How to Kiss a Cowboy (32 page)

It was probably only five seconds before Brady twitched, stood, tipped his hat, and started toward the chutes, but it felt like five hours to Suze.

It had never occurred to her that anything could happen to Brady. He was a force of nature, invincible. Always there, like a river flowing. Like the Wyoming wind.

When the score lit up the screen, the crowd roared.

“That's a ninety-one, ladies and gentlemen, an arena record,” the announcer said. “I'd say this man avenged his brother for what that horse did to him, don't you think, folks? Let's hear a big hand for Brady Caine, riding the unrideable
Torrrr-nado!
”

It had been an epic ride. Suze waited for the wild, winning whoop, the tip of the hat. But Brady didn't even turn to look at the scoreboard. When he reached the fence, he climbed up to the top rail and hung there a moment, scanning the crowd. As he turned his head, Suze caught a glimpse of the back of his hat. A piece of the brim had been chewed out by a certain hairy little dog.

The realization he was wearing the hat Dooley ruined gave her hope for some reason. She knew she was a fool, but she couldn't help leaning forward and waving, and letting out a little whoop of her own.

She caught him in the middle of waving to the boys. His eyes lit on her and for a brief second, his smile straightened to a grim line and his eyes grew as cold as they'd been the last time she'd seen him.

And now she had her answer. He'd never forgive her. Never.

Ridge left his seat and made his way down to the contestant area, nodding as some of the cowboys greeted him. When he reached Brady, there was some backslapping and an awkward sort of sideways hug, and then the two disappeared under the stands to the cowboy ready area, where contestants put on their gear and readied themselves for their rides, relaxing out of reach of the fans.

Suze couldn't sit in those stands another minute. She felt like she'd jump out of her skin if she didn't move, walk, think. She was hurt by the look Brady'd given her, but no more hurt than he'd been by her cruel words.

But when had she ever taken no for an answer? She'd been kicked, stomped, thrown, and bitten by horses. She'd knocked over barrels, even skipped one once by accident. And still she won races.

And her life was a lot like her career. She'd been unwanted, unloved, alone, and unhappy. And still she survived.

Brady Caine might be able to subdue Tornado, but he wasn't going to beat her. Not without a fight.

She jostled a few people on her way down the bleacher steps and out the alleyway. She walked out from under the bleachers and turned left, entering the area across from the Cowboy Ready area, where the livestock was kept in corrals made of iron piping. She passed the big Brahma bulls, who calmly chewed their cud, waiting for the moment when they'd be driven into the chutes and have their own moment in the hot Wyoming sun. She passed the big, hammer-headed bucking horses, pausing to pet a couple who lifted their noses over the top of their corral.

She stopped where the roping horses were kept. Next to barrel horses, roping horses were the smartest animals on the circuit—even smarter, the ropers would argue. She clicked her tongue and was deep in silent conversation with a pretty chestnut when she recognized the man standing beside her stroking the nose of a blue roan.

“Ridge?”

He didn't look happy to see her. But then, Ridge rarely looked happy, and he'd just watched his brother ride the horse that almost killed him.

“I thought you were talking to Brady.”

“Brady's not talking,” he said.

“Brady? Not talking?” She shook her head. “He used to brag on every ride till even the buckle bunnies got bored.”

When he didn't answer, she glanced at his face—hard and unreadable, as usual.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Fine.”

“Good.”

She wanted to ask him if he minded that Brady had ridden Tornado. She wanted to ask if it felt like revenge or if he was sad to see the legendary horse defeated, like she was. She wondered if he was angry with his brother or proud. But none of that came out. What came out was the question she most wanted to ask.

“What's wrong with him?” she asked. “Where's the whoop? The trick dismount? He didn't even tip his hat.”

Ridge shrugged without so much as looking at her. “Guess you took the Brady out of Brady.” He patted the horse's neck. “He's been quieter than me these last couple of weeks.”

She looked down at her boot tips, feeling small. “You must hate me.”

“I don't hate you,” he said gruffly. “Not yet. But you'd damn well better fix him.”

“How do I do that?”

Ridge finally looked at her. “You reach down deep, grab your heart, rip it out of your chest, and hand it over. No bargains, no strings, no safety net.” He wiped his brow as if even remembering the experience was traumatic. “Dang near killed me, getting together with Sierra. You hand your life over too, you know.” His gray eyes softened. “It goes with your heart. You have to trust. It's hard.”

They stood side by side, patting the horses as Suze digested what Ridge had said. “Sometimes I think I'm all wrong for him,” she finally said. “I'm grouchy, and I'm difficult, and I'm not good with people.”

“I know.”

She almost laughed. You could always count on a cowboy to tell you the truth.

“But for some reason he wants you,” Ridge continued. “Kind of like Sierra wanted me.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I'm grouchy, and I'm difficult. I'm better with people than I used to be, though. I'm a better man because of Sierra. And she knows we're stronger together.”

Suze mulled over what he'd said. Ridge had a point. He rarely spoke, and when he did, it was usually to make some harsh but honest observation that rubbed people the wrong way. Sierra was the Brady of their couple—friendly and compassionate, with people skills and charisma that made her universally loved. They were oil and water, but the marriage worked.

And when danger stalked the kids, Ridge was there for her—strong, silent, and driven by love.

Suze pictured herself handing her heart to Brady. Then she pictured him looking at her with that grim stare, throwing her heart to the ground, and grinding it under his boot.

“Take the chance,” Ridge said. “Let him decide.”

He turned and walked away, the crowd parting as he strode back under the stands to see his brother.

Suze glanced over at the cowboy ready area. She could see Brady behind the fence, sitting on a bench with his hands dangling between his knees, staring at the floor. Once in a while another cowboy walked up and slapped him on the back, congratulating him on his ride.

He thanked them, gave them the briefest of smiles, and went back to staring at the floor.

Suze could probably go in there. She was a competitor, after all, and the cowboy watching the door knew her. But did she really want to declare her love in front of a roomful of cowboys?

No. She wanted to declare her love in front of the whole world. She'd spent enough time alone, obsessing over Brady. One way or another, she was going to solve this problem.

Bidding a quick good-bye to the horse she'd been petting, she strode out of the rodeo grounds and into the parking lot.

Brady drove a Dodge Ram, like dozens of other cowboys. It was red, which hardly set it apart. But since he didn't often tow a trailer, he'd been able to customize it with a lift kit and giant tires that made it literally rise above the rest.

Suze leaned against it and waited.

* * *

Brady knew the other cowboys meant well, with their backslapping and congratulatory comments. They thought his ride on Tornado was the kind of thing you celebrate over beer and everybody wanted to buy him a Bud.

But it wasn't like that. Riding Tornado hadn't been revenge, exactly. It was just taking care of business. The horse had hurt his brother. Tornado had hurt a lot of cowboys, but Ridge had lost the use of his riding hand and with it his rodeo career.

Brady and Ridge had never talked about the incident, but it rankled every time they'd heard Tornado described as “unrideable.” Somebody had needed to tame that sucker, and it needed to be a Decker Ranch cowboy.

Brady knew his brother didn't want him to do it. It had been years since Brady had competed in bareback, which was far more punishing physically than the more refined saddle bronc riding. Bareback riders needed to be strong, quick, flexible, and agile—just like the horses they rode.

Ridge hadn't called Brady “chicken” in a long time. Lately, he hadn't even called him “little brother.” But Brady knew what his brother thought of him. What everyone thought of him. The last time he'd tried to prove himself had been at the photo shoot, when he'd ridden that danged Jim Dandy and hurt Suze so bad she might never ride again.

Hurting Suze, then falling for her and losing her, had taken the joy out of life. He'd needed to do something big. Something exciting. And riding Tornado sure fit the bill.

He'd thought making the buzzer would make him feel good again. But for some reason, it just didn't matter. Nothing did.

He headed out to his truck, glad to escape the congratulations of the other cowboys. He needed to go home. Maybe he'd saddle up one of the old lesson horses that still lived at Decker Ranch and go for a long, slow ride. Or maybe he'd just take a nap.

He'd seen Suze in the crowd and wondered what she'd thought of the ride. She probably knew he was trying to prove himself to his big brother, and she probably knew what a fool he was to think it made any difference.

Good thing it didn't matter what Suze thought anymore. His servitude was over, and he wouldn't have to have his heart smashed under her boots anymore. Not today, not ever.

Lately, his heart felt about as dry and torched as the crispy brown grass that made up the lawn. But he could move on now. Find another girl. Suze thought he'd find somebody to love, somebody sweet and pretty.

Maybe she was right.

So why did he feel so miserable?

* * *

Suze watched Brady approach the truck. His head was bowed, and his fringed chaps flapped around his legs with every stride. He looked like a cowboy who'd been beat, not one who'd ridden a horse no man had ever ridden before.

Taking a step toward him, she wanted to hug him. She wanted to cry all over his wrinkled denim shirt. She wanted to beg for forgiveness. But when he saw her, he stopped midstride, as if he might turn and walk away.

She pretended not to notice.

“Nice ride.”

He shrugged. “I'm not as much of a loser as you think. I win once in a while.”

“I know that. You think I'd hang out with a loser?”

“Apparently.” He walked past her and set one foot on the running board of his souped-up pickup. “A man would be a loser if he cheated on you. He'd be a loser if he lied to you about something you needed to know, or if he almost lost your horse. And he'd sure as hell be a loser if he hurt you.”

“You didn't do those things,” she said.

“Yeah, I did. All but the first one.”

“But I hurt you too.” She gave him a crooked smile. “We're even.”

“Okay.” His tone was brutal. “So why are you here?”

She tried to reply, but the words wouldn't form. Her throat was dry and parched. “Brady, I'm sorry,” she said. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” He climbed into the truck and a whoosh of hot air blew out of the sunbaked interior. “You damn near killed me. You think that accident ruined you? Well, you ruined me. We're even now.”

“I'm sorry, Brady.” She was crying now, shamelessly, letting the tears run down her cheeks. “I'm so sorry. I tried to trust you, Brady. But I—I just couldn't. Everything in my life was upside down. I'd just found out my own father had been lying to me. He isn't even my father, and everything I believed about my mother and about myself was a lie.”

“That's too bad.” He shoved the keys in the ignition and rolled down the windows. “I'm sorry for what happened to you, Suze. But when you love somebody, you have to be able to trust them. You take them at their word. And you can't do that.” As the engine roared to life, he tipped his hat and nodded, his expression blank as he backed out of the parking space.

“Brady, wait.” Suze grabbed on to the window frame on the passenger's side and hiked herself up onto the little step outside the door. “Don't go.”

He revved the engine.

“You can drive off if you want,” she said. “But I'm hanging on. You won't be able to shake me. Not ever again, no matter how hard you try. I promise, Brady. And I keep my promises.”

Grimly, she hung on, her good leg balanced on the step, the bad one dangling. She'd worn a sundress and cowboy boots, and the dress whipped in the wind, twisting around her legs. Her wrist was starting to hurt, but she held on tight.

“You're going to look pretty funny, tearing down the highway with a woman hanging out the window,” she said.

“I've made a fool of myself before.”

He turned onto the road and headed toward the exit. The gate attendants were two older cowboys who sat in lawn chairs, drinking beer.

“Hey, Caine,” one of them said. “You picked up a hitcher.” The two of them laughed, har-de-har-har.

“Can't shake her,” Brady said. Without another word, he drove through the gate. When he reached the main road, Suze braced herself for the turn. But instead of pulling onto the road, he steered the truck into a grassy field that was used for overflow parking during night shows.

He stopped the truck and Suze started to pull herself through the window, but he popped the locks and nodded toward the door handle.

“I'm not taking a chance. I'll step away and you'll drive off.” She hiked herself up on the windowsill, then pitched forward into the truck. The men at the gate got a nice view of her panties as she kicked her way into the passenger seat, but she didn't care.

“Those guys are watching,” Brady said. “One of 'em's got a pair of binoculars.”

“I don't care.” She settled into the seat, fluffing the skirt of her dress so it covered her legs. “I've made a fool of myself before too. And I'm hoping to do it again.”

Brady shut off the engine and they sat there, side by side, like they were watching a drive-in movie. But the only thing they could see through the windshield was the darkening sky, and the sounds of the Wyoming dusk rose around them—the chirping of crickets in the grass, the cautious hooting of a mourning dove on a telephone wire.

“Listen,” she said.

He tilted his head. “What?”

“Don't you love this time of day? The daytime birds are singing themselves to sleep, and the nighttime birds are just getting up. And the sky's so pretty.” She peered out the open window. “The stars are coming out. Remember that shooting star we saw?”

He nodded.

She twisted her hands in the skirt of her dress. “I wished for us to be together,” she confessed. “What did you wish for?”

He shrugged and looked away, resting his elbow on the window frame. “Same thing.”

She tried to smile, but it trembled at the edges. “How did we get so mixed up, when we both wanted the same thing at the beginning?”

“I'm not sure,” he said. “It's been a long story, hasn't it?”

“It has.” She reached for his hand. “Talk to me, Brady. Even if the story's over, it could have a better ending.”

Squeezing his hand, she squeezed her eyes shut too, praying for courage, praying for strength, praying for the right words to come from her heart.

“Come on,” she said. “Let's go for a walk.”