Chasin' Eight: Rough Riders, Book 12 (4 page)

“Stop?” Hannah asked, alarmed. “Stop what? Stop you from doing this?”

“No. I need to stop. All of this. I need to stop being Ava Cooper. I need to know if Ava Dumond is capable of taking care of herself, because it’s obvious Ava Cooper can’t.”

Hannah was dead silent. Then she smiled. “I know I should be worried about job security with your sudden identity crisis, but I’m not.”

“Good. So you’re not going to try and talk me out of this?”

“No. Besides, I know you’ll be back by the first week in August.” Hannah’s eyes narrowed. “You are scheduled to start filming the new Lynch movie in Mexico that week. And given that the contracts were signed
before
this shit went down with the movie studio and Jake, you absolutely cannot fuck that up, Ava.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Hannah pressed. “You know there’s no warning when the casting director calls you in for a reading, so you’ll need to be someplace where you can hop a plane at a moment’s notice.”

“Relax. I doubt I’ll be gone that long. I just need a break.” She watched the frown lines deepen on Hanna’s forehead. “Are you rethinking that job security comment?”

“No. Since getting far away from here is your idea, I believe it’s something you need to do. I just want you to be careful.”

Ava hugged her. “I will. Thank you. You are the best, Han.”

“You’re welcome. Now will you at least let me help you pack and plan?”

She shook her head. “I need to do it all on my own. Like regular people do.”

“With the exception of flying commercial like regular people do,” Hannah inserted.

“Extenuating circumstances.” Ava allowed a sheepish look. “Ah, can you tell me where I keep my suitcases?”

“Under the bed in the guest bedroom. I’ll grab them.”

As Ava flipped through her closet, she was torn. What to bring for clothes? Comfy. Casual. Weather appropriate. Did she own anything fitting that description?

Hannah set the luggage on the floor by the closet door. Ava’s gaze strayed to the large duffel bag she’d never used. If she had to haul her belongings everywhere by herself, she’d need a manageable bag. She grabbed the gray duffel. “I’m taking this one.”

“Ava. You can’t even get your shoes in that.”

“Ava
Cooper
can’t get her shoes in that. Ava
Dumond
travels light.”

“I need a glass of wine,” Hannah said wearily.

“Help yourself.” As Hannah left the room, Ava yelled, “Oh, on your way back from the kitchen, will you grab the box of condoms from the main bathroom?”

Hannah poked her head back in. “You don’t care about packing shoes, but you’re packing condoms?”

“Yep. I’m gonna find me a hot man and offer him unlimited, anything-goes sex—no strings, no regrets, just lots of getting naked and getting loose.”

“So you’re setting out to prove Ava Dumond is a sleazy ho-bag?”

“If that’s what it takes to get my sexual confidence back where men are concerned? Then yes.”

“Forget a glass of wine, I’m bringing back the whole damn bottle.”

Ava laughed. Let her Wild West adventure begin.

Chapter Three

Chase could barely keep his eyes open. Disoriented, he slowed his truck to a crawl on the gravel road, braking at the cattle guard that denoted the turnoff to Kane’s place.

He parked by the deck and stumbled out of his truck, taking a moment to stretch his legs and adjust the crick in his neck. But anticipation of falling face-first into a puffy mattress and sleeping a solid twelve hours put a spring in his step.

Once he’d unearthed the key and unlocked the door, he slipped inside the dark trailer and caught a whiff of flowers. Probably from cleaning supplies.

Too tired to shower, Chase stripped to his boxer-briefs in the living room and wandered to the kitchen sink to wash off the worst of the road grime. Rather than flipping on the lights, his fingers trailed along the hallway wall for guidance as he headed toward the back bedroom.

The bedroom door was closed. With as hot as it’d been, the room would be stuffy, but he was too damn whipped to even open a window. He flopped on the mattress and stretched out, but his arm connected with something solid. And warm. And soft.

And moving.

Chase leapt out of bed the same time the high-pitched shrieking started.

He fumbled with the light, blinking against the sudden brightness. He kept blinking because he didn’t trust what he was seeing. There was a nekkid woman in his bed. A nekkid, pissed-off woman who’d jumped up and struck a Jackie Chan martial arts pose.

“Back off, perv! I have a black belt in taekwondo and I will fuck you up if you take another step toward me.”

Chase raised his hands in surrender, trying really, really hard to keep his eyes on hers. “Whoa, there, crouching tiger. Let’s just take this down a notch.”

“Bet you’d like that, fuckface.”

Fuckface? Christ. Just his luck he’d come across another psychotic woman. “Maybe you oughta tell me why you broke in.”

“I didn’t break in, you moron.”

“Hey, enough with the name-callin’,” he snapped. “Maybe I oughta call the deputy and let him deal with your lyin’ ass.”

“Hey, enough with the name-callin’,” she mimicked flawlessly. “Go ahead and make the call.”

Dammit. He had no guarantee Cam was on duty tonight. And did he really want to try and explain…this?

“Hah! Called your bluff, didn’t I?” she sneered.

“Yeah, honey pie, you sure did. I’m just wondering if the rash of shit I’ll get from my cousin—who is the deputy I’d call—is worth the hassle at two o’clock in the fuckin’ mornin’.”

She dropped her hands and studied him. “Wait a second. Your cousin is a local deputy?”

“Yes.”

“What’s his name?”

“Cam McKay.”

“Oh fuck me. You’re one of the two hundred McKay men Ginger always talks about.”

That startled Chase. “You know Ginger?”

“Who do you think invited me to stay here?”

“Well, we have a problem because my cousin Kane said
I
could stay here.” As Chase tried to stay focused on her eyes, he realized something about this woman was very familiar. His gaze wandered. Drool-worthy tits. Tiny waist. Curvy hips. Long legs.

“Eyes up here, buddy.”

He didn’t exactly hurry his gaze as it tracked her curvaceous body from the bottom up. Goddamn, the woman had it going on. “Do I know you?”

“Do I know
you
?” she shot back sarcastically.

“I’m serious. Were you in
Playboy
?”

“Is that your idea of flattery?”

“Yes, you’re sporting a helluva centerfold body, sugar t—” Shit. He was supposed to stop saying stuff like that.

Not bothered at all by her total nakedness, she pushed up the pink satin eye mask that kept slipping down. “I don’t remember seeing you at Ginger and Kane’s wedding. Which McKay are you again?”

“Chase. I wasn’t at the wedding. Mind tellin’ me your name?”

“Ava.”

“Ava…?”

“Ava Cooper is my stage name. Ava Dumond is my real name.”

Stage name. With a body like hers and zero modesty she had to be a stripper. “Well, Ava, it appears we’re roomies, at least for tonight.”

Ava didn’t respond. Her gaze was glued to his belly. “What the hell happened to you?”

Chase glanced at his stomach and touched the bruise beneath his rib cage. “That’s what fifteen hundred pounds of pissed-off bull will do to ya.”

“Bull? As in a male cow? Were you doing ranch work or something?”

“No. I was trying to ride the damn thing, but he didn’t wanna be rode. Threw me on my ass and stomped on me for good measure.”

“You do that a lot? Ride bulls?”

“That’s my job.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? That’s an actual job? You get paid and everything?”

He scowled at her. “Really. And look, no offense, but I’m dead on my feet. I’ll take the couch tonight. We’ll talk about the rest of this in the mornin’.”

“How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”

“You don’t.” Chase offered a smug smile. “Sweet dreams.”

When Ava saw the half-naked cowboy sprawled on the couch, snoring softly, she knew last night hadn’t been a dream.

She rested her shoulder against the partition separating the hallway from the living room and looked her fill.

The man, quite simply, was stunning. And living in California, surrounded by the best-looking men in the world, she knew stunning. Sculpted cheekbones that emphasized the leanness of his cheeks. A broad, masculine jaw. Full, ripe lips. His nose was slightly crooked, but it worked centered among the rest of his perfect features. His dark eyebrows were drawn together in a frown, even as he slept. His hair, a striking shade of coal black, held a hint of curl.

Her gaze meandered south, over the flare of his thick neck, to his bare chest, packed with muscles. More dark hair highlighted his defined pectorals, trailing down to bisect his ripped abs. The damn blanket hid his lower half from his hip to his knee, but one bare calf and foot poked out.

Probably creepy to gawk at him when he was unaware, but he’d seen her naked body last night, so tit for tat.

He’d thrown his left arm above his head, which drew her eye to his—holy crap—mammoth biceps and meaty forearm. Her gaze dropped to his crotch. Chances were high he had a little dick. Beautiful men like him always had one physical flaw, and since she couldn’t see any others…

Wait.

Her eyes narrowed and swept down the length of his body. His feet didn’t reach the end of the couch. Which made him short. At least three inches shorter than her. Not that it made a damn bit of difference in her mind. They’d still be eye to eye when they were having sex missionary style. And it wouldn’t matter at all when she was on top.

Stop gawking before he catches you, perv. You’re acting like you haven’t seen a half-naked man in years, not months.

She started a pot of coffee, lamenting the fact there weren’t any Starbucks within two hundred miles, and turned on her laptop, shooting a glance at the still-sleeping cowboy. Last night he’d claimed to be some kind of…rodeo riding guy.

Hello, Google search.

Ava was shocked by all the links that popped up when she typed in Chase McKay. This guy was a big deal in the Professional Bull Riders world. He had a website. He had a fan page on Facebook. She scrolled down. Hey. Chase McKay had more “Likes” than she did. But she noticed no new posts since the announcement he planned to take time off to heal a recurring injury.

He didn’t look injured.

She continued to cyber stalk him, fascinated by a world she knew nothing about. She found pictures of Chase McKay with mayors and governors. Other bull riders. Country singers. Stock contractors. PBR officials and sponsors. Close-up stills of his best rides and his worst wrecks.

But most of the pictures were of the hot cowboy with women. Lots of women—young, old, fat, skinny. Rodeo queens and other rhinestone-wearing women who weren’t queens but sure looked the part. The other odd thing? Not a single woman was taller than him.

Ava followed a link that directed her to articles about Chase. Happy as she was to hit pay dirt, the consensus in the last year of rodeo sports experts? Chase McKay was washed up. His riding percentage—whatever that meant—was rock bottom. Rumors abounded about the trail of broken hearts he left across the country. A couple of snarky reporters dubbed him “Chase’n Tail McKay” since his personal life overshadowed his professional career.

Welcome to the club, bub
.

The next series of articles, dated the last three months, hinted at Chase settling into a relationship with Sheree Bishop, daughter of Lou Bishop, billionaire owner of Bishop’s Sporting Goods, the PBR’s new sponsor. During one interview, Sheree admitted she and Chase were “serious” but Chase neither confirmed nor denied Sheree’s claim. In fact, there were no pictures of Chase and Sheree together.

Were they keeping their relationship on the down low? Or was there nothing to report?

“Looks like you’ve found some interesting reading,” Chase drawled behind her.

Ava jumped. Heat rushed to her face and she fought the urge to slam her laptop shut. “Can you blame me for being curious? Since you were sleeping in the next room and wouldn’t confirm or deny you’re a serial killer?”

“I guess not. But you coulda just asked me.”

“You were asleep.” She watched him pour himself a cup of coffee. He wore athletic shorts, no shirt, apparently perfectly comfortable half-dressed with a woman he didn’t know.

Like you have room to judge. You were naked in front of him last night.

And wowza. With a slamming body like that? The man should waltz around naked all the time.

“So?” He pursed his lips and blew across his coffee. “Did you find proof I’m not a serial killer?”

“Yes. But it sounds like you’re some kind of lady killer.”

Chase rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it.

“I’ll plead total ignorance on what it means to be a bull rider, so I did some research. All the rest of this stuff popped up.” Ava bit back a girly sigh when his beautiful blue gaze connected with hers. “Are you really off the PBR tour because of an injury?”

Chase held her gaze long enough to make her heart speed up. Just when she thought he wouldn’t answer, he said, “Nope. I’m suspended indefinitely for inappropriate behavior.”

“What’d you do?” Another one of his intense eye locks. But he didn’t seem inclined to answer this time, so she tossed out, “I’m no stranger to PR nightmares. Regardless if I was the one at fault. If you’re looking for someone to commiserate with? That’d be me.”

He smiled. And holy fuck was it a smile that unlocked the gates of heaven.

Or the devil’s door. Which quite frankly, she preferred.

“Short version? Two weeks ago I was caught in a compromising position with a couple of ladies. I ain’t gonna make excuses, it was what it was, and I’m paying the price. I suddenly found myself with time off while I wait for the PBR to call me back. My folks and brothers live here, but I didn’t want to deal with their pity, so I asked Kane if I could hang out and make plans.”

“Sounds like you’re reading a page out of the story of my life.” Ava typed her name into the search engine and spun the laptop around. “Have a look.”