Joe bounced on his toes, impatient for the next bull rider to nod his head. How long could Rowdy diddle around before the chute boss smacked him upside the head? The anticipation that had been building event by event, ride by ride, was going flat despite a packed house and Guns N’ Roses blasting over the sound system. The crowd could only hang on the edge of their seats for so long before their butts went numb.
Beside him, Wyatt dropped a disgusted F-bomb. “If that dumb bastard plays dead again, I say we let Hotshot stomp his guts and drag the body back to the catch pen.”
The bull would be happy to oblige. He was a snaky, man-hunting son of a bitch. Finally, Rowdy nodded. Hotshot whipped around right in front of the chute. Rowdy survived the first nasty duck, but his hips slid back off the rope, and on the next jump, Hotshot launched him into the rafters. Or would have, if Rowdy had opened his damn hand and let it come out of the rope. Instead, he whiplashed to the end of his arm, slammed against the bull’s shoulder, then hung there, boneless as a sock monkey.
Joe jumped for the bull’s head, giving Hotshot a target for his slinging horns while Wyatt threw himself onto the bull’s shoulders, cursing Rowdy and all of his ancestors as he yanked at the tail of the rope. Hotshot stayed hard into his spin, each jump close to a one-eighty. Joe scrambled to keep up as Wyatt gave the rope one last yank and Rowdy dropped…and took Joe out. He tucked his head as he went down, hoping to somersault clear, but the bull stayed right on his ass.
All Joe could do was throw his arms over his face as a massive front hoof skimmed past the end of his nose. A rear foot skidded down the outside of his hip, taking a layer of skin along with it. He heard Wyatt yelling “Hey! Hotshot!” and pulling the bull off him. Saw more legs and hooves flashing past as the pickup men rode in to rope Hotshot and make sure he didn’t come back for another round.
And then it was over. Joe stayed put, inventorying body parts as he sucked in a careful breath. Head? Check. Ribs? Check. Knees? Check. Ass stung like a bitch, but didn’t feel like anything was broken.
“You okay?” Wyatt asked, leaning over him.
Joe opened his eyes. “If he’s not dead already, I’m going to kill that fucking Rowdy.”
He scrambled to his feet, the hot stab of pain fueling his fury. He shouldered past the athletic trainers coming to his aid and went straight for the cowboy.
The moron rolled to his knees, taking his own sweet time about getting up. “Thanks, Joe—”
“Run, you little bastard.” Joe grabbed the back strap of Rowdy’s chaps and the collar of his shirt and threw him toward the chutes. “You hit the ground, you get up and fucking run!”
“What the—”
Rowdy stumbled two steps before Joe cleated him square in the ass. The force of the blow bounced Rowdy off the front of the chutes, but a hand hauled Joe back before him could kick him again.
Rowdy spun around. “Who do you think you—”
“I’m the guy who just got his ass stomped on your behalf,” Joe yelled, fighting the arm that locked around his chest. “And I’m fixin’ to return the favor.”
More hands grabbed Joe’s shoulders, jerking him away as Wyatt shoved between them, chest to chest with Joe.
“Not in the arena. You want to kick the crap out of him, we can take turns outside the bar later.”
Joe gave Rowdy one last hard look, then wheeled around and stalked off to the other end of the chutes. Wyatt followed, limping more than he had been.
“You get tagged, too?” Joe asked.
“Just landed on it a wrong,” Wyatt said, flexing his bad ankle. “Where’d he get you?”
Joe grabbed the water bottle one of the chute crew handed him, took three big gulps, then dragged an arm across his face to wipe away dirt and sweat. “He stepped on my ass.”
Wyatt laughed. “Figures. They always hit you in the sorest spot.”
Back in the locker room, Joe threw his cleats in the corner and peeled off his jersey, Kevlar vest, and the sweat-dampened T-shirt underneath and heaved them all at the wall. He was so damn tired of being tired. Tired of being pissed off. Tired of hurting. He kept thinking he’d hit bottom. Splat! Then he could start gathering up the pieces and see what was left. But this was like falling off of one of the mesas in Palo Duro Canyon then rolling down the scree slope, getting beat to shit by the rocks and sagebrush with every bounce. Down, down, down, with no end in sight.
He shoved an ice pack into the back of his shorts, hissing when it slid across the fresh scrape, then flopped face down on the padded treatment table the committee had thoughtfully installed in the bullfighter’s dressing room. Bless their hearts, as they’d say in Texas.
Wyatt sat on the bench against the wall, peeled off his sock, and gingerly rotated his foot. A puff of swelling surrounded the ankle bone. “That’s gonna raise hell with my dancing.”
“So we’ll just drink. And pound on Rowdy.”
Joe punched the plastic-covered pillow into a ball, barely noticing the frigid burn of the ice against his flesh. He’d slapped on so many cold packs over the years he’d learned to crave the burn, or at least the numbness that would follow. Too bad he couldn’t ice his brain.
Wyatt hooked a toe in the strap of his duffel, dragged it close enough to root around inside, and pulled out a glossy piece of paper that he tossed on the table next to Joe’s head. “I found a stack of these at the rodeo office earlier.”
Joe turned the paper over and his breath seized up in his lungs when he read the words emblazoned across the top, recognized the picture. Offered for sale by Jacobs Livestock. National Finals bucking bull.
Joe felt like his guts had been sucked out through his navel with a drinking straw. “They’re selling him,” he said numbly.
“Not really. They’re offering forty-five percent interest with a list of conditions so long they’ll be lucky to get half of market value. Who does that?”
Violet. She would do exactly that, with her family behind her one hundred percent. Just like his stupid Kiss it better joke, she’d taken his wrong-headed advice and turned it into something shiny and good. Staring at that flyer, hearing Violet’s voice loud and clear in every word of the bold print, he missed her so bad he wasn’t sure how he could continue to breathe.
Wyatt fished out his phone, punched a few buttons, then got up, hobbled over and dropped it on the table in front of Joe’s face. Violet’s number was on the screen. “Call the woman, for Christ’s sake.”
“We already talked about this.”
“Joe. Come on. You just tried to knock some sense into a bull rider. I’d say that calls for an intervention.” Wyatt shoved the phone with one fingertip, so close it touched Joe’s nose, making his eyes cross. “Call her.”
Joe covered the phone with his hand but didn’t pick it up. One touch. One little tap of his finger and he could hear her voice…
Wyatt snatched the phone, punched Send, and shoved it back into Joe’s hand. “Geezus. Do I have to do everything for you?”
“Oh f—” Joe cut the curse short as the phone started to ring. His pulse screamed into overdrive. He couldn’t hang up. She’d see it on her caller ID, figure out it was an Oregon number, and who else could it be? Maybe that’s why she wasn’t answering.
The voice mail clicked on. “You wanna talk to my mommy, you gotta go through me,” Beni declared, then added more politely. “Please leave a message.”
When it beeped, Joe’s mind went blank. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Uh, hi, Violet. It’s Joe. I, um, just wanted to call and say hello—”
“Hi.”
At the sound of her voice, his heart jumped straight up and smacked into his vocal cords, rendering him speechless. She sounded so close. Like she was standing in the room with him, instead of half a country away.
“It’s about time,” Wyatt said. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”
Joe’s eyes popped open. The phone clattered onto the concrete floor as he stared at Violet. Blinked. Stared again.
“What are you doing here?”
She flinched, but her chin came up a notch. “You said if you failed to show up, I was supposed to come pounding on your door. Consider this your wake-up call.”
“Atta girl.” Wyatt heaved to his feet, slung his bag over his shoulder, and limped toward the door. “I’ll just leave you two alone.”
Violet narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re the one with all the advice—got any now?”
Wyatt glanced over his shoulder at Joe, then back at Violet. “Stay between him and the door.”
He toasted them with his water bottle and limped out, leaving them to it.
Joe shoved off the table and to his feet, the abrupt change in altitude making him dizzy. Or it might have been Violet, standing in front of him, wearing that red shirt under a denim jacket. The combination was so perfectly her it made him want to laugh. Or cry. Or just grab her.
The ice pack slid out of his shorts and plopped onto Wyatt’s phone, water pooling around it. Good. Served him right. “I told him not to call you.”
“I haven’t talked to Wyatt since he left our ranch,” she said, almost without blinking.
So Wyatt had weaseled through some loophole Joe had missed, and somehow convinced Violet to come all the way to Oregon. “Why are you here?”
“I told you. I came for you.”
His heart did a big ker-thump. Violet watched him, her eyes steady, but her fingers fidgeted with the bottom brass button on her jacket. Three steps and he could have his hands on her. Bury his face in the soft curve of her neck, let her hair slide cool against his cheek. She’d smell like strawberries and feel like heaven. But how would he ever let her go again?
When he didn’t move, didn’t speak, she said, “That bull freight-trained you pretty good. Do you have a concussion?”
Because, yeah, he was acting like a man with a brain injury. “I’m fine.”
“Well. That’s a relief.” Her smile was quick, a little wobbly. “I can sympathize with your mother. It looks a lot worse from the stands.”
Her gaze slid down, over Joe’s bare chest and stomach, shying away before it got any lower. “So much for that fantasy where all I had to do was show up and you’d throw yourself into my arms.”
He wanted to. It was killing him, having her so close and not putting his hands on her, but…
“Violet, I—”
She gave a quick shake of her head. “No. This is better. There are things I should say, and I lose my ability to make whole sentences when you’re touching me.”
She reached over and swung the door shut. Then she grabbed a chair, planted it front of the door, and sat down.
Panic trickled cold into Joe’s blood. “What are you doing?”
“Takin’ a load off. Plus I don’t want you disappearin’ again if I look away.” Her drawl was more pronounced than he remembered, thick and sweet as molasses. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “Lord, I’m whupped. I’ve been travelin’ since yesterday afternoon. Spent the night in the Atlanta airport.”
“Atlanta? Why?”
“Last minute reservation usin’ Daddy’s credit card miles. I had four connections.”
And she’d done all that for him? He intended to ask why Steve would want her anywhere near him, but she folded her arms and everything sort of lifted and he could see clear down to the red lace in her cleavage. He exhaled, long and shaky. “That shirt is not fair.”
“Lily said it would bring back fond memories, but Mom made me promise to wear the jacket so people up here didn’t think I was a hussy.”
Joe stared at her in disbelief. “What did you do, call a meeting to discuss it?”
“Pretty much. Melanie said…” She paused, took a deep breath, and opened her eyes to meet his. “Melanie told me to just tell you straight-out how I feel.”
Her gaze was anxious, but steady. “That night after we went dancing, I was all set to get naked and you walked away. I was hurt, and I was mad, and I realized I was hooked on you. I’ve never been really hooked on anyone in my whole life, Joe. It scared the hell out me, and there you were, dead set on high-tailing it off to the other side of the country. But you weren’t the first one to run away. I bailed out on you.” She snorted in disgust. “As if it wasn’t already too late, and my heart wouldn’t get broke quite so bad if I just stopped right there.”
His head spun so hard he had to grab onto the edge of the treatment table to keep from falling flat on his aching butt. “When I asked if I could come back sometime and see you—that’s why you said no?”
Violet ducked her head, doing some kind of complicated weaving thing with her fingers. “I imagined you popping in for a few days, then gallivanting off again. In between, I’d never hear from you or know where you were or who you were with, and it would’ve killed me—killed me dead—to picture you with someone like that girl in the Corvette.”
Joe had to put a second hand on the table, because his skeleton seemed to be dissolving and he wasn’t sure how long he could remain vertical. “And when I took off the morning after—”
“Possibly the worst dismount in the history of sex,” she pointed out helpfully.
“Why didn’t you say so? Chew my ass, call me names, whatever?”
“I didn’t know you needed me to, or believe me, I would have been more than willing.” The glint in her eyes suggested she might still consider obliging him. “I thought if I gave you time to calm down, you’d get used to the idea of…us.”
Blood pounded at the base of his skull, obliterating his ability to think. Reason. Make her see. “Why me, Violet? Of all the men you could have. What do I know about relationships?”
“About as much as me, seein’s how I’ve never had one worth counting, but I figure we can’t be any worse together than we are apart. I’m miserable and you look like you’ve been marched to Hell and back on short rations. I can count your ribs, for crying out loud. Doesn’t anybody up here feed you?”
Joe looked down, remembering he’d stripped to the waist. He spun around, grabbed a reasonably clean shirt out of his bag and wrestled it over his head.
“It’s backwards,” Violet said.
He checked, cursed, and nearly strangled himself fumbling it around the right direction. “You shouldn’t have come. I’m not…I can’t…I’ll screw up, Violet, make some stupid mistake.”
“What kind?”
“Huh?”
“What kind of mistake?” she repeated. “Sleeping with my friends, beating my kid, what?”
“No! I would never—”
“Those are the only kind of mistakes I couldn’t get over.”
He clenched his fists, desperate to make her understand. “I don’t want to hurt you. Or Beni.”
“Then quit making this so damn hard.” Her bravado melted and her eyes filled, the tears welling over. She swiped at them with the back of one hand. “I’m sorry. I’m so tired—”
Her sniffle hit Joe like a roundhouse punch square in the gut. He shoved off the table and staggered over to drop to his knees, hands cupping her face, the pain in his hip obliterated by the throbbing in his chest. “Don’t do that. Geezus, don’t, please? Whatever you want, it’s yours, just stop doing that.”
Which only prompted another spurt of tears. She planted her palms on his chest, hands fisting in his shirt, and gave him a shake, and even that felt good because finally, finally, Violet was touching him.
“Damn you, proving Cole right,” she said, shaking him again. “He said forget all the yakking, just work up a few tears and you’d cave.”
Geezus. Even Cole? Joe shook his head, amazement trickling through his panic. “They’re all okay with this? You being here, me being with you?”
“Yes, dummy. They actually like you.” She used a fist to catch a tear that had trickled down to her jaw. “Except maybe Hank. He’s still sore about his phone.”
“Served him right.” Joe wiped her face with the pads of his thumbs. “I can’t stand doing this to you.”
“Then stop!” she said, and punched his shoulder.
Stop. The word exploded in his head. So simple. He had a choice. He didn’t have to keep running, didn’t have to hurt either of them anymore. He could just…stop.
She stroked away the hair that had grown long enough to fall over his forehead. “I know it must’ve torn you apart, leaving the High Lonesome.”
“I just…I had to.” The aching void opened inside him again, thinking about it. “I couldn’t go back and find a way to make it seem right. But God, Violet, it’s been so hard, not being there…”
Violet slid her arms around his shoulders, her hands strong and sure, and he realized he was shaking. She stroked his cheek, the touch smoothing the ragged ends of his nerves. “I can’t give you the High Lonesome, Joe, but I can give you a home, and a place where a whole lot of people care about you.” She drew back to give him another wobbly smile. “Including Beni, who keeps asking if you can come visit because his dad is no fun at all since he got hurt.”
Joe smiled, hearing the words exactly as Beni would moan them, dramatic sigh and eye roll included. “What about Delon?”
Violet’s gaze dropped, and her voice was tinged with regret. “He understands that we’ll never be together, with or without you in the picture. Things aren’t great between us right now, but we’ll be fine once he gets back on his feet. Delon’s a reasonable man and Beni is his number one concern.”
Joe wasn’t as sure. He couldn’t imagine how bad it would be, having Violet even as a pretend wife and then losing her.
She reached up to cup his face, the emotions in her eyes so naked and honest he could barely stand to look. “I chickened out before, and let you go without giving you the words you needed. I swore I wouldn’t do that again, so listen close. I love you, Joe Cassidy. And you’re gonna have to deal with it, because there’s nothing you can do or say to change my mind.”
His heart just crumbled, along with the doors and walls and feeble excuses he’d tried throw up between them. He collapsed against her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his face into the silky softness of her hair, drinking in the scent and the feel of her that had tortured his dreams for weeks.
Thank God.
The relief of finally having her in his arms again was so enormous, it shattered the last of his self-control. He kissed her neck, her temple, her cheek, every inch of her he could reach, then braced his forehead in the curve of her shoulder to steady himself when it was all too much—and still not enough. His throat was so tight he could barely force out a whisper. “I don’t think I was gonna make it without you.”
Her laugh vibrated against his skin, but her voice was choked with the tears that trickled down to drip onto his cheek. “Well, lucky for both of us you don’t have to.”
His mouth found hers and she took him in, absorbed all of his need and his desperate hunger, and returned it twofold. He kissed her until he felt sane for the first time since he’d started running.
Until his knees screamed in protest.
He paused long enough to catch his breath. “If we don’t stop, I’m going to be lame for life.”
“Good thing you kept your knee pads on,” she said, nibbling her way along his jaw, hands pushing at the hem of his T-shirt, burrowing underneath.
He groaned as her fingers found bare skin, waking a different kind of need, and kissed her again. What the hell. Walking was overrated. Finally, though, he couldn’t take it anymore. “I have to stand up. But I think I might need some help here.”
She laughed and held out her hands, palms up, to support him. “You can lean on me.”
He could. Now and always. He knew it as sure as he’d ever known anything in his life. Violet was a pickup man. She would save his sorry ass or go down trying.
The thought made him dizzy all over again, but in a good way. He kissed her chin, her nose, her forehead, then pulled away far enough to see a smile that was like a magnet for all those tiny, lost pieces of his heart, drawing them together into a battered, but determined, whole. He would never be half the man she deserved, but if she had her heart set on him, he’d do his damnedest to be sure she never regretted it. The words he hadn’t even let himself think just tumbled right out. “I love you, Violet.”
“I know.”
He laughed at her smug grin, got himself upright, then pulled her out of the chair and into another kiss. She broke it off to skim her fingers ever so lightly over his sore hip. “Is this where it hurts?”
“Mostly.”
Reaching behind her, she turned the deadbolt on the door.
“What are you doing?”
She pressed her palm to his chest and her voice dropped to a husky, wicked drawl that matched the gleam in her eyes.
“I’m fixin’ to kiss it all better.”