly feeling the pain in his leg. Shane wasn’t with her.

Smiling, Andie got out of the truck and walked into his open arms, lingering in his hug for a minute without saying a word. She felt so damn good. She smelled so familiar. Now, she could make this place a home. Why the hell had he ever let her go?

“You must’ve hit the road before sunup,” he said. “Everything all right?”

She pulled back and gave him that smile again. She couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

“Everything’s wonderful. I’ve come to tell you my exciting news.”

“Is it about Shane?”

“About me,” she said. Then she turned away, took his hand, and started leading him up the steps. “Give me some coffee,” she said. “I finished mine just before I started down the mountain.”

“Got a fresh pot.”

She let go of his hand.

“I want to see your house later,” she said, “but for right now, let’s sit out here. This view is fabulous. It’s even better than the one from Micah’s place.”

“It might be too cold for you. Things’re just starting to warm up.”

“Hey,” she said. “I don’t live in Texas anymore. I can take the cold.”

When he came back with two full mugs, she was standing at the corner of the railing, looking in every direction. The sun made a halo of her hair.

“You building a town here or what?” she said.

“A little different from our Old Turkey, isn’t it?” he said, and stood very close to her after he handed her the cup.

She held the look he gave her and he felt his heart beat in his chest. When they’d lived in that trailer, they’d been lovers. That was for damn sure.

“That was a good old camper,” she said, smiling as she took a sip. “Think of the thousands of miles we put on it.”

“And how many chaps and jackets you had to paint to buy the gas when I wasn’t winning,” he said.

He loved her smile. He always had loved it.

“Can’t you just see us? That old faded turquoise camper with the rusty red one-horse hooked on behind? How is Tardy Girl doing, by the way?”

“She’s great. I’m keeping her in where it’s warm. We’ll go see her in a little while.”

“Those were great days, Chase. I’ll never forget them.”

“Sometimes I think we oughtta try it again,” he said lightly. “At least here in this house, you’d have a kitchen big enough to cook in and scratch your butt at the same time.”

She almost sloshed her coffee out. “Chase! That’s not a very appetizing image.”

But she was laughing. She was still smiling that smile.

“Well, how about it? I ain’t had no good homemade cookies since we lived in that faded old turquoise trailer.”

“You have so! I make you some for Christmas every single year!”

“Or biscuits,” he said in a pitiful tone. “Or gravy.”

He gave her his most soulful look.

“Why don’t you just stay over tonight and cook my breakfast in the morning, Andie?”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “Because I think you only love me for my cooking.”

He waggled his brows at her and looked her up and down with his teasing grin. “Nope. I love you for other reasons, too.”

She shook her head. “You never really loved me, sugar. You just thought you did. Your real love is the Rodeo Road.”

He held her gaze and the grin. “Well, yes and no. But now I’m building a home.”

She lost her smile. “And you want a woman in it. Well, that’s not love, either, Chase, honey.”

“We could give it a whirl and find out.”

“Nope. I came over here to tell you something. Let’s sit down.”

He stared at her. “You told Shane he’s not my blood son?”

She seemed startled. So that wasn’t it.

“Not yet. He’s got enough to deal with right now.”

“He’s still clean and sober?”

“As far as I can tell. Thank God.”

“Well, then,” he said heartily, wanting to stave off whatever was so important she’d started at sunup and driven all the way over here to tell him. All of a sudden, he knew he didn’t want to hear it.

But she was going to tell him no matter what he wanted, so he turned two chairs to face each other and they sat. He waited.

“Spit it out. Why’d you come to see me, Andie Lee?”

She held her mug in both hands, carefully balanced on her thigh. The storm gray of her eyes darkened as she held his gaze.

“I had to tell you face-to-face. I’m going to get married, Chase. Blue loves me and, God knows, I love him. He’s asked me to marry him. We’re thinking we’ll elope one of these days.”

Somehow, he couldn’t get his breath.

Blue. He’d met him once but he’d not forget him. Well, damn. The way Andie Lee had looked at him should’ve told Chase what would happen. Right then, he should’ve known it’d come to this.

Big, handsome, quiet, powerful Indian guy. Shane said he was magic with a horse.

God knows, I love him.

But why did hearing her say that tear him up inside? He was just her friend now. He was the one who had let her go years and years ago.

“You’re the only woman I ever loved, Andie Lee Hart.”

It was true. But he knew as he said it that what she’d said was true, too. He probably didn’t even know what love was.

She smiled sadly and reached out to caress the side of his leg with the toe of her boot.

“I believe that, Chase Lomax. And it’s an honor I don’t take lightly. I loved you, too.”

“I didn’t choose my job over you, though,” he said. “I just never was the kind of man to settle down.”

He took a gulp of coffee. He needed some help, and caffeine seemed to be the only kind at hand.

“You’re scared of commitment,” she said. “You had many a year to marry me when I was in love with you and you never mentioned the word.”

“I wouldn’t say I was scared.”

“I would.”

That made them both laugh.

“I took on raising Shane with you. And that’s a big responsibility. It’s a commitment.”

“And that’s only one reason why I will always love you,” she said.

“But you love him more. This Blue character.”

“Yes.”

“Damn. That’s cold.”

“Don’t whine,” she said. “You asked me and I’m not going to lie to you. All you were after all your life was to be a champion and be famous and now you’ve got that and more, too.”

He had no answer to that except for more whining, so he shut up.

“You’re building a home here,” she said. “And maybe someday you’ll give up and give in and ask a good woman to share it with you. Even if you go that far, I don’t know if you’ll ever really let her have your heart.”

He stared at her, then got up and walked to the railing and leaned back against it.

“You’re not a head doctor, Andie.”

“No, but I’ve thought about it a lot and I know you better than anybody else on this earth. Chase, you’ve got to learn to open up and give a little. Let somebody in.”

Hard hurt stabbed him and he let it show in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said sarcastically, “like I let you in.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t. You loved to rodeo more than you loved to be with me. Way more.”

“It’s my job,” he snapped.

“And your wife and your lover. You trust it always to be there more than you ever would a flesh-and-blood woman.”

“I trusted you, Andie.”

“Chase, before I left you, you could’ve married me and still rodeoed. I was in love and I would’ve agreed to that. But the word marriage was never spoken between us. You never tried to hold me.”

He just stared at her, knowing that he looked like a pouting boy, not caring if he did. She wasn’t his lover anymore, granted, but, damn it, she didn’t have to jump up and marry somebody else. She was his Andie Lee.

“You’re the only woman I ever loved and you left me. You left me.”

“Yes,” she said. “I was sick of trying to raise a boy in a trailer meant for a campout. But I stayed until he had to go to school.”

“You know I understood that. From the get-go. I didn’t blame you for wanting off the road.”

“You understood it with your head,” she said, so gently he had to lean forward to hear her. “But maybe your heart’s been locked away ever since your mother left you all those years ago and it didn’t understand.”

He leaned back on the railing. It pressed against the pain in his leg.

“I got over that a long time ago.”

She didn’t argue, she just looked at him. Into him.

“If you open up, there’ll be a woman one day who won’t leave you, darlin’. I hope you can find the guts to let her stay.”

“You’re not making a whole lot of sense, Andie.”

“Think about it,” she said quietly. “You don’t trust women, Chase. And it’s a shameful waste if you let a lonely childhood keep you alone all your life.”

He wanted to throw something, hit something, break something. But he couldn’t even move. He hadn’t tried to hold her, and now she was moving on.

She stood up and held out her cup to him. He took it and set it on the railing next to his, never taking his eyes from hers.

“An ex-con,” he said. “That worries me a little.”

She stared hard at him. “I hope you won’t hold his past against him,” she said. “I’d love it if the two of you could be friends. Shane respects and likes Blue, too, but you’ll always be his real daddy. I don’t intend to let you get out of our lives, Chase.”

He looked at her just as hard.

“I don’t want out of your lives,” he said. “I’m not gettin’ out no matter what you might want. I am that boy’s daddy and I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

She smiled and he thought he saw tears in her eyes.

“I want you to know that the first time Shane realized Blue and I were falling in love, his reaction was, ‘Mom! What about Dad?’ He was so shocked.”

“Shane’s always dreamed we’d get back together,” he said. “And I have, too.”

“Sometimes,” she said. “But not very often, I’ll bet.”

She laughed her husky laugh at the truth of those words. They were true. He couldn’t deny it, so he had to laugh, too.

Andie Lee held out her hand to him. “Come on, Champ, show me around this place. I want to see the inside of this fabulous house.”

Chase took her hand. Here she was, the same Andie Lee but not the same. The old lovers time was over for them. His relationship with her was changing, just like everything else in his life. The ground was shifting underneath him yet again, and it wasn’t even nine o’clock in the morning.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise. Andie had wanted to settle down for a long time. He hadn’t been ready yet.

He still wasn’t ready. And before he ever did feel ready, he needed somebody who understood the quest and loved life on the road the way he did. Was there any woman in the world like that?

He slammed the door of his mind on that question, smiled and started to give her the grand tour. A man didn’t get to be a winner by paying attention to whatever he was feeling. Or by worrying about his feelings.

Being a winner was all about one thing: control. Controlling emotions, controlling fear.

If he wanted to be the first man in history to win his sixth bareback world championship and his first All-Around title in the same year, he’d better be working up that head of steam right now. He did want the two buckles. He wanted them so bad he could taste it.

More than he’d ever wanted any woman.

CHAPTER THREE

ELLE KEPT ONE EYE on the dog while she arranged her nail stuff around her on the cushions and arm of the hotel room love seat.

“You’re gonna end up buying that piece of furniture,” Missy Jo said, raising her voice so it’d carry over Johnny Cash’s. She walked to the boom box and turned down the volume.

“I’ve got towels. M.J., what are we gonna do if he won’t eat?”

“At least he’s drinking plenty,” M.J. said. “He’s had a shock and that Texas veterinarian warned you he might not eat. Let’s give him until tomorrow.”

Elle set one heel on the edge of her seat and started putting pieces of cotton in between her toes. “You sound bored with this conversation.”

“I don’t know why,” M.J. said. “This is only the tenth time we’ve had it in the past couple of hours.”

“I’m leaving that kibble in front of him until I get my toenails done and then I’m going to go get some cat food.”

“Good plan,” M.J. said in the same dry tone.

“I’ve never heard of a dog that wouldn’t eat cat food. Have you?”

“No,” M.J. said, “and I have been researching that question every free minute I can get.”

Elle took a second to decide between Bronze Baby and Sandstone.

“Sometimes you make me so mad,” she said mildly. “It is irritating beyond belief trying to worry when you, as my best friend, are always so sure everything’ll automatically turn out all right.”

“Not always. Think about it. I tried to tell you this dog would be trouble.”

“Could we talk about something else?”

She opened the Bronze Baby and carefully dipped the brush in.

“Yeah. Chase Lomax. That’s what I want to talk about.”

Elle kept her head down. She made three straight, steady strokes with the polish to cover the first toenail, and said, “Better not let Rodney hear you.”

“There you go, trying to be funny when all I’m trying to do is help you be happy. Why can’t you cooperate?”

Elle raised her head, threw her hair back over her shoulder, and turned to look her friend in the eye. “I’m happy, M.J. I am plenty happy. Haven’t you heard? A woman doesn’t have to have a man to make her happy.”

Missy Jo came around the love seat and sat cross-legged on the floor so they faced each other.

“R-i-ight,” she said slowly, nodding encouragement as if to a stubborn child, “but you’ve heard that sometimes it’s nice to have something else in your life besides work. Haven’t you?”

Elle dropped her head and painted another toenail. She couldn’t listen to this. Damn. Why hadn’t she told M.J. the truth a long time ago?

Because it’s too scary to say it out loud. What if that truth never changes?

“I haven’t noticed Chase Lomax ringing my phone,” she said. “And I am not a hermit. I had a date in Austin and one in Denver, too, if you’ll bother to remember.”

That torched M.J.’ s famous impatience. “I’m talking about a relationship,” she said, planting her fists on her hips. “A give and take where you really care about somebody and he cares about you.”

Elle put the brush back into the bottle and tightened the top while she cranked up her grip on her temper. She shouldn’t have to put up with this, even if M.J. was her very best friend and, in fact, the only close woman friend she had.

Except for Carlie, of course, who was almost more a mother to her than a friend.

“Why are you into this rant?” she asked. “You know and I know that a relationship doesn’t necessarily mean the guy cares about you.”

M.J. looked stricken and Elle raised her hand in apology. “You and Rodney excluded, of course. What I’m saying is that most of the time it means the woman gives and the man takes and if there ever was a man who’d be worse about that than Derek was, it’s Chase Lomax.”

“I just want you to be happy like I am,” M.J. said, her voice suddenly soft and thoughtful. “Even if Rodney and I don’t get married, or if we do and it doesn’t last a lifetime, I want you to experience this.”

Elle felt terrible because big tears were gathering in Missy’s eyes as she spoke.

“I know you do and I appreciate it, I really do. I just don’t know…”

“What I know,” M.J. said, “is that Derek ruined your marriage, right?”

I ruined it, too. He wasn’t the only one.

“So what’s your point?”

“Just this. If you don’t change your attitude, he’ll ruin your whole life. Here you are, comparing Chase to him when you don’t even know Chase.”

Missy wiped her eyes and Elle tried to change the mood. Somehow, M.J. was making her want to cry, too.

“Maybe you just need to pick a different guy for me,” she said lightly, fanning her toenails to dry them. “Why’re you so hung up on Chase, anyhow?”

When she glanced up, M.J. caught her gaze and held it. “Because I was there. Because I saw you two when you came back off the dance floor. And before that, when Robbie introduced y’all.”

Elle wouldn’t let herself look away, even though the memory was taking over her body again. She was afraid M.J. would see that, too.

“I never saw that spark with you and Derek. It’s a gift, Elle, honey. You should at least see where it goes.”

More of Missy’s truth cutting too deep. Elle wasn’t normally afraid of a little truth. Yet she couldn’t find a word to say.

Missy heaved an irritated sigh, unfolded her legs and got up without touching her hands to the floor. She headed for the door.

“I don’t know why you bother to paint your toenails, anyhow,” she said, throwing the words back over her shoulder like pellets of punishment. “Nobody’s gonna see ’em unless some hateful bull knocks you right out of your shoes.”

WHEN CHASE WAS satisfied with his bind, the way his hand fit into the rigging, he sat down on the bareback horse in the chute. He put his feet on the rails on each side of the chute and rested his free arm on top of it. He flexed his riding arm and thought about the horse underneath him.

She was old and full of tricks, the kind of bucking horse that had grown so ring-wise from being at many rodeos, she was smart enough to hum the national anthem. And she was feeling frisky tonight. At least, that was the definite impression he’d gotten when he petted her before putting the rigging on. Every horse was an individual and he always tried to get a read on each one before he ever got on.

Dawson Rodeo Company was rightfully proud of Full Tilt Boogie. Chosen world champion bucking horse twice and maybe on her way to a third time, she loved to buck more than she loved to eat. He’d drawn her twice before and she’d thrown him both times—once just out of the gate and the other at 7.5 seconds.

Not going to happen again. She was all his this time.

He waited for the horse ahead of them to leave the arena, glad that this new rigging felt right to him. It ought to—he’d worked it over when it arrived and it had been custom-made for him. Custom-made, and a thousand times better and safer than the ragged old piece of junk that was all he could afford when he started rodeoing all those years ago.

Remember that, Lomax. You’ve come this far by stayin’ on top of ’em.

Full Tilt came unwound, then, in a heartbeat, ready to boogie, trying to rear, slamming against the inside bars of the chute. Chase’s face hit the top one with his brow bone. The shock of the blow raced through him in an instant, waking every nerve in his body to anger and wariness and cold determination.

The announcer was calling his name.

He nodded for the gate. It swung open, Miss Boogie committed herself and he set his feet at the point of her shoulder on each side to mark her out with his dull-roweled spurs. The rule was that he had to mark her out of the chute for one jump, but he kept it up as he felt all the want-to in the world surge into his blood.

Chase rode flat with his shoulders against the horse’s rump, immersed in the rhythm of the spurring, starting on the front of the neck and coming up the neck to his handle with each jump, toes turned out. He tried to sense what Boogie might do next as she kicked in the hind end and dropped in the front, kicked and dropped.

She really bucked, this mare, and her front end was still in the air when her hind end kicked, so there was a lot of drop to get her front feet back on the ground again. But she did have a rhythm and Chase kept his feet set right, leaned back and lifted on his rigging. Bucking off was not an option.

His adrenaline was so high he forgot about his damaged bones jarring and his sore muscles wrenching. He rode for the whole eight seconds with his free hand high and away from his body and his spurs rolling, never losing his seat, even when Full Tilt tried changing directions and a spin or two. When the buzzer sounded, he sat up and kept on riding, looking for the pickup man to come alongside. That mare knew what the whistle meant, too, and her bucking fell into a halfhearted imitation of itself. Chase got his legs up, grabbed the cantle of the pickup man’s saddle and swung himself over his horse’s butt to land on his feet on the offside.

“Look at that, folks,” the announcer boomed to the cheering crowd. “The old man got ’er done! Yep, nothin’ but a day off for Chase Lomax, in spite of the fact that that horse can buck! And in spite of—or because of—the fact that she won the last couple of battles they had. You bet! That right there’s a sweet eight seconds for our five-time bareback world champion, Chase Lomax!”

Shut up and tell the score, won’t you? Forget all the blather.

“Ninety points! The judges tell me it’s a 9-0 for Mr. Lomax!”

He was happy with that. That was okay.

What the hell was he thinking? It was great. It ought to be incredibly exciting—like it used to be. Any rider had to be thrilled with a ninety-point score.

Chase took his hat off to the crowd, waved and smiled, the way he always did. He listened to the roar of approval for a second and then turned and walked along the fence.

No, to hell with the score anyhow. It oughtta be—it had to be—the ride that stirred the fire. The score meant nothing but money.

That curled his lips in a wry smile. Since when did the money mean nothing to the kid inside him who’d started out without a dime to his name?

“Good ride, cowboy!”

“Yeah, you really got ’er done, Chase.”

He accepted the high-fives and congratulations from the other cowboys with grins and jokes. But as he took his rigging from the pickup man who brought it to him and stepped out of the arena, the flat feeling came over him, longer and harder, in a smothering wave.

He stopped walking long enough for somebody from the Justin Sports Medicine team to look at his head and dab a little germ-killer on the cut but he didn’t hear a word the guy said. He was thinking.

Yeah, he’d got ’er done, and yeah, he’d kept his focus and made a textbook ride and a good score and some money, and it’d been great like it always was to get on an animal he knew would live up to its half of the bargain and really buck. But now that his adrenaline was draining away and his breathing was slowing, he didn’t feel any more excited than if it literally was a day off for him. His want-to might still be there, but the high didn’t stay with him the way it used to.

Was he getting old?

No. The bull riding proved it. He wasn’t too old to learn some new tricks and get some new thrills and he was proving it with every bull he rode.

He pulled his mind up short. There he went, worrying about his feelings again. Focus. He had to focus.

Chase spoke to people and answered greetings and accepted congratulations with half a mind as he headed on back to the pens behind the chutes to put away his rigging. He wished he was up in the bull riding tonight. That’d give him a shot of excitement for sure.

But he wasn’t, so he’d do the next best thing and go help his buddies get on their bulls. Maybe just watching them ride would lift him out of this mood.

ELLE FELT EXHAUSTION grab her legs for the second time, so she leaned on the barrel to rest them for a minute while the safety men moved in and pushed the bull to the gate. She was going to have to run more. Or work out with heavier weights. Maybe add a couple of repetitions to every part of her workout.

Excitement surged through her in such a steady stream, though, that she didn’t worry that her legs would give out completely. That couldn’t happen because this was her night.

“And he-ere’s our last bull ride of the evening, rodeo fans,” the announcer said. “This’ll be the twentieth great bucking bull to perform for us tonight. Don’t you think these fine animal athletes from Birch Creek Rodeo are some of the best in the world?”

Elle grinned to herself. Yes, they were, and she’d done a bang-up job on every one of them. She had learned a lot, she’d been skillful and she’d been lucky. Overall, this performance had been the best of her career, bar none.

The thought sent a shiver of excitement running through her. It would help her reach the top. That save she’d made for J. C. Taylor would get her talked about and it’d earn her a lot of respect. If she kept that up, some fine day she’d be going to the PBR, all right.

The next rider up nodded for the gate and adrenaline surged into her muscles as strongly as if the night had just started. She felt a huge smile take over her face, cracking a streak of mud that she hadn’t quite wiped away.

Nothin’ like a bull to pull a girl into focus. This one—an old, wily character named Skinny Dippin’—came spinning out of the chute pretending to be a tornado in a floppy skin and whirled like an F-5, away from the rider’s hand.

“Folks, this bull has been ridden on only ten percent of the tries since he’s been on the Birch Creek string, and that’s five or six years,” the announcer said. “And when he throws a man he takes off to go get him. We’ve got a real match-up here—a bad bull pitted against a good cowboy.”

The noise of the crowd began to build and he turned up the volume. “Jared Davison, folks, last year’s winner of the PRCA World Championship in bu-ull riding!!!”

After that, Elle didn’t hear another word. She stayed on the move, trying to feel what would happen next, trying to stay out of the way yet still be in the right place when Jared started to slip or the whistle blew, whichever came first.

He was wearing a helmet with a cage across his face, which interfered with their balance, a lot of cowboys said, and its weight might be pulling Jared a little to one side. Helmets limited peripheral vision, too, so she’d need to be right there when he came off because he might not be able to see the bull the whole time.

Riding a spin away from his hand was harder than riding one into his hand, and Jared was getting more and more out of shape, fighting with his outside leg to stay centered. If he slipped any more off his rope, the centripetal force of the spin would pull him down into the well—the circle made by the bull’s body. Skinny Dippin’ was a perfect example of what the cowboys called a “welly” bull.

Jared got his balance back and from then on, when the bull straightened out and started kicking high, the two of them were a picture of true beauty—two creatures in a ballet choreographed by the bull. Whatever he did, Jared made a move to counter him.

The dirt was deep and wet in spots and heavy enough to wear out an iron man. Jared had good natural balance and upper body strength, and he used his free arm as a pilot really well, so he was able to ride the new spin when it came and then react when Skinny Dippin’ stopped spinning and started bucking again. The old bull kicked high and twisted hard, leaping high into the air like the famous bull Bodacious used to do.

The announcer was yelling, the crowd was on its feet, and the seconds were ticking past forever. In the blink of an eye, almost so fast Elle couldn’t see it happen, the bull stopped and jumped again, way high, then he came back down to buck with a vicious fury that sent a chill down her spine.

“Stay with him, son, stay with him,” the announcer screamed.

The buzzer sounded.

Jared jumped or fell from the far side of the bull and as the animal turned toward him, Elle moved in to shoot the gap between Skinny Dippin’s head and the cowboy. But they weren’t separated. The bull spun fast away from her with the rider flopping and trying to stay on his feet and run alongside, his hand hung up in the rigging. She rushed toward him as the spin got faster.

Skinny Dippin’ was twisting, hooking back at Jared, wanting in the worst way to get a horn in him. Elle threw herself onto the opposite side of the bull and stuck there, running with him, then riding on him, amazed at the uncontrollable force underneath her, jarred and shaken so much that she couldn’t see but she wouldn’t let go, holding on with one hand and grabbing to free Jared from the bull rope with the other.

She and Jared nearly bumped heads, finally she jerked him free, and the force sent her falling headfirst over the back of the bull. Instinctively, she threw herself into a backwards somersault and landed on her feet.

The bull turned away from her, thank God, because for an instant she could hardly stand, much less run. Everything happened in a whirling instant but Elle saw Skinny Dippin’ fixating on his rider and going after him as he tried to scramble away on his hands and knees.

Her heart stopped when the bull flattened him faster than she could take a breath but she got there before he hooked him by running in to jump over Jared’s prone body, dragging her hand across the bull’s nose, grabbing the lowered, searching horn. She tried to turn the massive head, which was like moving a mountain, but she did succeed in getting his attention.

Skinny Dippin’ turned. He was interested in her, now. She took off her hat and slapped him in the face and he came after her.

Her blood singing with the thrill of it and with the satisfaction of getting him away from Jared, she ran toward the middle of the arena. Skinny Dippin’ came with her part of the way but then, as if he’d suddenly decided he was bored, he turned away and trotted toward the out gate, as docile as a calf.

Thank God. She’d used up nearly everything she had.

She heard the crowd, just for a second. Then the safety pickup men got behind Skinny Dippin’ to drive him on out and she ran toward Jared, although she didn’t think she could run another step. Before she could reach him, Junior was helping him to his feet and the Justin Sports Medicine people were coming in.

Jared got to his feet, looking for her. He took a couple of shaky steps toward her and as soon as she got there, gave her a huge hug. He let her go and they shared a big high-five. The announcer and the crowd were screaming now, but she hardly heard them because Jared was stepping back and taking his hat off to her. It was the rare accolade that was usually reserved for a victorious bull after a hard-fought ride.

The roar of the crowd grew even louder.

So. Take that, Chase Lomax.

The thought came out of nowhere and shocked her even more than Jared had just done. She hadn’t even known she was thinking about him.

ELLE’S STOMACH GROWLED as she punched the button in the hotel elevator and sent it gliding downward, toward a late-night snack. More accurately, a very late dinner. She was still so high on what she considered her career-best performance that she couldn’t come down, but she didn’t want to go out on the town and kick up her heels by herself, and nobody would go with her.

Her friends were all gone to practice roping or repair some rigging or lift some weights or work their horse on the barrels or to get some sleep. Or, in M.J.’ s case, to hang out with her boyfriend, who not only thought she was the funniest, cutest woman he’d ever seen, but couldn’t keep his hands off her. She was getting sick of hearing about sexy, wonderful Rodney.

Downright depressing is what it was. Somehow, every time M.J. got started raving about him, Elle felt really lonesome and neglected.

But why think about that when she could rerun the tape in her mind of Jared sweeping off his hat to her? She grinned at her reflection in the mirrored walls of the elevator and messed with her hair a minute while it was still damp from the shower. Then she bent over at the waist and tossed her head around to separate the curls.

The elevator stopped and she heard the door open. She straightened up to find some big guy in a ball cap and sunglasses right in her face, charging into the elevator before she could even get out of it. He had both hands full of carry-out bags—Mexican food, judging from the smell. She looked at them, her mouth watering. Yep. Enrique’s. The best in town.

He whirled around to punch the door-close button.

“Hey,” she said. “I’m getting off here.”

Some girl outside in the lobby yelled, “We know it’s you, Chase. You shouldn’t lie to us.”

Startled, Elle looked at the guy’s face and saw, just before he reached for her, that it really was Chase Lomax in ragged shorts and flip-flops.

He grabbed her up off her feet and bent his head. Found her mouth with his.

“Wait for us,” another girl yelled. The sound of running feet echoed off the marble floor, slid to a stop. “Oh, no!”

Kissing her, without so much as a “Hi, there, Elle.” Burning her up. She tried to struggle but he had both her arms pinned to her sides.

And suddenly she wanted to stay right where she was forever because the shock was wearing off and she was starting to feel. A lot more than she ever had before.

The door slid closed. The girls began banging on it.

“We know your room number, Chase, honey,” they yelled. “See you there.”

Loud giggles.

“We’ll show you a real good time.”

The elevator moved up, the voices faded away. But Chase kept on kissing her.

She had to make him stop it. Right now. Who did he think he was, anyway?

Somebody who could send lightning right through her whole body, that’s who. Lightning so strong it shook her to her toes.

He had to stop this now. But she couldn’t move any part of her body. Except her lips. And her tongue…

When he finally let her go she pulled back and away, fighting to get a handle on her breathing.

“What’s the matter?” he demanded.

Her blood rushed through her so fast it made her dizzy.

“You’re asking me? It’s more like, what’s the matter with you? How’d you get the idea you could get away with kissing me like that without even bothering to say hello?”

She touched her lips. They were still on fire.

“You have got a helluva nerve, Chase Lomax.”

He grinned at her as he took off his shades. He hung them in the neck of his huge, baggy T-shirt that had a bucking bull and rider with Git ’R’ Done written above it. He wore ragged denim shorts and flip-flops, for God’s sake. Chase Lomax was known for always being starched and ironed, custom-booted and hatted.

“I asked if you’re all right because you were bent over double shaking your head when the doors opened,” he said. “Like you were in pain or something.”

“I was drying my hair.”

He stared, then burst out laughing. “Oh, well, then.”

His laugh was contagious but she wouldn’t let herself join in. He could not get away with this scot-free. He’d shaken her up pretty good.

“Oh. I see. You thought I needed help, so you just grabbed me and kissed me senseless. Is that how you treat somebody you think’s in pain?”

He grinned that slow, charming grin of his again. “It made you feel better. Didn’t it?”

He held her gaze and wouldn’t let it go. She must be a sight. She could feel heat in her cheeks, so her face must be red. Plus she was gasping, trying to slow her breathing. And her heartbeat.

“You nearly scared me to death to try to get rid of those girls. And it was all wasted. They’re coming to your room.”

Something flashed deep in his brown eyes.

“Now you’ve hurt my feelings. I don’t think it was wasted,” he drawled. “I liked that kiss.”

She wasn’t going to let that kind of baloney into her head. She wasn’t even going to think about that kiss again. At least, not now.

“You didn’t kiss me like you were scared to death,” he said. “You kissed me back, like you were enjoying it just as much as I was.”

Something inside her shifted.

It was true. Her lips were still throbbing. Her whole body was throbbing. For the first time in her life.

And over one kiss. Was this proof that maybe she wasn’t so abnormal after all?

The mirror felt cold against her back, yet she was warm inside. Chase Lomax had done that to her.

Change the subject, Elle. Get away from this. You’ll have to analyze it later. Think about it later.

She looked at his gorgeous grin. He had a wonderful mouth. A really great mouth. And truly fine lips. Not just in the way they looked, but…

Stop it, Elle. Move on, Elle.

“Why are you running around dressed like an undercover cop?”

“Trying not to be recognized, of course.”

“Why? You had a ninety-point ride tonight. Don’t you want to celebrate? Hear how the fans love you? Sign autographs?”

He lost his grin as he shook his head. “I guess I’m kinda past all that. I’m just tryin’ to get my highs from the ride.”

“Well, don’t despair. In a minute you’ll have those girls waiting at your door to give you a ride.”

“Womanizing’s another thrill that’s kind of fadin’ on me,” he admitted. “My rep in that area is way overblown these days.”

A little silence fell.

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” he said. “I thought you knew it was me and you wouldn’t mind if I kissed you.”

“Why wouldn’t I mind being snatched off my feet and manhandled to save your great big self from some little bitty girls?”

“Well, after the way you danced with me the other night…”

“What do you mean? That I danced like I enjoy being… used?” Her tone of voice came out deadly serious.

He stepped back and looked at her until she thought maybe she was pretty abnormal, after all. Would a normal woman have taken offense at that kiss?

“No,” he said slowly. “You danced like you enjoyed dancing. With me.”

“So does it always follow that if you like dancing with somebody you also like to kiss them?”

He smiled a little. “Not always, I guess. I’m sorry if I upset you, Elle.”

He sounded so sincere that she said, “Okay. It’s okay.”

He gave her that grin again and damn, it nearly melted her where she stood. She didn’t even know if she could talk any more while his kiss was so fresh on her mouth.

The elevator stopped and he hit another button to make it move again. She gave herself a little shake to try and make her mind work.

“You can’t go up and down in this thing all night,” she said, “and neither can I, since I haven’t eaten since noon and I’m about to starve to death. Take me back down to one.”

He shook his head. “I’ve got enough Enrique’s here for an army. You need to help me eat it.”

“Thanks, but you just want my protection because your disguise didn’t work,” she said, finally lightening up a little. She grinned, looking him over. “You’re scared of some young, silly, slightly intoxicated girls when all they want to do is show you a good time.”

“They already showed me more than I expected to see,” he said.

“What?”

“That blond one’s wearing a buckle bunny thong. Black with the pink letters PBR written right across…the bunny’s head.”

She gaped at him. “How d’you…”

“She flashed me. In Enrique’s.”

“What?”

“Yep. In the hallway in front of the restrooms. Recognized me and dropped her jeans right there.”

He shook his head, remembering. “Said she sure does like bull riders, and I think she means it since her little bitty shirt says, ‘Wanna buck?’”

They were both laughing as the elevator stopped again.

“What floor are you on?” he said, his hand hovering over the wall of lighted buttons. “Can I come to your room for a little while?”

Well, no. Not now.

“In case they weren’t lying about having my number?”

“Look, I’m just trying to find something to eat,” she said. “I’m not even going back to my room right now.”

“I told you,” he said, shaking the bags with their delicious smells right in her face. “I’ve got enough here for six or eight people.”

“Why’d you buy so much?”

“Couldn’t decide what I wanted,” he said. “I’ve got enchiladas and mole and tacos and tamales and guacamole and rice and beans and nachos and sopapillas.”

He gave her a smile that could break a witch’s heart. “Any of that sound good to you?”

If she had a lick of sense, she’d go on to the coffee shop. She’d get out of here and leave him. She needed to think.

“What floor?” he asked.

But she really was hungry.

“I’d appreciate the favor,” he said. “I’m just not in the mood to deal with a gaggle of lonely, lustful women tonight.”

How about one lonely, lustful woman?

“You’d be flat-out savin’ my life if you’d take me in,” he added. “What floor?”

She hesitated. No wonder Carlie always said Elle was such a rescuer she ought to drive an ambulance.

“They must think I’m easy,” Chase said sadly. “Why else would the blonde flash me like that?” He flexed his hand—the one waiting for her to choose a number—and gave her a mischievous grin. “I promise,” he told her, “that girl doesn’t know the real me.”

She couldn’t keep from laughing at him, even as she shook her head over her own weakness.

“Seven,” she said.

CHAPTER FOUR

ELLE WATCHED CHASE take off his Hotel California cap and the sunglasses and drop them on the desk in the room as if he meant to stay awhile.

“I hope you don’t expect me to entertain you for the rest of the night in exchange for dinner,” she said. “I have to work tomorrow.”

He threw her a glance.

She felt her face redden again. Now he’d think she expected him to stay. Was hinting for him to stay. That she wanted him to kiss her again.

Well, she did want to know if he wanted to. And, to be perfectly honest, she did want him to, so she could find out whether she’d feel just as much the second time.

She slammed her mind shut on that thought and tried to think of something she could actually say to him.

“I have a costume suggestion for you,” she said, as he headed for the coffee table with the food. “You might stay away from the theme of bulls on your clothing if you don’t want to be recognized.”

He gave her a comical look. “You were wrong about the undercover cop deal,” he said. “I’m disguised as a PBR fan.”

“Evidently not very well,” she said dryly, and loved that he laughed, even though it wasn’t that funny. “Maybe get a cap with a slightly more current bull on it.”

They ate sitting on the little love seat, hardly talking, both of them ravenous. Once they’d consumed almost everything, the habanero salsa was burning them up.

“Milk,” Elle said, and went to get it from the small refrigerator. Chase got up and started clearing away the mess.

“Be careful not to throw out the sopapillas,” she said, rummaging for the paper cups. “How many of them did you say you have?”

He laughed. “I didn’t say. And don’t worry about it. You’ve eaten too much already.”

She turned to nail him with a look. “Well, what about you? Let’s see now, three tacos plus a whole plate of enchiladas? And that was after many, many nachos and a lot of guacamole.”

“Hey, what were you doing? Counting everything I ate? Hoping I’d drop a crumb so you could grab it, I’ll bet,” he said, stuffing trash into two of the Enrique bags.

Elle started for the table with the cups of milk, crossing his path on his way to the wastebasket. He stopped directly in front of her, so close his arm brushed hers.

“You’re just lucky you found me when you did,” he said, the words coming slow and low and sexy as his eyes laughed down at her. “Another hour and you’d’ve died of starvation, Elle.”

Her lips parted but she couldn’t quite think what to say. Couldn’t quite think at all.

She stepped around him. “Will you stop it? I burned up thousands of calories tonight in the arena.”

She set the cups down, went to check on the sleeping dog, then came back to the love seat.

You’re just lucky you found me when you did….

Her body must be insisting that his remark had a double meaning because it was trying to sit in the middle of the little sofa. Better not.

She dropped cross-legged onto the floor beside the table, took a drink of milk, then lifted the container of sopapillas out of the double paper bag. Chase came to sit down beside her, to her surprise.

He opened the box, set out the little tub of honey and removed its lid.

“About tonight’s performance,” he said. “I intended to tell you you were great.”

He really meant it. He said it with feeling. He was so sincere that a thrill shivered through her.

Which was ridiculous. She could care less what he thought of her work, after that unreasonable criticism of it in Austin.

“Are you taking back what you said about women bullfighters?”

He didn’t answer the question. Instead, he turned, smiled at her, and said, “I’m saying every move you made tonight was exactly right.”

She had to hold her arms down at her sides to keep from throwing them around his neck and kissing him like a crazy woman. Nobody, not even M.J. or Rocky or Junior had ever praised her work so extravagantly.

She blurted, “I was hoping you were watching.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes. “You were?”

She bit her tongue too late. “Well, yeah. I wanted you to know…I mean, I was hoping you were watching so I could prove I’m not…overprotective.”

Shut up, Elle. He’s gonna think you hang on every word he says. He’ll think he’s important to you.

Chase didn’t pick up on their old argument. He didn’t say a thing, but he wouldn’t let her look away from him.

Finally, she reached blindly for a sopapilla, bit the corner off, and ate it. He reached for the honey.

She grinned. “You better look at what you’re doing.”

“I am,” he said.

Every inch of her began to glow from the heat in his eyes. Dark and deep in the lamplight, his look went through her, powerful as the touch of his hand on her skin. The glow flared into fire when his hand folded around hers to help hold the sopapilla for the honey. She could feel every callus, every smooth place, every indentation of his warm, rough palm like a brand on the back of her hand.

How could he have such power over her?

“Chase, you’re gonna make such a mess….”

“Hush and don’t move.”

A big, sticky drop of honey hit her hand. Laughing, they both tried to feel where to pour it in.

“You’re getting it all over me.”

“What about me? It’s dripping on my leg.”

“Well, you’re the one doing it…uh-oh, too full. Stop, stop it, it’s dripping out the bottom…”

“Eat it fast. Here, I’ll help you…”

They gulped down the cinnamony, sugary pillow of dough as fast as they could, laughing the whole time because the honey went everywhere. Chase took the last bite.

“I never knew you could be so silly,” Elle said around her last mouthful.

He gave her a look. “And I never knew you could be so sweet.”

He brought her hand—stuck to his—to his mouth and began to lick the honey from it. His hot tongue was a flame on her palm.

“Chase…”

He leaned even closer. His eyes were burning her up. “You’ve got some there…on the edge of your mouth…” he said. “Elle.”

Her name on his lips, the simple sound of it in his low voice, melted her into him.

He took her mouth with his and she fell, helpless, into his kiss, one much hotter and deeper and more thorough and even more thrilling than the one in the elevator. Elle had only one thought—that first kiss wasn’t a fluke—and then her mind floated away. She had no need of it. She was all body now.

Chase pulled his sticky hand from hers and took her by the shoulder to draw her even closer, although she was kissing him back as hard as she could. Her tongue pushed even deeper into his mouth, teasing his, twining with it, then drawing away.

He groaned and moved his hand to her breast, which drew a gasp like a last breath from the depths of her soul. The next instant they were lying prone on the floor with him half on top of her, kissing like desperate, starving people. He slid his free hand into her hair to bring her nearer and she slapped her own sticky hand to the back of his neck to help. His mouth was a whole world of its own, hot and sweet and tasting of cinnamon and honey. And of Chase, the delicious taste of him that she couldn’t get enough of, and she wanted every bit of it now.

They ravaged each other’s mouths and started on their bodies, impatiently wiping honey onto shirts and pants before pushing the interfering cloth out of the way. Chase tore his mouth from hers to take her breast with it, the breast that his rough thumb was setting on fire, even through her shirt.

“No,” she gasped, “get it off…”

He peeled the stretchy tank top over her head and she felt a fleeting happiness that she wasn’t wearing a bra, then his tongue began to flick around her hard nipple and she rode a wave of sensation she’d never felt before. It shot all the way to the core of her. She saw colors on the backs of her eyelids.

She arched her back to rub against his hard groin.

Her mind flashed to life again, thoughts flickering like the glimpses of Chase when she opened her eyes, here and then gone when she sank into the feelings that filled her. She didn’t care if this was a good idea or not. She did have sexual feelings, that was what she needed to know. She was feeling this, actually liking this. Maybe she was normal, after all. Maybe she could be a real woman with a whole life.

But then all thought left her. Chase moved to the other breast and sent a new sensuality pulsing into her blood.

Then he was gone. Her eyes flared open and her arms reached to bring him back again. But he was on his knees, ripping off his own shirt, and she dropped her arms to her sides while she stared. Greedily.

He was gorgeous. Heavy-shouldered, broad-chested, muscled and scarred. She had to touch him. She had to feel him. He dropped the shirt and she grabbed it to wipe her hands, which made him grin, then she ran the flats of her hands up his arms, over his shoulders and down, slowly, slowly, into the hairy center of his chest where the sinews crossed under his skin.

His gaze was like molten chocolate in the glow of the lamp. It stayed on hers as if he’d never look away.

“I sure am glad you wiped the honey off your hands,” he drawled as she twined her fingers in the mat of hair.

She started tracing a path with one fingertip down the center of him to the waist of the baggy shorts and then underneath it.

“All right,” he murmured, and they laughed softly against each other’s lips when he bent down for another kiss.

It was a quick one that led to another on her throat, another farther down in the hollow of her neck, and one, just one, between her breasts. He kept dropping a trail of them, down and down, onto her abdomen, where he used his tongue as well. She felt the new, burgeoning thrill build into the pace of her pulse.

Chase lifted his head and she whimpered in protest, but he silenced her with another kiss on her mouth. And with his hand, sliding into the waist of her soft cotton pants, pushing them out of the way, caressing her abdomen more with his palm, working his way down and down until he was stroking the hot, wet center of her with his deliciously hard fingertips.

Then without warning, he stiffened and took his mouth away, lifted his head against the pull of her hands.

“Nooo,” she murmured, trying to pull him back to her.

He whispered, “Where’s your buddy, Missy Jo?”

She heard it then, a woman’s voice right outside the door. Saying, “Aussie!”

Elle hissed, “She’s supposed to be with Rodney! At his camper! Damn it.”

Then, “Oh, no! Is he with her?”

She reached for her shirt, every nerve strumming enough to make her hands shake.

“Aussie, leave that alone.”

The latch clicked and the door swung open. Missy Jo dashed in, watching Aussie running behind her. Elle had her head and one arm through the right holes in her sleeveless top when M.J. looked around…and down…and saw her and Chase.

The shock on her face was priceless. The delight that followed it was too terrible to watch. Elle knew she’d never stop saying, “I told you so.”

THE NEXT DAY, CHASE walked up to his buddy Travis Logs-don’s trailer where he’d left the rest of his gear. Trav, a team roper, was just saddling up to go practice.

“Sounds like you done good,” he said to Chase. “I heard ’em announce your score.”

“Yep,” Chase said, trying to dig his enthusiasm out of its hiding place, “I finally got past ol’ Crawdaddy.”

“Cowboy Stampede Poker Game,” Travis said.

Chase hesitated. He’d forgotten about the game. All he could think about was Elle and finishing what they’d started. He wanted to take her to dinner tonight. And to his room this time.

However, he couldn’t run out on his friends. This game was a long-running tradition with them. Well, he’d think of an excuse later. Nothing was coming to him right now and it’d have to be something big.

So he said, “Yep. Hope you’re ready to lose your money.”

“No, man. That’s you.”

They laughed and exchanged small talk about the game while Trav tightened his cinch and Chase checked his rigging for any sign of damage before he put it in his gear bag. Travis stopped talking in the middle of a sentence.

“We got company,” he finally said.

Chase turned around, and for a minute, he just stared. It took a second to get his mind around the fact that it was Shane staring back at him.

“Hey, Shane,” Travis said, but Shane didn’t answer.

“Shane?” Chase said, disbelieving. “What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me you were comin’ down?”

Shane didn’t say a word. He stood there looking at him with such a terrible expression on his face that a sudden coldness trickled down Chase’s spine. He dropped his gear, reached the kid in three long strides, and grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Talk to me,” he said. “Is it your mom?”

Shane tried to pull away, but Chase wouldn’t let him.

“My mom and you,” Shane said, his voice hard as the look in his eyes. “My parents. Who go ballistic if I lie to them.”

Chase knew then, but he asked anyhow. Stalling for time like the coward he was.

“What about us?”

“Oh, nothing,” Shane said, his voice sliding upward. “Nothing at all but just telling me the biggest lie in the universe.”

Tears sounded just under the surface. Clearly, the kid was about to lose it—and he’d be even more undone if he started bawling in front of Travis, so Chase let his hands drop to his sides and stood still, silently cursing the fact that Andie Lee hadn’t warned him this was coming.

The least she could’ve done was give him a heads-up.

The tears sprang into Shane’s eyes then and he narrowed his lids to hide them. He took a step backward that was like a hammer blow to Chase’s chest. He couldn’t lose him. He’d already lost Andie Lee.

And this was his kid, no matter who’d fathered him.

Control. Winning. He was older and supposedly wiser. He was known for his charm. He’d bring the boy around.

He took a deep breath. Now. Why did she have to tell him now?

Cowboy up, Lomax. Get a handle on it.

“How come you say we’ve been lying to you?”

“Andie Lee told me. She said my real dad is some other dude I don’t even know.”

Why now? She must be trying to tie up all the loose ends of her life before she got married. Married. Which she’d refused to do with Chase.

He felt twice betrayed. He should’ve been with her when she told Shane. Of course, he had to admit that he’d never volunteered to be. He’d always believed that she ought not to tell him at all.

And he’d been right. The stricken look on Shane’s face proved it.

Had that Blue guy she was supposedly in love with advised her to do this, after all the years she’d put it off? Couldn’t she think for herself?

Dimly, in the back of his mind, he remembered that she’d said she was going to do it, but goddamn it, he’d thought she would let him know when.

“You both lied to me,” Shane said, his voice cracking again. “You’re not my dad.”

“I am your dad,” Chase said, calm and forceful as he could be with such a chasm of fear opening in him.

He knew how kids could be. He knew how he had done his own dad when he was younger than Shane was now. He had left him without a word and never looked back.

Of course, his dad had been a drunk and a wife-and-kid beater.

Chase had always been good to Shane. Surely that’d make a difference here.

“It’s true I’m not your biological father but I am your dad, Shane, and you’d better remember that. I’ve got your back and I always will.”

A fire burned behind the wetness in Shane’s eyes and his voice scorned him for lying. “No way!”

He dropped both the bags he was carrying and balled up his fists.

“You could’ve told me but you didn’t. You let me believe it. That’s a lie just as much as if you’d told one. You lied to me, just like she did.”

The enormity of the anger coming from Shane dumbfounded Chase. And the hurt. That was the worst part. This kid was hurting and furious and he didn’t know what to do about it and he was dumping it all on Chase, wanting Chase to dispose of it for him.

I’m your real dad.

Pretty ironic. This was the kind of problem that real dads were supposed to take care of. How did they?

Resentment tamped down his fear. One minute he was minding his own business, putting up his gear and getting ready to head to the hotel and the next he had a hysterical kid on his hands.

By instinct, looking for help from anywhere, he glanced over his shoulder to see if Travis was still there. For all the good he could do, since he wasn’t a father, either.

All Chase’s own dad had ever done the one time Chase dared to tell him off was to give him a beating. And that was the day Chase left home—well, what had passed for a home—forever.

“I oughtta bust your face,” Shane said. “Liar.”

Chase stuck out his chin. “Take your best shot. It’ll make you feel better.”

Shane made a fist, drew back and slammed it with lightning speed into Chase’s jaw.

“You carry a pretty good punch for your size,” Chase said, working his jaw to loosen it enough to speak. It hurt.

“I’m not gonna fight you, Shane,” he said. “And I won’t try to defend myself except to say that I couldn’t be the one to tell you and you know it.”

He waited. Shane just glared at him for a long time, and then he wilted.

“Shit,” he said. “You’re already bleeding, don’t you know that?”

It was the first time Chase had thought of the slam to his head since the sports med guys had dabbed it with alcohol. As soon as he did, he could feel the sting and the ache again.

“You’re right. Andie Lee should’ve told me,” Shane said.

Andie hated it when Shane wouldn’t call her “mom.” The boy didn’t know how lucky he was to still have his mom.

“I’m not faulting her,” Chase said. “I was there all the time—I was your daddy—and you were too little for such useless news, even when y’all moved out. Your mom just kept putting it off until she thought you were ready.”

“Yeah, sure,” Shane said sarcastically.

“If it’d been up to me, you still wouldn’t know,” Chase said.

He just stood there and watched Shane’s face, wondering what he would do if the boy turned and walked away.

And what if he didn’t? Chase would have to deal with him. Damn. Shane could carry a grudge like nobody else, so this wouldn’t be over in a day or two.

To be fair, though, this really was a big deal and kids that age took even little things to heart like a tragedy.

“Why?”

“Why didn’t I want her to tell you?”

“Yeah.”

The question struck home. Why?

“Well…I don’t know,” he said. “I…I guess I thought… well, shoot—you had me, didn’t you?”

“Hey, Chase! See you at the table.”

Chase turned to see Travis riding away, headed for the practice pen.

“Don’t forget—nine o’clock,” Trav called to him. “Bring your money—you gotta have it if I’m gonna take it away.”

For a second, Chase had to think what Trav was talking about. Damn. This dust-up with Shane had rattled him good.

“Dream on,” Chase called back, forcing a smile.

To his surprise, when he looked at Shane again the kid was smiling, too.

“I’m sorry I hit you,” he said. “You didn’t tell me because you didn’t want me to have another dad.”

That made Chase stop and think.

“Yeah,” he finally said.

“I don’t, either. Not even Blue.” Shane scowled. “I can’t believe they’re getting married. That’s another reason I’m gonna live with you from now on.”

Chase felt his sore jaw drop. He damn sure wasn’t ready for this.

“Hey, now, not so fast, sport. I’m on the road all the time, you know that.”

Shane barely heard him.

“I’m gonna ride bareback and broncs and bulls, all of ’em.”

Chase clamped his lips together. Just when he’d thought they had the kid all straightened out.

“What about school? You’re doing good now.”

“Who needs it? I’ll be a rough-stock rider like you.”

“I went to high school,” Chase said.

“Mom said you left home when you were fifteen.”

“I did. But I lived at a buddy’s house and his mom made us go to school.”

Shane narrowed his eyes and judged that statement. Finally he nodded. Thank God he didn’t ask if Chase had graduated.

“Your mom would miss you something terrible, too,” Chase said. “Think what all she’s done for you these last couple of years. You’ve been a pain in the ass, Shane. Past that. She’s the main reason you’re clean and sober today.”

That tripped the boy off all over again. “Not,” he said, with the fury coming back. “She is not.”

“How do you figure that?”

Shane bent over to pick up his bags as if to signal it was time to move on from the subject of his mother.

Chase felt a touch of panic. The kid had lost his mind, and all because Andie Lee had done what he’d told her not to do.

“I decided to get sober on my own,” Shane said.

He started to step forward but Chase wouldn’t get out of his way.

“What made you decide?”

He had to make the kid see reason, get over his temper, and go back to his mother.

Shane shrugged. “Blue told me what it’s like in prison. I’m smart enough to know I don’t wanna go there.”

“Well, your mother introduced you to Blue, right? And she’s the one who arranged for you to ride with him, right? And she’s the one who brought you to rehab at the Splendid Sky in the first place, is what I’m thinking.”

Shane gave him a narrow-eyed look that said he couldn’t believe Chase’s stupidity.

“Maybe so, but I’m the one who made the choice.”

He had him there.

“You nailed it,” Chase said. “That’s the bottom line. What I’m pointing out is that your mother never gave up on you, which is what got you to the place where you could make that choice.”

Shane gave no indication he could hear. He just kept standing there holding the two canvas duffels that Chase now saw were packed to bursting.

The kid meant what he was saying. He had set his stubborn head to it.

And with the shape he was in, Chase couldn’t just order him to go home. Could he? Would that be the best way to handle it, just send him right back to the Splendid Sky and not even let him stay the night?

But what if that made him so mad it drove him back to drugs?

If he stayed very long, Chase would be driven to drugs—or drink, at the very least. It was nearly sundown. It was beginning to look like he could forget about the game and Elle.

He deserved a little fun. He’d stuck to his midnight curfew and slept his eight hours and kept to all the rest of his athlete’s regime for months and months. Wanting some fun didn’t mean that he was losing his desire to ride or getting ready to retire or anything like that.

“Look here, Shane…”

“Where are we stayin’?”

Hardheaded little idiot.

“At the Desert Rose,” Chase snapped. “For one night. We are staying there for one night and then you’re on a plane.”

Shane startled and stared at him.

“I’m your real dad, Shane,” he mocked, imitating Chase’s voice. “I’ve got your back, Shane. Oh, yeah. Always.”

Chase felt himself flush to the roots of his hair with anger, and then his blood cooled with fear.

How could the little turkey make him so mad so fast? He’d better get hold of himself.

“I do,” he snapped. “I am. But…”

“But I’m not your dad so much that you can do something normal like live with me,” Shane said, still in Chase’s voice.

“It’s a damnfool idea and you know it,” Chase said. “Now, come summer…”

“Come summer you’ll be on the road even more,” Shane said. “Are you my dad or not? By the way, where were you when I was growing up?”

Chase could not believe how the kid could push his buttons.

“I came to see you….”

“Every six months or so,” Shane said sarcastically. “So you could sleep with my mom.”

“Watch your mouth.”

It was all Chase could do to keep from decking him. He had to get a grip on himself. He turned on his heel and strode to his gear bag.

Shane followed.

“At the Desert Rose, do they have a casino?”

“The town’s full of ’em and you know it. But that’s nothing to you. You’re too young to get into any casino and you’re grounded anyhow.”

That took Shane back. “Grounded! You can’t…”

Chase opened his mouth to say, “I’m your dad,” but instead he said, “While you’re with me you’ll damn well do as I say.”

Shit. He’d better forget all this confusion about how to be a real dad and just try to hang onto Shane until morning.

“Yes, sir,” Shane said, and Chase couldn’t decide whether his tone was sarcastic or not. “But why am I grounded?”

“Runnin’ off from your mother.”

Chase bit his lip. He didn’t know that. What if Andie Lee had given her permission for Shane to come to him? Maybe just to give herself a break. But no, he’d guessed right. Shane didn’t say a word.

“My rental’s over there—that tan Impala,” he said. “Let’s go.”

He’d get Shane to the hotel, get some food into him, let him rave on about his mother and Chase and their big lie until he got it all out of his system and then he’d talk him into going back to Andie Lee where he belonged.

He could put him on a plane to Helena in the morning. He’d have to miss the poker game tonight, and he wouldn’t get a chance to call Elle, but that couldn’t be helped because there was no way he was turning the kid loose in this town. Or any other town.

If Shane fell off the wagon, Chase sure as hell wasn’t going to let it be on his watch.

Shane started talking again as soon as they were both in the car. Something about Blue.

Chase interrupted him. “Does your mother know where you are?”

Shane shook his head.

“Got your phone?”

Shane nodded.

“Use it.”

Shane glared, then arched up from his seat and snatched his phone from his front pocket. He dialed fast, as if the keys burned his finger.

His mother answered instantly.

“I’m with Dad,” he snarled. “I’m gonna live with him.”

Chase could hear Andie Lee’s voice, much louder than usual. It held a mix of equal parts fear, relief, frustration and anger.

“Forget that. You’re too young—”

Shane snapped the phone closed on the rest of her protest.

CHAPTER FIVE

ELLE GRIPPED THE steering wheel with both hands, hard, as if this fresh wind of fear were about to blow her away. She hated feeling scared. She hated it.

But she was afraid that this dog wouldn’t live and she was afraid she’d make the wrong decision the next time she was with Chase—which she might not have to worry about, since he hadn’t even called her. She hated to admit it, since it was life or death for the dog, but the thing with Chase scared her more.

In a way, that was life or death for her.

What she needed was a performance tonight so she could quit thinking and just be there, face-to-face with the bulls. That was when she felt the most alive in every cell of her body and life was so blessedly simple. All she had to do was live in the moment and act on instinct. Nothin’ to think about, no decisions to make. Just let go and feel, because if a bullfighter stopped to think about the right reaction to a bull’s move, it was already too late.

Every move you made tonight was exactly right.

She could still hear Chase saying that and see him looking her in the eye while he did. Not every guy would’ve been that generous, especially not after he’d criticized her in Austin.

And not any guy could make her feel what he’d made her feel.

At least up to the point when M.J. came in and interrupted them. The scary thing was that now Elle was afraid to find out if that would have been true the whole way.

If the answer was no, she might as well give up hope. Until last night, she couldn’t imagine that she, Elle Hawthorne, could actually feel pleasure—so much pleasure. No other man had been able to make her feel a thing.

How could Chase have that kind of power?

Maybe lots of men had it and she just didn’t know. She hadn’t tried enough of them, maybe. Before Derek, she’d stayed away from sex for a long, long time. And even though her need to see if she could be a whole, normal woman was one of the reasons she’d broken up her marriage to Derek, she actually hadn’t been very courageous about getting out and finding her answer. Her divorce had been final for two years and she’d only dated Tim and Matt. One a year.

And until Chase came along, she really had almost decided just to let the whole matter slide. She was happy, she had work she loved. Why mess with that?

Memories picked at the edges of her mind, poked into her thoughts like shards of smoked glass, broken and jagged, lessened by the years but still there. Still there. The relentless sweaty hand covering her mouth until she bit her own lip. The cruel unending pressure of the knees against her hips.

But Chase wasn’t like that. Somehow, he just wasn’t. She couldn’t put a name to how he was different but being with him had somehow eased her up another notch out of the despair.

Now the question was, did she really have the guts to sleep with Chase and find out if his magic touch would carry her all the way?

This had to be something really special between them. Didn’t it? Especially if Missy Jo had sensed the attraction when they came back from the dance floor?

Poor Missy Jo. She’d been so upset with herself for coming back to the room at the wrong time, when she liked to think she was Cupid’s helper.

Elle dragged her mind away from the one problem to glance at the other.

The dog looked so lethargic that a new stab of fear went through her.

She tried to push it away by remembering what Carlie always told her: You’re only human, so you can’t save them all. Yet with this pitiful, broken animal looking up at her out of mismatched blue and brown eyes, even thinking those words seemed like a death knell instead of a comfort.

Elle watched the street signs and the traffic and tried to think about something, anything, besides this dog and Chase Lomax. She sat up straight, shook her head to clear it, and rolled the passenger-side window down for more fresh air. This was stupid. Why, even with these two predicaments, should she feel such holes in her defenses?

It had been months and months—no, probably more like years—since she’d had the dream of being smothered that used to wake her sweating in the night. Long ago. That was in the past and it was going to stay there. She’d whipped the fear for good the first time she’d fought a bull.

But now, for no good reason, here she was in broad daylight with her chest so tight she could hardly take a breath. No way. No way would she even think about it. Whatever happened to this dog was meant to be.

And she’d take the same attitude toward Chase. If she saw him around the hotel, or if he called her, she would see what move he made and react on instinct, the way she did with the bulls.

For half her life, she’d had to fight the fear dragon and she’d killed it. That was where she was right now: still standing with her foot on its neck and her blade through its heart.

She lifted the switch on the door, rolled up the window again and punched the accelerator when the light turned green. She tried to hum along with some tuneless song on the radio while she gave herself the same lecture she’d used since she’d found some self-help books in the school library at fourteen.

You’re a positive person, Farrell. That’s your nature. You like to have fun. You like to laugh. So do it. The human mind can only think of one thing at a time and you can decide what that thing is. Don’t let the negative thoughts in. Think about something else.

But what came to her immediately was another worry, the money worry. She looked at the now-sparkling clean dog with his nose on his front paws. Lying in his new large-sized carrier on the passenger seat of Missy Jo’s truck. The carrier had put more of a burden on her credit card and then the veterinarian’s fee had nearly maxed it out.

“She ran every test in the book on you, Kodi,” Elle said. “Nothing else is wrong with you. But if you want your leg and your shoulder to heal, you have to eat.”

Kodi closed his eyes.

“You’re malnourished,” she said. “You know you’re hungry. Why won’t you eat?”

Trouble was, he had no reserves. A few more days with no food and he’d be history. At least he was still drinking water.

She held on to that thought while she watched the road awhile, forcing herself to really look at the other cars, the buildings along the road, the scenery up ahead. Controlling her mind. Then she took a deep, long breath and glanced at the dog again. His eyes were still closed.

“Don’t you die on me, you scruffy mutt,” she said, in her growly, tough voice. “I’ve got too much money tied up in you now.”

He didn’t make a move. He was getting weaker.

She pushed that thought away and tried to decide, instead, what she could do that she hadn’t already done. She’d offered him a half-dozen different dog foods or more and he’d turned his nose up at them all. Same with the cat food. Same with the high-dollar kind of kibble this doctor had tried. Farrell had brought a sample bag of it with her, though, hoping that if she added warm water to make a gravy, he might take a bite. Surely once he ate anything at all, he’d keep on eating.

Driving as fast as the speed limit allowed, she set her mind on all the rescued animals she’d saved in the past. Most of them had lived and had found good homes, thanks to Carlie.

“And you will, too,” she told the dog. “You’re going to eat this food as soon as we get to the hotel. I promise, you’re going to love it.”

He had darn well better love it. Now she had two big veterinary bills on her credit card—one for the battery of tests this veterinarian had given him and one for the splint and the sewing up of the cut in that little Texas town the morning after she found him.

“I guess I’ll have to learn to ride bulls instead of fight them,” she said to the oblivious dog. “I need to win a bunch of money.”

She would make a bunch of money one of these days. She’d get more and more of a reputation and a dozen companies would want to sponsor her and she’d get lots of publicity and then she’d open a bullfighting school for all the wannabes out there. She’d be in commercials and put up a fancy Web site selling her DVDs and tapes and books and showing the schedule for the clinics she would give. She wouldn’t have to worry about money anymore.

That was the way she should be thinking. No way could she afford to let this dog or her dreams of a family in the future distract her from her work or make her feel that old fear and helplessness. No way.

She was a bullfighter. She fought bulls. She never had to feel helpless again.

“Okay, so you’re not going to die on me,” she told the white-trimmed gray Husky. “Think about this, mister: I’ve got so much invested in you that if you do, I’ll have to stuff you and put you in the back window of my truck. You’ll be on the road forever and never be offered so much as a stale dog biscuit.”

He twitched an ear and raised only his eyelids, barely enough to let his eyes meet hers through the wire door of the new carrier. His nose stayed on his paws.

A horn blared and she stomped on the brake just in time to stop before she ran Missy Jo’s truck through a yellow light rapidly turned to red. Foot firmly on the brake, she gazed at Kodi again, staring as if she could look through his eyes and into his brain.

“Only a few more minutes ’til dinner,” she said. “You’ll eat like you’re starving. Which you are.”

Another honking horn. She turned her attention to the road. But Missy Jo’s voice drowned out every other thought that came to her.

Take him to a shelter, Elle. Don’t let him die on your hands or you’ll mourn for him for weeks and I’ll have to listen to it. I told you he was too far gone.

Elle used her formidable focusing skills to get back to the positive once more. If M.J.’s words were true, the first veterinarian she’d seen would’ve told her Kodi had to be put down. Even the one she saw today didn’t say that. So there was still time.

“She’s just jealous,” Elle teased, putting a smile in her voice to see if Kodi would respond to that. “She’s afraid you’re going to be better-looking than Aussie when you’re all healed up, Kodi. That’s the whole deal, right there.”

Kodi lifted his head a little and she thought she saw the tiniest trace of a smile. There. That was proof. Positive thinking was going to do the trick. It would affect the dog’s attitude, too.

Elle drove on down the road in her generous friend’s new truck. Anything Missy Jo had was hers, and that was no lie. She was wonderful and Elle would always love her for many reasons, but even more because she was a true friend. She’d lifted Elle’s spirits after Derek divorced her and had given her a whole new lease on life with her generous, steadfast loyalty. No matter what she said, she meant well. She was only trying to keep Elle from being hurt again by this dog’s death.

Carlie was another true friend. She’d call Carlie for advice as soon as she got Kodiak settled in the room. She absolutely could not turn this dog over to anybody else. She, Farrell Hawthorne, had to save him or let him die with her trying to save him.

Carlie knew that and Missy Jo did, too. M.J. knew she’d been wasting her breath this morning. Those two women understood Elle, and they were probably the only two human beings in the world who did. They might try to talk her out of this dog because she already had several rescued mutts at Carlie’s place, plus horses and a couple of ponies and a mule and a raccoon, but they didn’t really mean it. The argument was like a ritual that they all had to go through every time Elle took on another stray.

Elle had gathered up all the animals she could find for years now and she’d decided that that compulsion, like the fear, was the result of her childhood. Most of the pets she’d had as a kid had belonged to whatever ranch her family lived on at the time and had to be left behind when her daddy changed jobs. She could let them go to good homes, yes, she didn’t have trouble with that. Just as long as she’d rescued them first.

The hotel loomed up sooner than Elle expected, but she managed to maneuver through the traffic to pull into its parking lot before she passed it by. She drove as close to the door as she could, which was not close at all, parked the truck, went around to unload the carrier and the sack of dog food, locked the doors and headed in.

The carrier was so big it was awkward to manage with one hand, so she tucked the food under one arm and used both hands for the dog. That worked fine until she got to the big glass door, which was not automatic.

She set the dog down, pulled on the door, and held it open while she scooted the carrier through it with her foot, trying to be gentle so as not to make Kodi’s wounds hurt any more than they already did. The sack of dog food slid away from her and hit the floor.

“Bummer,” somebody said behind her.

It was a kid carrying two big duffel bags. He stepped up, held the door open with his foot and his shoulder, threw his bags past Elle into the lobby, and picked up the dog food. Once they were both inside, he stopped and grinned at her over the dog carrier, holding the sack of dog food in one hand and hooking his other thumb in his belt. Very cool.

“Hey,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said.

But he made no move to hand her the dog food. Instead, he said, “Where’s your boyfriend?”

She stared into his bony, very young face. His smile was crooked and cute. His raised eyebrows flirted with her.

It startled her so much she grinned back at him. He was a baby.

He wore a wide-brimmed, battered, black felt hat with a long feather tucked into the band in the style some of the rough-stock riders liked. Some of them were still in their teens. But not this far back in their teens.

She might’ve been looking for a distraction but she didn’t have time for this.

“Don’t you know I’m old enough to be your mother?”

Not quite, since he had to be fourteen or fifteen and she was twenty-four, but still.

“No prob,” he said. “I like older women.”

“Persistence won’t help you,” she said, keeping her tone firm. She held the carrier in one hand and reached for her dog food with the other.

Instead of giving it to her, he shook her hand. “I’m Shane Hart,” he said. “What’s your name?”

When she didn’t answer, he said, “I need to know because you’re the most beautiful older woman I’ve ever seen.”

He was strong for such a skinny kid. About as skinny as her dog. He tried to keep hold of her hand but she took it back and put the carrier down for a minute. She would lay the bag of food on top of it and carry them both.

“Well, thanks, Shane, for your help,” she said. “I’ll take it from here.”

Still holding the bag of food, he dropped to his haunches to peer into the carrier.

“Hey,” she said. “I just told you goodbye. Give me that dog food.”

“I like him,” he said, looking up at her again with a charming grin. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Quit stalling. Look, I’m way too old for you and I’m in a hurry.”

Her temper was starting to rise. This kid was annoying.

“Have you had him long? What happened to him?”

“That’s what people are gonna be asking about you if you don’t give me my stuff.”

Shane stood up and threw the dog food on top of the carrier, but then he picked it up by the ends, just as she’d intended to do.

“This is way too heavy for a little thing like you. You lead, I’ll follow.”

“I’m not taking you to my room. Put that down.”

He looked past her, over her shoulder and said, “Hey, Dad, will you take my bags to our room? I’ll meet you there in a minute.”

Dad? Thank God.

Elle turned to look. She stared at the man Shane was calling Dad. Chase?

Chase. Lomax. Headed straight for them, glaring at the boy.

When Chase walked up to Shane and Elle, he was still thinking what he’d first thought when he spotted them together from outside the door: he could not believe that his two big frustrations had found each other. Not that Elle had meant to frustrate him last night. But now, with Shane here, he couldn’t go out with her because no way was he letting the kid out of his sight.

Damn the luck. Shane was not only trouble, but trouble that was snowballing fast.

“What the hell d’you think you’re doing, Shane? Didn’t I tell you to go straight to the room and call your mother? Either you can follow instructions or you can’t.”

Shane’s shoulders sagged and his cheeks flared red with embarrassment. Guilt stabbed at Chase. He should’ve thought for a second before he lashed out like that.

“Hello to you, too, Chase.” Elle’s sarcastic tone matched the disgusted look she gave him and quick temper flashed in her eyes.

He tried to get a grip.

“Hi, Elle. Is he bothering you?”

She was looking at Shane again. The boy had lost the smile he’d had when Chase walked up and he looked pretty whipped.

“No, he’s not bothering me. He’s helping me carry my dog.”

The tone of her voice made Chase feel even more like a jerk, which cranked his anger up another notch.

Shane threw up his head again and shifted the big crate. “Ready, Elle?”

“Yeah. Let’s go,” she said.

They were behaving as if Chase wasn’t even there. They started off across the lobby and so did he until he glimpsed Shane’s bags from the corner of his eye and went back to pick them up. He caught up as the elevator arrived. They all got in.

“Dad?” Elle said, glancing from him to Shane and back again as she punched the button. “I’m shocked, Chase. I didn’t know you had a kid.”

“Well, he does,” Shane said quickly, as if Chase might try to deny it.

Which made Chase feel even worse. Which made him feel even angrier. Which wound him up even tighter. He tried to lighten up, even though he had to grit his teeth to do it.

“You’re saying I look way too young to have a kid this old, right?”

“W-e-l-l…” she said thoughtfully, “not exactly. Maybe not way too young…”

That made Shane chuckle—was there a little tone of vengeance there?—and Elle laughed and Chase tried to smile. Her laugh made him remember exactly how it had felt to make love with her. Nearly make love with her. Irritation swept through him all over again.

“What’s this dog’s name?” Shane asked, cutting Chase out of the conversation. Elle went right along with that. She even moved to where she was looking at the dog instead of Chase.

“Kodiak-the-Dog.”

“Anybody can see he’s a dog,” Shane said.

“It’s a joke. Missy Jo, my friend who was with me when we found him, said that Kodiak’s a bear’s name.”

Shane gazed at her with a questioning frown.

“He’s a Husky,” she said. “I wanted an Alaskan name.”

She smiled at Shane. She hadn’t really smiled at Chase yet. Was it all because he’d been short with Shane?

“Anchorage and Fairbanks were way too long and Homer sounds like an old dog.”

Clearly, Shane had no idea what she was talking about.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll call him Kodi.”

Chase glared at them both. You’re not gonna be seeing him long enough to call him anything. You may not know it, but you’re on your way home, Shane-o.

Elle started telling the story of how she’d found the dog, the elevator stopped, Shane picked up the box again, and they stepped out. Moving right along, buddying-up real fast. Chase followed.

Damn! There was just no end to the twists this boy could put on a situation. How long had he been here, anyhow? Maybe thirty minutes, tops. Seemed more like a week to Chase.

She’d finished the story of finding the dog.

“Can he walk?” Shane asked. “We had a three-legged dog once and he walked just fine. He could even run.”

“Kodi walks a little, but he won’t eat and he’s so weak I carry him most of the time.”

“You carry him out to potty?” Shane asked.

At her nod, Shane said, “I’ll do it. Tell me when you want me.”

Then he gazed at her meaningfully, no doubt hoping she’d hear a double meaning in his words.

“Forget it,” Chase snapped. “You won’t be here that long, Shane.”

Elle threw him a dirty look, as if to say quit picking on the kid, but Shane ignored him completely.

“Like I said before,” he said to Elle, “you’re too little to carry him.”

“Give it up, Shane,” Chase said, his tone coming out more scornful than he intended. He tried to soften it. “Elle’s stronger than you are. She’s a bullfighter. Did you know that?”

Shane’s jaw dropped. “Are you really?”

“Yeah, but so what?” she said. “Bullfighters need help, too, sometimes.”

“Shane’s leaving in the morning,” Chase said.

Nobody heard him.

She got out her key and opened the door to her room. Her room, where just last night, they’d been getting to know each other…right over there….

“What a deal,” Shane said, grinning all over his face now. “Maybe we could trade out—I’ll take your dog out, you watch me ride and teach me stuff. I’m gonna be a bull rider.”

Chase wanted to grab the kid’s hat with both hands and jerk it down over his eyes. What a little hardhead. He wanted a dad so bad, didn’t he? So why wouldn’t he listen to a word Chase said?

“Not this year,” he growled.

Neither Shane nor Elle reacted to that in the least. What was he? Invisible or something?

“You’ll have to get your start somewhere else,” she said. “These bulls on the circuit are way too bad for a beginner, plus the stock contractor won’t let you near them anyway. Go to a bull-riding school. There’re lots of good ones.”

Oh, great. Thanks, Elle, that’s all the advice we need.

“I know that,” Shane said, “but I don’t know if I can get the money.”

“Save it up,” she said. “Get a job.”

Chase set his jaw. “Next summer,” he said. “Elle, Shane’s still in high school.”

Shane shot him an angry look as if he’d blown his cover. As if she couldn’t tell that he was wet behind the ears.

Chase walked into the room behind them, suddenly realizing he was carrying Shane’s stuff all over the hotel as if he worked there. But he certainly couldn’t have gotten off when they passed up their floor. And now he might as well be the bellboy he was imitating for all the attention they paid him.

Another dog, an Australian shepherd, got off the love seat and came to meet them. “Aussie,” Elle said. “Hi, there, boy. I got some new food. You can try it, too.”

Aussie accepted her pat on the head, and while he only sniffed at Shane, he made it clear he wasn’t all too sure about Chase. He even gave a little growl, deep in his throat.

Great. Wonderful. Now he’d probably get dog bit, if the afternoon continued in the same lucky vein that it’d started. All he’d wanted was a good dinner with Elle and more time to get to know her, and to hold her again…then some sleep and a clear mind to focus on tomorrow’s rides. Instead, here he was in the middle of a damn soap opera.

“Looks like Missy Jo’s been here and gone again,” Elle said, glancing from the dog to the fast-food sack sitting on top of the microwave.

She smiled at Shane. The way she’d smiled at Chase himself not too many hours ago. Was she this bent out of shape because he’d been impatient with Shane? A real smile from Elle was something that sparkled.

But all her attention now was on the dog and the boy.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s get Kodiak out and move him to his bed there by the window. I’ll get his bowl and try him on this food again. With a little hot milk over it, he’ll surely slurp it up. I just thought of that. Milk’ll be better than water.”

“Sorry,” Chase said, and it came out through his teeth although he was trying to unclench his jaw, “Shane’s gotta get going.”

Shane barely glanced at him. “This won’t take long, Dad.”

“I’d really appreciate the help,” Elle said, flashing her smile at him this time.

He knew she was just trying to soften him up, but he wanted to see it again. Hell. He had to get control of himself. He had to get control of this deal.

Shane and Elle gently transferred the dog from the carrier to the fleecy dog bed. Shane squatted on his haunches to pet the animal while she went to the small refrigerator to get the milk.

Ignoring Chase while he stood there like a fencepost with a bag in each hand. But he’d be damned if he’d set them down. Shane was not staying here for long.

Shane looked at him then, as if he could read his mind. “Let’s see if he’ll eat this, Dad,” he said, in such a calm, reasonable way that he sounded like the parent.

Elle glanced back over her shoulder at Chase and nodded her thanks as if she knew they’d both stay and help her.

“He’s driving me crazy refusing to eat,” she said. “I know he’s starving. It’s like he’s afraid to eat, or something. The veterinarian who saw him today said he might still be in shock from getting hit.”

Chase just looked at her, his hands gripping the handles of the bags until his knuckles ached. He’d give anything to get out of here—he wanted to get away from her right now. On the other hand, he wanted her. How could he want both so much at the same time?

She was trying to open the dog food sack while the milk heated in the microwave, arms lifted, high, firm breasts outlined against the light. They were the perfect size to fill his hand…the skin on them had felt like silky satin….

“Chase,” she said, “do you have your knife on you? This must be super-glue on triple-thick paper.”

Busywork. Something to make him feel included. Treating him like a pouting little kid. More anger slashed him.

But he couldn’t lose his gallantry. Especially not in front of Shane.

He set the bags down and went to help her.

Shane was down on the floor on his stomach now, looking into the dog’s eyes, murmuring to it and stroking its head. Well, maybe all this nonsense would be worth the time it took. Fifteen minutes ago the kid had been mad as hell and hurting and all strung out. Maybe this would change his mood so that he’d listen to Chase and go home to his mother without much argument.

Yeah, right.

Chase took out his knife, slit open the dog food sack, and poured some into the bowl while Elle took the heated milk out of the microwave. She was so close he could smell her scent, which sent an ache running through him that made him want to cry. She smiled at him again as she took the bowl from him and added the milk.

Out of here. As soon as the dog ate or didn’t eat, he and Shane were out of here.

Elle took the food to the dog and set it in front of him, and then she and Shane conferred as quietly as if they were doctors with a seriously ill patient. Was this ridiculous or what? How in the hell had this happened?

It was pitiful, though. He felt sorry for her, she was so crazy about the dog. She squatted down, dipped her finger in the milk and offered it to the dog, then Shane did the same, but the ungrateful mutt didn’t so much as lift his head to sniff at them. Instead, he looked at them with pathetic eyes.

“I’m going to put a drop of it on his tongue,” Elle said.

But the dog locked his jaws shut and she had no luck with that. She stood up, walked over to a chair and dropped into it as if she’d been hit in the gut, staring hopelessly at the dog. Chase caught a glint of tears and felt that old treacherous urge of a man who saw a woman in tears: he had to do something, anything, to fix the problem.

“You can’t force it down him,” he said, his voice coming out flatter than he’d intended. “Elle, he’s a stray dog you found on the highway.”

She swallowed hard and stared out the window into the empty blue of the Nevada sky.

“I’ll get away from him,” Shane said, standing up and walking away. “Don’t anybody look at him. Give him some privacy and maybe he’ll eat.”

But that didn’t work, either. The dog never moved.

Shane grabbed the fast-food sack from the top of the microwave and looked inside it. Without a word, he returned to the dog, squatted down beside him, took out the remains of a hamburger, opened the wrapper, and laid it down.

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