Rodeo Riders by Vonna Harper Page A

trembled. She wanted to run. She needed to stay. Watching him, she concentrated on a body carved from a lifetime of physical labor. His jeans barely contained powerful thighs, and yet what she could see of his ass was tight and minimal. His flat belly nestled between prominent hip bones. If this were rodeo day, he’d be sporting a hand-tooled leather belt complete with a decorative brass buckle, but tonight he hadn’t bothered with flash. He’d tucked in his long-sleeved western shirt and rolled up the sleeves, exposing forearms capable of handling the wildest bronc. His shoulders were broad enough for any task. Midnight hair so long he’d contained it with something at the nape of his neck spoke of his Native American heritage.
    He was now so close he might see what she was doing, but she couldn’t stop herself from glancing down. There. Covered by denim, the bulge she’d thought about more times than he would ever know.
    “Jordan? Jordan Shore?” His voice hit her nervous system like a drumbeat.
    “Cougar.”
    He held out his hand. In the uncertain light, she couldn’t see all the details, but memory told her of long, strong bones and sun-weathered flesh. She closed her trembling fingers around what she could of his. She felt small and feminine. Turned on.
    “I heard you were going to be here,” he said, still claiming her hand. “Is this the first time you’ve competed since…”
    “Just a couple of local events. Nothing as big as this.”
    “Or with my bulls around.”
    The statement weighted the air. Although robbed of breath, she mustered the strength to pull free. Before she could think of a response, one of the men called out.
    “I have to go,” he said. “But we need to talk.”
    “I don’t—”
    “Where are you staying?” he asked.
    She pointed toward the parking lot reserved for participants. “It’s a double horse trailer with a sleeping area. Faded blue and white.”
    “I’ll find it. You’ll be there later?”
    “Yes. But you don’t—”
    “Yeah, I do. We do. Are you traveling alone?”
    “Yes.”
    He studied her. “No man in your life?”
    “No. What about—”
    “There’s no woman in mine.”
    She was tired after the ten-hour drive from the family ranch in Harney County, Oregon, but Jordan hadn’t undressed. In the hour since she’d spoken to Cougar, she’d checked on her quarter horse Trixie dropped by the trailer of a woman she’d competed against for several years and read the local newspaper. Now, because the night was hot, she was sitting in a lawn chair in front of her rig, with her boots off, her attention shifting between the moths swarming around the lights and the comings and goings of those around her. She could have joined the group in the next row but hadn’t because experience had taught her that someone would bring up her accident. She understood their curiosity but wasn’t interested in rehashing the details. Besides, there were certain questions she didn’t want to answer.
    For the second time tonight, something hot shocked her nerves. She didn’t have to look to know who was walking among the many vehicles, but she did. Cougar still carried himself as if he had limitless strength, but his steps were slow. Either his day had been as long as or longer than hers or he wasn’t looking forward to this.
    “I’m here,” she said.
    He nodded, came closer, stopped when maybe four feet separated them. She’d known this man all her life, but there’d always been a certain awkwardness or awareness or something between them. The years hadn’t changed that, and right now he turned her on. Telling herself it was the civilized thing to do, she pointed at a lawn chair she’d propped against her trailer.
    He set it up so he could sit across from her. Because she’d left a light on in her sleeping/eating quarters, the night only nibbled at his edges. He’d always been quiet, while she’d been what her parents called the ultimate chatterbox. Now, however,