After a quick shower, Dirk threw on some fresh Wranglers, toweled his head with his good arm, and then scowled at the fifty-dollar button-down from the George Strait collection laid out on the bed for him—the one Rachel had purchased at the Wrangler Fashion Show. She’d presented it as a gift, and expected him to wear it tonight. He felt a surge of resentment at the subtle ways she’d begun controlling him.
It seemed everyone had expectations of him these days.
Big. Expectations.
Although they’d not actually talked about it, with his graduation and now the rodeo win, they’d all be anticipating a move on his part, most likely tonight, but the idea of hobbling himself at age twenty-two, even to Rachel, galled him to no end.
They’d been together off and on since high school. She was the girl every guy had wet dreams about. Gorgeous, bright, and bubbly, she’d won Miss Teen Rodeo in high school and now wore the crown for the state of Montana. On top of all that, her parents were loaded. Rachel’s ol’ man flew her around on his Beechcraft Baron twin-engine during her queen campaign and tonight his money paid for a fully catered shindig for family and friends.
Dirk had sensed their disapproval of him from the get-go, but after four years, her parents had grudgingly accepted him. But the feeling that they expected him to be grateful about it irked the hell out of him. Although his family wasn’t stinking rich like hers, they were still highly respected fourth-generation ranchers with a decent spread and a fairly profitable operation—by current ranching standards anyway.
He considered the expensive dress shirt, weighing the ire he’d incur from Rachel if he didn’t wear it. In the end, he threw down his towel, pulled a black tee out of his bag, sniffed it, and then grunted through the pain of pulling it on over his head. He knew he’d draw some severe looks by not dressing up, but he had a point to make. Like a hardmouthed mule, he wasn’t about to cave to the pressure. There would be no proposal. No engagement announcement tonight. Eventually. Maybe. But damn sure not tonight.
* * *
Janice brushed out her hair, applied a bit of blush and mascara, and then eyed herself in the mirror with a feeling of dismay. She wore her favorite pearl-button Western shirt with clean, if faded, jeans. Her only adornment, proudly worn, was the gold-buckled belt she’d won for breakaway roping at the high school rodeo. She’d polished up her ropers and dusted off a hat that was in bad need of reshaping. She wished now that she’d brought her “town” hat. Deciding she’d do better to go without, she cast the hat aside.
She hadn’t expected the party invitation and wished she’d brought nicer clothes, but she really didn’t have anything suitable at home anyhow. The only dress she owned was the one she’d worn to the senior prom three years ago, but she’d filled out so much since then that it probably didn’t fit anymore. She wondered what the other girls would be wearing, then told herself it didn’t matter. No one would be looking at her. She’d just fade into the background, stay for one quick drink, and then make a quiet departure. Alone.
Although Grady hadn’t called it that, Janice realized with a pang that this was her first real date since that same senior prom—a blind date set up by her best friend, Kelly. It had turned into the longest night of her life, spent fighting off her date’s sloppy kisses and groping hands in the backseat, while Kelly and Tom made out in the front. Danny, or maybe it was Donny, had called her a few times afterward, but she’d made enough excuses that he’d eventually given up.
After graduation she’d been too busy on the ranch even to think about guys. That was not to say any had ever given much thought to her, even though she’d dealt with dozens of cowboys since she’d begun helping her ol’ man. Sure, she’d exchanged playful banter while loading and flanking the stock, but it had never progressed beyond light flirtation. It had always been business.
Janice Lee Combes, twenty-one years old and barely kissed—least until now.
Grady had certainly kissed her like he meant business but her instincts told her he wasn’t one to invest his time and effort without expectation of a return. She had a sinking feeling she’d have a big decision to make before the night was out.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about that—or how prepared she really was to deal with it. She’d be lying to herself if she denied being flattered. She’d blown plenty of smoke earlier too. It was nice to have some attention, to be thought of as a girl, for once.
On cue, Grady rapped on her trailer door. “You ready yet, Sweet Cheeks?”
“Yeah. Be right there.”
She didn’t know why she’d allowed him to continue calling her that. “Sweet Cheeks” was annoying as hell—but mildly gratifying too. Maybe it was just the novelty, the fuzzy feeling of actually having a pet name. Even her parents had never called her anything but Janice or Janice Lee.
She fluffed her hair, applied a bit of lip gloss, then grabbed the new tooled-leather purse she’d bought earlier at the vendor booths. Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile and opened her trailer door. “I’m ready.”
“You look good enough to eat.” Grady flashed that coyote grin again—the one that made him look like a predator who indeed planned to make a meal of her. For the second time Janice wondered if she might actually be in over her head. She’d be wise to listen to that little voice.
One drink, she repeated, and then she’d leave the party. Alone.
* * *
Dirk paused at the entrance to the Plaza ballroom. There were a couple hundred guests, but he only recognized a handful of them. The collegiate bigwigs and all the rodeo officials had made an appearance, as well as members of the local press. Other than a handful of Dirk’s rodeo buddies, the rest were the kind of people who never got their hands dirty—the highbrow, hobby-ranch society types that he didn’t know…or much care to. Although it was a post-rodeo celebration, he guessed most of the people had never seen the inside of a livestock arena. They were the kind who watched it on their wall-mounted ultrahigh-def TVs—like the one that now played a slo-mo loop of his earlier hang-up.
Shit.
With a mix of annoyance and embarrassment, Dirk pulled his hat over his eyes and dug his hands deep into his pockets, hoping to slink past the group surrounding the TV. Was it only an hour ago he’d been lying in the arena splattered with his own blood? Now the sounds of jangling spurs were replaced by the clink of crystal, and the noise of lowing cattle with the buzz of conversation punctuated with ripples of laughter.
He scanned the crowd for Rachel, locating her across the room with her mother and a group of expensively dressed women he didn’t recognize. A photographer was snapping pictures as they sipped champagne. Rachel flashed her rodeo queen smile for the camera.
He stopped in his tracks. God, she was gorgeous.
The sight of her always stole Dirk’s breath, but tonight she was particularly hot in a body-hugging red and white leather dress. A white felt Stetson topped her head and her hair fell in a sexy blond cascade over her shoulders. His gaze lingered in appreciation of a sight he thought he’d never tire of—and one he longed to get a whole lot more of in private. His imagination took hold, conjuring a vision of her wearing only the hat, the boots, and the smile—a smile that instantly froze when she noticed him.
Her gaze raked him head to toe. She broke from the group and rushed toward him. “My God!” she whispered. “What happened to your face?”
“A bull named Magnum Force happened.” He jerked his head to the TV. “Hard to believe you missed it.”
She looked chagrined. “I got here late and only saw the replay after the ride was over. Of course I was concerned, but Wade said you were fine.” Her forehead wrinkled. “By the look of you, he lied.”
“I’ve been a helluva lot better, but I’ll survive.”
“Poor baby.” Her lips formed a sexy pout. “Maybe there’s something I can do to make it all better?”
“Oh yeah, Sunshine. I can think of all kinds of things.”
He leaned down to kiss her mouth but she turned her cheek instead.
“Remember Mama and Daddy,” she hissed under her breath.
“You don’t think they know we kiss? We’ve only been dating four years.”
“Almost five,” she corrected. “And of course they do, but I have to take my reputation very seriously. You know how people like to gossip. As the new queen I have to be ultracareful. Speaking of which…” She stepped back, eyeing him with a downward turn of her mouth. “I can’t believe you walked in here in a T-shirt! Where’s the new button-down I bought you?”
“This is fine,” he said. “It’s clean.”
“No it’s not, Dirk, and you know it! Maybe you don’t realize how important this is to me. That photographer over there is doing a spread on all the state rodeo queens for American Rodeo Today. He’s been waiting to get shots of us together. Why don’t you just be a sweetheart and run back upstairs and change.”
“Why don’t you just let me have a beer or two first, Sunshine. I could use one after getting mauled tonight.”
“It was only a matter of time,” she retorted. “You know how I hate the bulls. I wish you would quit the rough stock.”
“You never minded before,” he said. “As I recall, it’s how I caught your eye to begin with. You used to even come out and watch me.”
“All the girls watched you, Dirk. You were the hottest thing out there—you still are. You wanted to ride bulls this year and you did. You even won the overall. Now you can move on to other things while you’re still on top.”
“Who says I want to move on?”
Her gaze locked with his. “Don’t you?” She twined her left arm around his neck and ran an index finger gently over his broken nose. “Maybe this time it wasn’t serious, but you can’t afford to take these kinds of risks anymore.”
“Says who?”
“Says me,” she insisted. “If you won’t give it up for your own good, then do it for me. I don’t want you getting hurt again.”
Although he hadn’t planned to ride any more bulls in the summer circuit, he bristled at her attempt to manipulate him, to use his dick to control him—not that his dick had ever gotten its full reward for his compliance.
“I could get hit by a truck crossing the street. I could get struck by lightning walking across my front yard. Point is, I’m not going to live my life in fear of what might happen to me.”
She withdrew her arms. “I’m not asking you to, but why tempt fate? That bull could have killed you tonight, Dirk! He might have gored you to death. Do you want to end up like Lane Frost?”
He waved his good hand in annoyance. “You worry too much.”
Her brows met in a frown. “I’m talking to a brick wall, aren’t I?”
“Don’t you think this conversation is a mite bit hypocritical coming from someone who aspires to be the face and voice of American rodeo?”
“Maybe so, but you have no idea what it feels like to have the one you love risk his life for an eight-second ride. Besides, you know how people tend to judge by association—birds of a feather and all that. You should think about that now.”
His gaze narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Just that the rough stock cowboys are so…so…” She made a face.
“So what, Sunshine?”
She sighed. “Do I really have to spell it out?”
“Guess so.”
“Coarse. Crude.”
He winced, a gesture that made his face hurt but her words made his head pound even worse. “Is that how I rate with you, Sunshine? Coarse and crude? If that’s the case, I wonder why you’d lower yourself to be with me.”
“Of course, I don’t mean you!” she protested. “It was just a generalization about the bull riders. If you still want to rodeo, why don’t you switch to roping? You and your brother could team rope together. It attracts a much better class of people. Besides, if you roped Daddy could get you endorsements. He has a lot of connections and even golfs with the CEO of Lariat Ropes.”
Grady’s roping joke came to mind. Dirk couldn’t suppress a smirk.
“What’s so funny?”
“Something Grady said, but I doubt you’d appreciate the humor.”
“Grady?” she scoffed. “I’ll bet. And that’s precisely what I mean. He’s too vulgar and rough. Continued association with him will only drag you down.”
“Now you’re concerned about my association with a champion bull rider?” Grady was a bit rough around the edges, but most cowboys were.
“He may be a champion today, but what’s he going to be tomorrow? Ten years down the road he’ll have nothing to show for it but scars, broken bones, and a stupid belt buckle.”
“It’s more than the buckle and you know it.”
“But there’s more to life than the thrill of the ride, Dirk.”
“Is this you or your father talking now, Sunshine?”
She gnawed her lower lip. “You can’t make a living at rodeo—not a decent one anyway.”
“Don’t need to. My truck’s paid for and I’ve got a roof over my head as long as I want it.”
“But what about us? Don’t you care what I want?”
He felt a pang of conscience. His voice and posture softened. He cupped her cheek. “I do care, but I’m just not ready to think that far ahead yet, Sunshine. Maybe I will be soon, but not right now.”
“But we’ve both graduated. Isn’t it time to think about the future?”
The future? Shit. By the looks of things “the future” was suddenly now. Damned if the sneaky bitch hadn’t crept up from behind and caught him with his pants down.
Part of him couldn’t blame Rachel. She’d never hedged about her expectations, but he hadn’t anticipated it all happening so soon. But pressuring him about it, especially tonight, only got his back up.
“A bottle of Coors,” Dirk quipped. “That’s in my future—the immediate one anyway.”
“But what about the pictures? The photographer’s been waiting all this time on you. Please Dirk.” She gave him a beseeching look. “If you don’t want to go upstairs and change, maybe you could just borrow Daddy’s jacket.”
“Your father’s jacket?” Dirk shook his head with a derisive chuckle. “I’m sorry, Sunshine, but your Daddy’s jacket won’t fit me any better than his shoes.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll figure it out. I’m going to the bar now. You want anything?”
“No. Thank you,” she snapped.
When he moved to kiss her cheek, she jerked away.
“I’m not waiting on you anymore, Justin Dirk Knowlton.”
“C’mon. A few more minutes won’t make any difference.”
“That’s not what I meant. You’ve taken me for granted long enough.” Standing as tall and defiant as her petite frame would allow, she anchored her hands on her slim hips. “I think it’s decision time for us.”
She was telling him in no uncertain terms to ante up.
He opened his mouth and then closed it again, biting back the apology that had sprung to his lips only seconds ago. He wasn’t about to kowtow to someone else’s expectations and desires—even Rachel’s. It was his life, damn it! He was only twenty-two. He needed to live a little before settling down.
When he failed to respond, her pretty mouth molded into a mutinous expression. “I mean it, Dirk. I’m done with waiting…I’m done with you.” With an angry toss of her blond head, she spun on her boot heel, leaving him staring after her.
She’d issued her ultimatum. He’d balked. And now she’d broken it off. This entire night had turned to pure shit! First the bull ripped his arm out of the socket and tried to impale him and now his girl dumped him? Maybe he’d gone too far, but he still couldn’t regret his actions. He refused to be led by his nose—or any other body part.
She’d strung him along for four years with promises that made him salivate. That wasn’t to say he hadn’t had a taste of her. He had, and she was a fine dish indeed, but the appetizer had only made him all the hungrier for the main course. He doubted he could have held out much longer if she hadn’t reciprocated in kind. Although she’d compromised her vow of purity to keep his interest, she’d also made it abundantly clear that anything more would require a multifaceted, two-carat emerald-shaped promise on his part.
He knew what she needed now, sure enough, what he could do to make things right at least for a little while. Ten minutes in a janitor’s closet with his face buried in her snatch would have her purring like a kitten again. Only problem was there were too damn many people around for them to disappear together, especially with a magazine photographer in the house. He wouldn’t take that risk. She was right about her reputation. He could just imagine what kind of photo spread would hit the newsstands if Miss Rodeo Montana got caught with his tongue up her twat—one far better suited for Hustler than American Rodeo Magazine.
In no mood to go chasing after her, he told himself a little distance wouldn’t hurt either of them—at least until he figured some things out. He really needed that beer.
* * *
Although Grady had invited her, Janice still felt like an interloper at the party. She was neither family nor friend to the Carsons, but just a lowly stock hand. Entering the Plaza ballroom, she felt completely outclassed. She wasn’t the only girl wearing jeans, but hers weren’t accessorized with eighteen-hundred-dollar, hand-tooled, Swarovski-crystal-covered boots. Her hair wasn’t impeccably coiffed and crowned by a rhinestone tiara over a Resistol beaver hat.
But it wasn’t just their pricey designer clothes. The snide sidelong looks from the counterfeit cowgirls told her she didn’t belong. Janice felt the same way. With her self-confidence in shreds, she made an excuse to Grady and a quick detour to the ladies’ room from which she planned to make a quick and painless exit.
All of that went out the window, however, when she came face-to-face with a teary-eyed, mascara-stained Rachel the rodeo queen, surrounded by her buckskin-fringed court. Greeted with dagger looks, Janice froze in her boots. Feeling like an intruder into a private melodrama, she was half tempted to back her way out the door but then they all turned back to Rachel. It was as if Janice had become suddenly invisible. More likely, they’d just decided she was beneath their notice.
“That bastard!” a brunette indignantly declared. “I can’t believe he’d string you along like that! It’s past time you kicked that cowboy to the curb, Rae.”
“Yeah,” a strawberry blond chimed in. “You’ve wasted enough time on him. There’s plenty of hot guys just dying to go out with you—ones who would show you the kind of respect you deserve.”
Respect? What was up with that? They couldn’t be talking about Dirk. Janice had never seen Dirk disrespectful to anyone who didn’t deserve it—especially not to a woman.
“I hate him,” Rachel sobbed. “No,” she amended through gritted teeth, “I positively loathe him.”
Janice closed the stall door, latching it shut behind her.
“Assholes like him always treat a woman like shit once they’ve gotten what they want.”
“I guess you’d know best, Mary Jane,” Janice heard the brunette mumble.
“But I didn’t…we haven’t…” Rachel protested.
“What?” exclaimed the cowgirl choir.
Janice felt her own jaw drop. Although her conscience told her to tune them out, she found herself holding her breath while she emptied her bladder.
“Let me get this straight,” said Strawberry. “In almost five years, you still haven’t done the dirty?”
“No…” Rachel replied. “Not technically speaking…”
“How technical are we talking, sugar?” the voice belonging to Mary Jane eagerly inquired.
“It’s vulgar to kiss and tell, Mary Jane,” Strawberry chided. “Didn’t your mama teach you anything?”
“Yeah, how not to get knocked up.” Mary Jane giggled. “I just can’t believe Rae took that ninth-grade purity vow for real. I think mine barely lasted through my sophomore year.”
“We know,” said the brunette. “The whole school knew. It’s probably why you never wore a Miss Teen Rodeo crown.”
“Fuck off, Miss Holier-Than-Thou.”
The girls had their claws fully exposed, and Janice half expected to see dark locks of hair and leather fringe flying over the stall door.
“Cut the bullshit, you two,” said the third voice. “This is about Rachel and Dirk. And it seems to me she made the right decision to hold out. He’s toed the line until now, hasn’t he? How many of you can say that?”
“Sorry, Rae,” Strawberry said. “She’s right, but if he’s taking you for granted, maybe it’s time to shake things up.”
“What do you mean?” Rachel sniffed.
“There’s a whole room full of hot cowboys just outside that door. You only need to waltz your little moneymaker out there and take your pick.”
“But that’s just it,” Rachel wailed. “I don’t want any of them. You can’t understand how it is between him and me. It’s always been Dirk. It’s only been him.”
Janice watched through the crack as three sets of arms enfolded her, muffling her sobs.
“What about Wade?” one of them suggested. “He’s pretty damned hot.”
“I wouldn’t mind a piece of that myself,” said Mary Jane.
“Exactly,” replied the voice Janice recognized as Strawberry. “What better way to make that SOB pay than to play up to his little brother?”
“Little?” Mary Jane said. “He’s gotta be six foot three at least, and you know what they say about the tall ones. Or maybe it was boot size? Anyone get a good look at his feet?”
“He’s perfect, Rae!” Strawberry intoned with another annoying giggle.
Yeah, perfect if you’re a nasty, conniving, and manipulative bitch, thought Janice. Hadn’t any of them grown up yet? This whole scene was like junior high all over again. She’d heard more than enough. Janice rose and flushed. She was thankful they were gone by the time she opened the door.
Although Rachel knew Dirk far better than she did, Janice couldn’t imagine him putting up with this kind of childish crap. He wasn’t an adolescent boy to play those games with. Half of her hoped Rachel wouldn’t take such inane advice—but the other half couldn’t help hoping something else altogether.
* * *
Dirk was nursing a longneck and mulling over his next move when he spotted Don Carson at the end of the bar. Given that Carson was both Rachel’s father and the host of the bash, he figured it best to man up now about the tiff, rather than dealing with awkward repercussions later.
Seeking a bit of liquid courage, Dirk emptied his beer and ordered a second, but by the time he turned around again, Carson was engaged in conversation with Jack Evans, a prominent Bozeman attorney. He made his way closer to the pair, pulling on his beer and waiting for a lull.
“Who’s that young man with Rachel?” Evans asked Carson.
“I believe that’s Justin Knowlton’s younger son, Wade,” Carson replied.
Dirk’s gaze followed theirs across the room to find his brother—the smooth, schmoozing bastard—posing for pictures with his arm around Rachel’s waist.
Wade was only a year younger than Dirk and a former classmate of Rachel’s. He’d had the hots for her for years, but she’d blown him off in favor of Dirk. Now it seemed she’d set out to make him jealous, and Wade appeared more than willing to conspire with her.
“Low crawlin’ sonofabitch,” Dirk mumbled and took another long pull on his beer. Although he was only halfway through his second drink, Evans’s and Carson’s voices had taken on a buzz-like quality that made his inner ears itch.
“Isn’t Rachel seeing the older one, the bull rider who wrecked tonight? Did you catch the replay of that?” Evans visibly shuddered. “I’m surprised he lived to walk away from it.”
“Yes. I saw it, and needless to say, I’ve serious qualms about my daughter tying herself to a rodeo cowboy. I like the boy well enough, I s’pose, and I’ll allow he might be the exception, but as a rule they’re a good-for-nothing lot. I don’t have to tell you I wouldn’t mind if she switched her interest to Wade over there. I hear he plans to study law.”
“Does he now?” Evans assessed Wade while Dirk ground his teeth. “I could use another clerk this summer. Why not introduce the boy.”
“Sure. Why not? C’mon, Jack. I want to get a few photos with my gal anyway.”
Dirk tracked their progress across the room with a scowl hanging over his eyes. Rachel chose that moment to look in his direction. Their eyes met just long enough for her to see that he’d noticed her, before she turned back to Wade, laying a hand on his arm and flashing him a brilliant smile.
“Fuck it. If that’s what you want, go for it, Sunshine. I ain’t playin’ that game.”
Turning his back to her, he upended his bottle, drained it dry in three swallows, slammed it down, and ordered another. He was on his third when Grady entered the ballroom. Catching Dirk’s eye, he made a beeline to the bar. Dirk acknowledged him with a silent nod.
“What’s up your ass?” Grady demanded.
“Nothin’,” Dirk snapped.
“Bullshit. Why are you over here drinkin’ alone when there’s a party going on?”
“Where’s Janice? I thought she was coming with you.”
“That’ll happen later,” Grady smirked. “It’s only proper to buy her a drink first.”
“Asshole. That’s not what I meant.”
“She’s in the john. I told her to meet me here.” He signaled the bartender and ordered a double shot of Pendleton.
Dirk’s gaze riveted back to Rachel and Wade. His brother was leading her out to the dance floor with the photographer still snapping. The band had switched to a slow dance, a mediocre cover of George Strait’s “Marina Del Rey.” Dirk silently dared his brother to move his hands an inch closer to Rachel’s ass. She pulled Wade’s head down to hers almost as if to kiss him. Dirk saw red. He was poised to bolt out of his chair when she looked straight at Dirk and whispered in Wade’s ear.
“Wanna tell me what the fuck’s goin’ on?” Grady asked.
“Not really.” Dirk took another brooding swig of his beer, his gaze never leaving the dancers. When the song ended, he spun back around before Rachel could catch him staring. The band followed up with another George Strait number, “She’ll Leave You with a Smile.”
When Dirk looked out on the dancers again she was doing exactly that, staring adoringly into his brother’s face. He wondered if she’d requested that song just to rub salt in the wound.
“Ah.” Grady nodded. “I get it now. Fuck that shit. You can have all the rodeo queens, Pretty Boy. The maintenance is too high for my blood. ’Sides”—he grinned—“I’m hankering for a piece of that.” He inclined his head toward a tall redheaded cowgirl approaching the bar.
Dirk’s hackles rose to see that he meant Janice. He didn’t understand why Grady’d set his sights on her when there was any number of women present that he could have taken straight up to his room, probably without even buying them a drink.
“What’s your poison, Sweet Cheeks?” Grady asked.
“Just a beer for me. Whatever’s on tap is fine,” Janice replied.
Grady signaled the bartender, ordering Janice’s drink and another shot.
Dirk called for another beer.
Janice frowned. “Are you sure you should be drinking tonight?”
“It’s only beer,” Dirk protested.
“You think that doesn’t count? You’ve done rodeo long enough to know it’s a bad idea to drink anything after getting knocked out.”
“I wasn’t knocked out.”
“Sure looked that way to the couple thousand people watching,” she argued.
“Told you I already have a mother, Janice,” Dirk snarled.
“Fine. Be an idiot.” She snatched up her beer.
“Don’t mind him, Janice. He’s having a bad night. Rachel just dumped him and his brother’s already moving in.”
“With her father’s blessing,” Dirk muttered. “Doesn’t like her slumming with rough stock riders. Thinks we’re a bunch of lowlifes.”
“That so?” Grady spun around on his stool. “What else did the dickwad have to say?”
“He thinks Rachel would be better off with Wade. That about sums it up.” He jerked his head toward the couple on the dance floor. “And if I wasn’t all busted up I’d be kicking Wade’s ass about now.” He was pissed as hell and would love to knock his brother’s lights out, but he was in no shape to take Wade on tonight. Tomorrow, however, was a new day. He’d be feeling more up to it then.
The dancers broke up a few minutes later when the band started up a piss-poor cover of “Cowboy Up” by Chris LeDoux. Dirk caught Rachel searching the room for him. This time he turned his back.
“Her ol’ man called us lowlifes, huh?” Grady downed his second shot with a thoughtful look—the one that usually meant trouble. “Guess we can’t kick his ass.”
“No.” Dirk gave Grady a warning look. “We can’t.”
After a Garth Brooks number, the band announced a twenty-minute break.
“This is Carson’s party, ain’t it?” Grady asked.
“Yeah. It’s all on his dime,” Dirk replied. “Money’s no object when it comes to Rachel. He wants her picture in all the magazines and big papers. Uppity sonofabitch thrives on the spotlight.”
“That so?” Grady rose from his bar stool. “If it’s attention he wants, why don’t we help him out?”
Janice laid a hand on his arm. “Where you going?”
Grady gave them a wicked grin that boded no good. “I just got an idea to shake things up a bit. I’ll be back directly, Sweet Cheeks.”
Dirk watched his buddy wend his way through the crowd to the stage where he tipped his hat to the DJ filling in during the band’s break. The burly Charlie Daniels look-alike offered his ear then gave a vehement head shake. Further persuasion ensued in the form of cash. The encounter ended with a hand clasp.
Grady swaggered back to the bar with an even bigger grin stretching his mouth.
“You know him?” Janice asked.
“Yeah. He’s an ol’ buddy of mine,” Grady replied. “I greased him up to do me a favor. At first he was afraid of losing the gig, but who can hold him responsible for a request, right?”
Janice’s gaze narrowed. “I s’pose it would depend on the kind of request.”
“What do you think a low-life cowboy would ask him to play?”
“Dunno.” Janice shrugged. “Maybe ‘The Rodeo Song’ by Gary Lee and the Showdown?”
“Close but not raunchy enough. Ever heard of Rehab?”
Janice’s brow wrinkled. “No. I don’t think I have.”
“The DJ has an old copy of their original album, before they went and cleaned up the songs. He’s gonna play ‘Sittin’ at a Bar.’”
Dirk nearly choked on his beer. “Carson’ll shit a brick.”
“Least I didn’t ask him for Chinga Chavin’s ‘Cum Stains on My Pillow.’ He had that one too.” Grady laughed and downed another shot. “If you really wanna stick him in the craw, you and me could go out there and make it a karaoke version.”
“You know if we do this, we’re gonna get tossed out of here on our asses,” Dirk said, but he was too pissed off at the world to care much about repercussions.
Grady shrugged. “Won’t be the first time…and I doubt it’ll be the last. ’Sides, do you really want to stay here after what that asshole said?”
Dirk shook his head. “Hell no.”
“You remember the lyrics?” he asked.
“Yeah, I remember,” Dirk said. “All right, Grady, I’m in.” He rose too quickly, or maybe it was the effects of four beers. In either case, he had to steady himself on the bar.
“Care to make it a trio, Sweet Cheeks?” Grady asked Janice. “You can sing backup.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t even know the song.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Grady said. “You can just lip-synch.”
She looked from Grady to Dirk and back again. “Sorry. You two can make jackasses of yourselves all you like, but this is too much for me.”
“You’re bailing on us?”
“Damned straight.” She grabbed her purse and rose.
Grady grabbed her by the arm. “I don’t think so. You came with me. You’ll leave with me.”
“Let go of me, Grady.” She tried to shake his hand off, but he held her. She looked to Dirk.
“Let loose, Grady,” he said quietly. “She doesn’t want to stay.”
“Keep out of this, Pretty Boy.” Grady’s gaze narrowed, his threat clear. “She’s with me.”
Maybe it was the whiskey, but Grady seemed to be itching for a brawl. He was unpredictable on a good day—add alcohol to the mix and he became volatile as hell—friendship be damned. On any other night Dirk might have indulged the impulse to mix it up but tonight he was in no shape for it.
“Dirk’s right,” Janice replied, tight-lipped. “I don’t want to stay. I promised I’d have one drink with you and I did. That’s as far as it goes. Thanks for the drink.” She jerked her arm free and made a swift exit.
For a second or two Grady looked as if he’d go after her, but then he visibly relaxed. He took up his drink, raising it to his lips with a shrug. “I’m not likely to get any from her tonight, so why waste the effort?”
Dirk breathed a sigh of relief that Grady had abandoned his designs on her. But by the look of things, he’d either get his brawl, or just pass out shit-faced before the night was out. Seconds later, a third option presented itself in the form of a brunette Dirk recognized as Rachel’s friend, Mary Jane.
She edged up to the bar, eyeing Grady up and down until her gaze rested on his crotch, her red lips curving into a seductive smile. “Impressive…buckle.”
“Mary Jane.” Grady tipped his hat with a wolfish grin. “Been a long time.”
“It has.” She acknowledged Dirk with barely a nod and then took up Janice’s vacated seat. “I’m thinkin’ maybe too long. Buy me a drink, cowboy?”
Grady’s smile widened. “Sure thing.”
“I watched you tonight.” Gazing up through lowered lashes, Mary Jane scored a painted fingernail up his forearm. “Do you always ride so hard?”
“Depends on what I’m ridin’, sweetheart…and how much they can tolerate. Some can take a whole lot more of me than others.” He placed his hand on the small of her back.
“Oh yeah?” Her brows arched. “Lotsa cowboys talk a good ride, but put to the test, most of ’em ain’t worth their salt.”
“Then you’ve been hanging with the wrong cowboy. Whatcha havin’?”
“I dunno.” She pursed her lips and then one side of her mouth curved up. “Think maybe I’m in the mood for a Suck Bang and Blow.”
Grady’s brows shot up. He slid his hand down to her ass, his fingers reaching into the gap of her waistband to stroke the bare skin. “Maybe you’d like to chase that down with a Multiple Screaming Orgasm?”
“That’s a real tall order, cowboy.”
“I can fill it.”
“That so?” She reached into her purse for her card key and slipped it into his hand. “Number two twenty. Just give me fifteen minutes to get rid of my pain-in-the-ass roommate.” She slid off the stool with a wink. “Guess I don’t need the drink after all.”
Grady stuck the card key in his shirt pocket and watched her walk away, his eyes glued to her denim-clad ass. “As I recall, back in high school MJ gave a helluva BJ. Wonder what other tricks she’s learned?” A moment later, the DJ gave them a nod and began playing “Sittin’ at a Bar” by Rehab.
Shit! Dirk had forgotten all about Grady’s request, but the music had started. It was too late to back down now.
Grady threw his head back with a guffaw. “Showtime, cowboy.”
With drinks in hand, Dirk and Grady made their way a bit unsteadily toward the stage where Grady picked up the mic to join the song mid verse, “‘I’m sittin’ at a bar on the inside, waitin’ for my ride on the outside. She broke my heart in the trailer park, so I jacked the keys to her fuckin’ car. Crashed that piece of shit and then stepped away…’”
They barely made it through the chorus before the speakers went dead. Seconds later, the deafening silence was broken by a chorus of boos and hisses from a handful of drunken cowboys.
Wade appeared at Dirk’s elbow, hissing under his breath, “What the fuck was that performance?”
“Long story that begins with your own performance with Rachel,” Dirk slurred.
“Look, you ungrateful asshole, I was helping you out.”
“Helping me?” Dirk repeated. “How the hell do you figure that?”
“She said you wanted me to stand in for you. Told me you weren’t up to all the PR stuff since you got busted up.”
“The hell she did!”
“Whatever.” Wade shrugged. “I’m not going to argue with a drunk.” He looked to Grady who eyed him back with close-fisted belligerence. “And I’m sure as hell not going to pick a fight with one. Start anything with me, Grady, and I guarantee you’ll spend tonight in the county jail. ’Course you might be sleeping there anyway, since Carson’s asked you both to leave the hotel. Now. If you go quietly you’ll be saved the embarrassment of an escort by hotel security.”
“Rachel wouldn’t let him do that,” Dirk argued.
“Oh yes she would,” Wade said. “Given it was her idea.”
“Shit!” Dirk groaned.
“Oh yeah. You’ve fucked it up real good tonight, big brother. If you broke her heart there’s a whole lotta guys willing to help her put it back together… And I don’t mind sayin’ I’ll be first in line.”
* * *
Janice glanced twice over her shoulder as she darted toward the exit, but to her relief Grady hadn’t followed. She’d watched the interplay between Dirk and Grady in the last few minutes with growing tension. She suspected there would be a fight before the night was over and knew she’d made the right decision to cut out. Cowboys, especially the rough stock variety, always exuded an excess of testosterone and frequently needed to blow off steam—especially after an event. She’d heard enough to know that rough sex and bar fights were the preferred means.
She’d never understand how guys could beat the shit out of one another one minute and then share a beer in the next, slate wiped clean—usually with blood. Sometimes she envied a man’s freedom to live for the moment and act out physical impulses without thought of repercussions.
Maybe the male way was better.
Women were vindictive, often carrying grudges for years without achieving any kind of resolution. She wondered what life would be like without overthinking every little detail—less complicated for sure—which brought back the whole scene in the ladies’ room. She wondered what had actually transpired between Dirk and Rachel, who seemed to be the rodeo world’s most perfect couple. They hadn’t spoken to each other from the time she and Grady had arrived and seemed to be purposely avoiding one another, except for the exchange of baleful looks. On top of that, Rachel had been flirting outrageously with Dirk’s brother, Wade.
Janice shook her head. What a stupid move that was. Wade might be taller and maybe even better looking in the conventional sense, but he wasn’t Dirk. Janice didn’t know a guy around who could hold a candle to Dirk—at least not in her estimation. He just seemed to personify everything a man should be—strong, honest, loyal. Dirk had integrity. He didn’t cheat. He’d never stepped out on Rachel, to her knowledge, and Janice was in a position to hear. Cowboys weren’t above gossip—especially concerning who’s banging who.
Rachel’s revelation that they hadn’t slept together had come as a shock, but now only reinforced Dirk’s strength of character in Janice’s eyes. How many other guys would have waited all this time?
If only… She sighed.
Dirk and Rachel might be “off” at the moment, but they’d be back “on” again soon enough. They’d probably announce their engagement within the month. Maybe that would be better anyway. If they were engaged, if he took that definitive step, she could maybe give up this ridiculous hope.
Hope of what? Get real, Janice. Do you think he’s gonna suddenly fall at your feet and beg you to bear his children? She gave a derisive snort. Not likely!
She thought about Grady with a grimace. He was the kind of guy she’d probably end up with—a swearing, swaggering, smoking, drinking, cheater—a man just like her own father, or at least like he used to be before he gave up bull riding. Her mother had simply accepted the drinking and whoring as part and parcel of the cowboy package.
It wasn’t what Janice wanted, but what other kind of man was she ever going to be exposed to? Her life outside of home was spent with livestock and cowboys.
Still contemplating her dissatisfaction with her lot in life, Janice returned to the Events Center. After changing into sleep shorts and a cami, she crawled up into the gooseneck of her trailer. It had only the most rudimentary living quarters, and she hated sleeping in it while on the road, but she hadn’t thought to book a motel room until it was too late to get one. With the rodeo finals there were none available in Casper. She figured she might as well get used to it anyway, as she’d be camped out at a different venue every week for the rest of the summer. The trailer saved her money. Every penny she didn’t spend was more money in her pocket—money she’d need if she ever wanted to go anywhere or do anything with her life.
Problem was, she didn’t have a clue what she wanted—besides a certain cowboy who seemed as far out of her reach as the moon.