“Hey, Bill, you heading to the office? I’ll go with you.”
William C. Johnson didn’t break stride as his path to the rodeo office took him past a knot of his fellow cowboys on this Thursday morning. But he did say, “Thought you’d already finished your paperwork, Tate.”
“I did, but I wouldn’t mind another go-round. Have you seen that new girl being broken in as secretary?”
“Nope.”
“Then you got a treat in store for you.” Tate Lavenge broke away from the knot and matched pace with him.
Those left behind tossed comments after them.
“You need another go-round, Tate. Sure didn’t last any eight seconds on the first one with that gal.”
“Not with her and not with any of the bulls, either.” That was Goose Ducrill, the exception to the rule of rodeo cowboys being nice guys.
His guffaws faded with distance, but the younger man’s jaw kept working.
“Don’t let their guff eat at you,” Johnson said. “You don’t want to take them on the ride with you.”
“I don’t need any of your—” Tate bit off the words. “I’m fine.”
“Sure you are,” he said mildly.
“Yeah. Well, I changed my mind. I’m going in to town instead. Need some things.”
Johnson kept going as the other cowboy peeled off and headed toward the driveway to town. But a few strides on, he stopped. Head tipped down.
Lavenge was going to get in trouble playing cards with the stakes he let himself get pulled into.
Wasn’t a bad card player, not at all. But he didn’t have the patience or cool needed. Not at the poker table. Not with the bulls.
Johnson shook his head.
Lavenge’s patience, cool, and card-playing were not one bit of his business. If he didn’t know that, the other man did, as he’d just made very clear.
Johnson glanced at the back of the bull rider, taller and bigger than a lot in that event, then returned his attention to his own business and resumed his trek to the rodeo office to register for saddle bronc. Maybe this time he’d break through.
It had been a long, hard drought.
The battered door swung open as he reached for the handle and a body came barreling out, right into him.
A female body.
Most definitely — and pleasurably — a female body.
He had a snapshot view of the men inside the office turned toward the door, obviously watching — also with pleasure — the departure of this female.
But there was no time for more than that flash, because dark shining hair slid across his chin, catching in whiskers he hadn’t bothered to shave yet today, just like—
No.
No way.
Couldn’t be.
Could. Not. Be.
The universe couldn’t pull that kind of trick on him. Not now. Not after all he’d done to get here.
The impact sent the other party—
Oh, hell, not just another party. Her.
Her.
Every one of his senses knew it in the first fraction of a second.
Of all the rodeo offices in all the world, she had to walk out of this one … and right into him.
—a couple steps backward. Enough light in the entry for him to see her. But for her he’d be backlit by the bright outdoor sun into a silhouette. That gave him an instant’s advantage.
Long enough to swallow, tell his senses to mind their own darned business, and say, “Hey, Reggie. So you finally came home.”
It was lower and rougher than he would have liked, but he got it out. Which was more than she was managing.
She’d ricocheted forward again, coming close to him, so she had to look up, and he could see her clearly under the nearly touching brims of their hats. With the door still open, he could also see the avid audience behind her.
He wouldn’t have minded seeing a little spark in her eyes. Not enough to light a fire, because that was all over between them. Done and gone for years. But enough that he’d know his senses weren’t the only ones making the connection and living the memories.
Instead, the color drained from her face.
Not exactly a heart-warming reunion.
“Oh… You… What are—” Then her eyes and mouth went round before she gasped. “It’s you. William C. Johnson is Cha—”
He didn’t think about it, didn’t plan it, didn’t consider long-term consequences. He just grabbed her the way he knew best.
Aiming only to stop her talking by planting his mouth over hers.
With his left arm around her back, she arched, moving her mouth out of target range. He hefted her closer, counterbalancing against her arms dangling at her side.
Her lips parted to say something, but he covered them.
Probably that was all he was aiming at. Almost for sure.
It worked. The way it always had.
What also worked the way it always had was his body’s reaction to Regina Marie Moran.
Never had anyone else been able to get to him the way she did. In more ways than one.
He refused to consider if there never would be anyone else to get to him the way she did.
They fit together close. Her mouth so right. The feel of her back against his arm—
“Ow.”
She’d punched him in the shoulder. His bad shoulder.
He released her fast. So fast she almost fell. He grabbed for her again, but she stumbled back with a hand out ready to stiff-arm him if he actually made contact.
“What do you think you’re—?”
He wrapped one hand around her arm, tugging her outside. With the other, he closed the door on the gaping faces of those inside.
“Let me go,” she demanded.
“Not yet.” He was leading her. Not dragging, though he would be if she kept digging her boot heels in to the graveled soil that way. “We have to talk.”
“I don’t want to talk except to—”
“That’s okay. You’re going to listen. I’m going to talk. That’ll make a change. Still like lemonade?”
She blinked at the question. He took that as a yes. With her in tow, he went around the corner of the porch of the log rodeo office and fed a bill into the soft drink machine.
He put the lemonade in her free hand and held on to a cola, then started off, still with a hold on her arm.
“I’m not going to your trailer.” She dug in her heels.
The loose surface let him skid her heels along without using much force. “Didn’t invite you.”
She made that growling noise. God, he loved that noise. At least he did when it wasn’t making him see red.
“Where are we going?” she demanded.
“You’ll see.”