Reckless in Texas Read online

  Joe went with his usual practice gear: thigh-length black compression shorts, then cotton athletic shorts, faded from years of wash and wear. He pulled on an Extreme Bulls Tour T-shirt with the sleeves whacked off, folded a bandana and tied it on sweatband style. His cleats crunched on the gravel as he strolled to the arena, trying not to give himself whiplash every time a car turned into the driveway.

  Cole came out of the barn leading a platter-footed roan named Hammer with a head like his namesake only narrower between the eyes. Bastard could run, though, and would pull down a grandstand if you asked him. Cole stopped dead when he saw Joe. “Where ya goin’?”

  “Uh…the arena?”

  “Why?”

  Joe looked around, confused. Had he misunderstood? “You’re bucking bulls today, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So…”

  Cole frowned. “Red never came to practice.”

  “Maybe Red had something better to do,” Joe snapped, his last nerve frayed to a thread.

  Cole pondered that, studying Joe like he was trying to figure out if there was a catch. He stood there long enough for Violet’s Cadillac to pull into the drive. She stepped out and froze, staring first at Joe, then the gear bag slung over his shoulder. Damn her chicken-livered hide. She hadn’t expected him to be at the arena, either. She’d hung back until the last possible second figuring she could avoid him.

  Nice try, darlin’.

  “Guess we could use you,” Cole said. “Hank’s trailing cows today and might be late, and the other kid who helps out has football practice.”

  “I’ll try not to get in the way,” Joe said, and stomped on down to the arena.

  A dozen cowboys had shown up, mostly high school and college kids, along with a few parents. Joe veered away from the crowd and down the fence a few yards where he dropped his bag on the ground and finished gearing up, then spread his feet, grabbed one ankle and pulled his chest to his knee, holding for a slow count of sixty. Hooves thudded on the packed dirt behind him and he looked upside down through his legs to see Violet aboard a stocky gray gelding. She was looking back, and she was not admiring his face. He held the stretch for another ten seconds, then latched his hands behind his head as he unrolled his spine, one vertebra at a time, then turned his head to look directly at Violet. “Ahh yeah. Hurts so good.”

  Violet’s face went beet red, and she kicked her horse on through the gate.

  “Hey, Joe. How’s it going?” a voice asked.

  He dragged his attention away from Violet, struggling to place the vaguely familiar face. Teenager. Dopey grin. The kid from the barbecue joint. “Korby. Hey. Ready to ride the hair off one?”

  Korby grinned ear to ear. “You betcha.”

  The kid sauntered off to join the crowd behind the chutes, adding to the chorus of hollow clanking as ropes and bells were dragged out of gear bags. Metal gates banged, voices called, and bulls rumbled low challenges as they were sorted and loaded—a rodeo symphony. Violet retreated to the far end of the arena. She could probably look worse, but she’d have to work at it. Her cap was yanked down so far he could barely see her nose, those jeans were god-awful, and whatever she was wearing under her long-sleeved denim shirt was an insult to her curves. And still Joe’s head filled up with red lace and the scent of warm strawberries.

  Joe was in the arena, warmed up and ready to go, when Hank vaulted the fence and jogged over to the front of the chutes. “How’s it hanging, Joe?”

  “Fine.”

  “I bet, after last night.” And the little pinhead had the nerve to wink.

  “Hey, Hank!” Korby had a foot braced on either side of the nearest chute, straddling a high-horned black bull as he worked a gloved hand up and down his rope to heat the rosin. “I thought you were gonna call me last night.”

  “I meant to. I got distracted.” Hank’s grin turned sly as he angled a glance at Joe.

  “Yeah? By what?” Korby waggled his eyebrows. “Or should I say who?”

  Screw finesse. Joe whipped an arm around Hank’s neck and yanked him into a headlock tight enough to make his eyes bug out. He kept his voice low but deadly. “Shut the fuck up or I’ll shove your head so far up your ass you’ll be able to lick your own tonsils.”

  Hank clawed at Joe’s arm, fighting for oxygen. Joe tightened his grip. “You say one word that embarrasses Violet and you and I are going to have a serious problem. Understand?”

  He loosened his hold enough to allow Hank a jerky nod and a gulp of air. Joe slapped him hard on the chest with his free hand and flashed a smile that was closer to a snarl. “I knew you were smarter than everybody says.”

  Hank gulped again and nodded harder. Joe let him go, stepped back, and looked over to find Violet watching, eyes huge. He lifted a hand and gave her a cocky, two-fingered salute. She looked away. Hah. If that made her nervous, she was gonna hate what came next.

  Steve gave a gun-shot clap of his big hands. “All right, boys! Let’s ride some bulls.”

  Joe shoved Hank into position. “Take the lead. And pay attention. We’re gonna do some schooling tonight.”

  Joe rode him hard, pushing, hounding, drilling the kid, bull after bull, so Hank didn’t have a chance to think about anything but the job at hand. Korby’s black bull made three tentative jumps straight down the arena, each more aggressive. On the fourth jump he launched straight in the air and dove right, whipping the kid off the side, hand still in the rope. The unaccustomed weight tipped the smallish Brahma off balance and jerked him flat on his side. Whomp! Right on top of his passenger.

  Hank leapt at the bull’s head as it wallowed around, trying to get up. Joe yanked the tail of the rope to free Korby’s hand. The bull staggered to its feet, leaving the kid curled in the dirt, wheezing.

  As Violet and Cole herded the bull clear, Hank dropped to his knees. “Hey, buddy, you all right?”

  Korby nodded with a sound like a whoop, only in reverse. “No…air…”

  “He okay?” Violet asked, peering from horseback over the huddle of cowboys that had gathered.

  “He will be when he gets his wind.” Joe stepped back, braced himself, then draped his arm across the cantle of Violet’s saddle, around her hips. She sucked in a sharp, outraged breath, her leg flexing as if to kick her horse. He tightened his hold. “Stay, Violet.”

  “What are you doing?” she hissed down at him.

  He put his free hand on her thigh and tilted his head toward her like they were whispering sweet nothings. “Try to pretend you like me. Otherwise people are gonna think you’re just after my body.”

  Her mouth dropped open and he could practically see the curses piling up on her tongue. “Are you nuts?”

  “Most likely.”

  Hank and one of the dads hoisted Korby to his feet and helped him out of the arena. He staggered over to the fence, then collapsed into a heap, sweat trickling through the dirt on his face as he drew in slow, careful breaths. The rest of the cowboys scattered to get ready for the next pen of bulls—except Steve Jacobs. He stood on the back of the chutes, glaring at Violet and Joe. Seeing him, Violet let one of those curses slip and lifted her hand, as if to rein her horse away. Joe caught her wrist.

  “Stop it.”

  “No.” Joe forced another smile. “We need to talk, Violet.”

  Her gaze jumped away, skimmed over the increasing number of curious faces aimed their direction, then came back to Joe. “Fine. Meet me at the other place after practice.”

  Joe let go, his fingers trailing down her thigh as if he had the right. “I’ll be there.”

  After helping Cole gather the flank straps and hang them in a neat row behind the chutes, Joe was the last one to walk out of the arena. Steve Jacobs was waiting outside the gate. The part of Joe that was apparently still ten years old whispered, Run! Joe ignored it and kept walking, until he was clo
se enough to maintain his manly dignity, but still out of reach of those big fists.

  “You want to date Violet, that’s up to her, but you keep that crap outta the arena.” Steve jabbed a thick finger toward the gate. “Hard enough for her to get the respect she deserves without you droolin’ all over her.”

  “Yes, sir,” Joe said, because disagreeing wasn’t an option, and Steve wasn’t wrong.

  Steve gave a curt nod.

  “That’s it?” Joe blurted.

  Steve Jacobs laughed. A single hah! like a sonic boom that rocked Joe in his cleats. “If you make my girl mad, she won’t need my help rearranging your body parts.” The amusement lurked in his eyes as he thumbed his hat onto the back of his head. “But I should say that I appreciate what you’re doin’ with Hank. Kid needs his butt busted.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Steve gave another nod and ambled away, leaving Joe to consider how it was the first time in his life he’d voluntarily called a man sir, not once, but twice. And meant it both times.

  Chapter 18

  Stretched out flat on her back in the soft grass of Cole’s parents’ lawn, Violet stared up at the sky and willed the shift of light through the fluttering leaves of the sugar maple to smooth away her rough edges. Geezus, what a day. She’d gone to Lily expecting sympathy, and got a kick in the gut instead. And then Joe. She should’ve known he’d show up for practice. What else did he have to do? And thanks to Lily, she was now intensely aware of how juvenile her reaction had been. Hello, Violet, welcome to ninth grade.

  She dragged in another breath and tried to absorb the serenity of her surroundings through her pores. The house was tucked into an indentation of the bluff with a wall of rock curving around the yard, the red and cream of the chalky stone mimicked by the stucco of the house and the brick patio. In the shade under the maple the evening air was cool, laced with the sweetness of roses and the spice of mesquite. A perfect oasis, with only the occasional ghost for company. Violet pushed her focus outward to the lazy buzz of insects and trill of birds. The tickle of grass against her bare arms. The quiet scuff of footsteps on brick.

  She rolled her head to find Joe standing on the patio, sweat glistening on arms and shoulders exposed by the whacked off sleeves of his T-shirt. His bandana was printed with Tough Enough to Wear Pink breast cancer awareness ribbons, clashing with the flame-breathing red-and-black bull on his T-shirt. The shorts might have been yellow early in their existence, but had faded to something that looked like it came out the wrong end of a sick calf. And he still made her mouth water.

  “Do you buy any of your own clothes?” she asked.

  He glanced down and fingered the logo on his shirt. “Why would I? People give me stuff.”

  He ran his gaze around the cozy backyard, taking in the neatly pruned rose bushes, thick clumps of hydrangeas with dusky blue blooms the size of Cole’s fist, clusters of red, yellow, and orange flowers in niches along the base of the bluff. Thick trunks of maples and mulberry trees enclosed it all, everything as lush and lovingly tended as if the owners had only been gone a day.

  “Nice place,” he said.

  “My aunt’s pride and joy. Mom makes sure it’s kept up, even if we’re between renters like now. Her version of a memorial.”

  He grabbed the hem of his shirt, lifting it to mop his face, and Violet’s pulse jumped. His shorts hung low on his hips, baring the upper curve of his hipbones, his navel and an expanse of taut skin above and below, dusted with golden hair. One good tug and she could have those shorts down around his ankles.

  Violet forced her gaze back to the maple tree, watching a tiny brown bird flit from branch to branch. Joe plopped down beside her and propped his forearms on bent knees. Her head spun at his proximity, her vertigo magnified by a rogue breeze that danced through the leaves above with a dizzying swirl of light and shadow.

  “What did you say to Hank?” she asked.

  “I suggested he keep his mouth shut.”

  “Did your suggestion include the threat of physical violence?”

  “Yep.”

  “Good.” She wiggled her shoulders to scratch an itch where the grass prickled the middle of her back, concentrating on the leaves, the bird, keeping her cool. “Why the big show back there at the arena?”

  “I thought it was better than ignoring each other and acting like we’re ashamed. I don’t know about you, but I’m damn sure not.”

  Oh. Well. That was…almost chivalrous. But still unacceptable. “You can’t do that stuff when I’m working.”

  “Yeah. Your dad mentioned that, too.”

  “Daddy?” Violet’s gaze snapped to Joe’s face, but he didn’t seem upset at being dressed down. “You should know—I tend to be more trouble than I’m worth.”

  Joe’s gaze took the slow route all the way down her body, then back up again. His mouth quirked. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  Her system lit up like he’d detonated a series of fireworks under her skin. She tore her gaze away from him and pinned it to the tree branches until she could take a normal breath. “I acted like a jerk last night.”

  He flashed a lazy grin that did more odd things to her ability to breathe. “I guess you had your reasons.”

  Well, crap. The ghost of Hickory Springs rises again. Violet closed her eyes, fighting off a wave of embarrassment. “Heard about that, did you?”

  “A thing or two.”

  More than enough. She heaved a massive sigh. “Go ahead. Make your handcuff joke. Get it out of your system.”

  “Can’t now. You ruined it.”

  She opened her eyes to squint up at him. He was definitely laughing at her, but different than before. Not softer—he had too many rough edges for that—but not mocking, either. This wasn’t the arrogant, sarcastic Joe from the night at the Lone Steer. Which had to make her wonder—

  “Why are you pretending to be so nice?” she demanded.

  His forehead creased in affront. “What do you mean? I’m a nice guy.”

  Violet snorted.

  “What? I am.” He frowned at her, looking truly offended. When Violet only arched her brows, his eyes dropped, his frown turning sulky. “I’ve been in a bad mood, all right?”

  “I guess you’ve had your reasons,” she said.

  One corner of his mouth curled at the echo of his own words. “Heard about that, did you?”

  “A thing or two.”

  He huffed out a laugh, then ducked his chin to stare at the grass between his feet. “So if we agree that we’ve both been jerks, can we start fresh?”

  “Uh, sure. I guess.” Violet was still for several thuds of her heart. “Start what?”

  “You. Me. All of this.” He waggled a hand back and forth between them, angling his head to give her a look that, for Joe, verged on bashful. “I am sorry about butting in here without asking, and then…well, everything else. I’ve been so twisted up in my own problems, I wasn’t paying attention, and I caused a lot of headaches for you. So if there’s a way I can make it better…”

  “Can you fix the trouble back in Oregon?”

  “I hope so.” His expression went grim. “Things got out of hand in Puyallup. I over-reacted. So did Dick.”

  Violet hesitated, then decided she might as well just get it out in the open. “Did he have good reason?”

  Joe’s chin jerked up and once again he looked insulted. “Like I said…I don’t believe in trespassing. And I hope I’m not dumb enough to piss in my own pot. Lyle’s wife was a mess that night. I didn’t touch her other than to make sure she got back to her room before she did something she’d regret.”

  Because he might not be your typical nice guy, but Violet was beginning to suspect he was an honorable one. “Does Dick know that?”

  “He should after fifteen years.” Anger flared in Joe’s eyes, then died back to regret. “Blowing a fu
se and running off to Texas wasn’t a smart move. It made him look bad, and there’s nothing he hates more.”

  “But he fired you!”

  “He would’ve backed down if I’d just let him cool off and then apologized.”

  Violet twisted onto her side to gape at him, incredulous. “For what? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “It’s totally the point!” She wanted to reach out and shake him. Where was his pride? His self-respect? “How can you let him treat you that way?”

  His shrug was tight. Defensive. “That’s just Dick. It’s not personal.”

  “And it’s worth putting up with his bullshit to be on that ranch?”

  “Yes.” The reply was immediate, unequivocal, and left no room for argument.

  She settled onto her back, scowling up at the tree. Not your business, Violet. But it rubbed every inch of her the wrong way.

  “So?” Joe asked. “What do you say? Can we try again?”

  The shadows flitted across his face and over the exposed skin of his shoulders and arms, lighting here then there like butterflies. She fought the urge to reach out and trap one, to see if she could feel it flutter under her fingertip. A muscle beneath his taut, golden skin twitched as if he read her thoughts.

  “I suppose that depends on what you have in mind,” she said.

  The muscle twitched again, then relaxed, and he gave her a smile that drop-kicked nice right out of the stadium. “Wyatt says I need to court you.”

  “Court me?” Violet let out an embarrassingly loud guffaw. “Oh, please. Like you’d even know where to start.”

  “I’ll figure it out.” He flashed an impish grin. “I’m pretty quick, you know.”

  He plucked a blade of grass and trailed the tip of it across the back of her hand. She shivered. He laughed, unholy intent glowing in those green eyes. Violet rolled away, then jack-knifed into a seated position. When Joe made to move closer, she pointed a finger as if commanding a dog.