Temptation: Reckless Desires (Blue Moon Saloon Book 2) (6 page)

She took a deep breath and forced herself to let go of his arm.

“So, what can I get you?”

“Coffee, please.” His eyebrow curved when he asked, and she melted all over again.

“More coffee here, too,” the guys in the corner called. “Simon, can you turn on the TV?”

She hurried off for the pot of coffee then zipped back to Cole, placed a mug before him, and poured. Just watching him smile made her go warm all over again.

He leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Love your coffee.”

Love!
Her wolf grabbed the word like a bone and paraded around with it.
He loves me! Loves me!

She wanted to smack the beast and yell,
Coffee, dummy. He loves the coffee.
But the way his eyes locked on hers made it easy to believe he meant something else.

She smiled shyly, and he smiled back. Touched her arm and sent crazy messages zipping around her body.

Then the television blared to life behind them, and Cole froze.

“A beautiful day here in Las Vegas for the annual bull-riding championships!” the announcer beamed.

Cole didn’t swivel his stool to watch or turn his head. Didn’t make the slightest motion. He sat stiff as a statue as the show went on.

“We’ve got a great day for you,” a second announcer chipped in and started going over the program for the day.

“Janna, can we get refills?” one of the ranch hands asked.

She dragged herself away from Cole and filled each of their mugs while peeking at the screen. Furious bulls twisted, turned, and tore up the arena. The men riding them jolted and jerked like puppets. Janna winced as one man after another crashed to the ground, then scrambled out of the way of charging bulls. Crowds cheered, buzzers buzzed, and the announcer went through a high-speed introduction of the competitors and the bulls. There was one named Gruesome, another named Haunted Hollow, and a third called Dante’s Inferno.

Janna glanced at Cole, whose face was a mask.

One of the Twin Moon ranch hands seated in the corner pointed as the television replayed a cowboy flying off a raging bull in slow motion.

“Just like you flying off that bull at the ranch, Jake.”

Jake flashed a good-natured smile and pulled up his sleeve. “I still have the bruise. Check it out.”

“Yeah, and a matching one on your ass,” his friend taunted, then remembered Janna was there. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

She barely noticed, still staring at Jake’s arm. She’d rarely seen a bruise on a shifter simply because they healed so quickly. Which meant Jake must have taken a hell of a fall.

“This new Brangus-Criollo hybrid we’re trying out sure don’t like to be ridden.”

“Don’t like much of anything,” another one griped.

Janna looked over at Cole, who had clamped down so hard on the brass rail of the bar, his knuckles were white.

“Uh, guys, can you watch this somewhere else?” she tried.

“Are you kidding?” one protested. “It’s the finals, Janna. The finals!”

She nodded. Bull-riding finals that Cole really, really didn’t want to see or even hear. Why, she didn’t know. Only that he looked stonier than ever before.

“So that’s the lineup for today, along with the top bullfighters in the country to keep the riders safe.” The camera switched back to the announcer, who turned to his co-commentator. “Sonny, how do you think last year’s tragedy will affect the riders here today?”

She halted in midstep and stared at the screen, where the man called Sonny was sadly shaking his head. Tragedy?

“Well, Frank, they’re pros. I know they’ve all thought about it, but they’ve got to come into the arena with clear heads today.”

“A terrible, terrible thing,” the announcer agreed, and the saloon went quiet but for the faint squeak of the ceiling fans. “Now, folks, some of you might want not want to watch this. Out of respect to the bull rider and his family, we won’t show the worst, but we feel it’s important to highlight the heroics of our pro bullfighting team.”

She watched, slack-jawed, as the view switched to another bull charging out of a pen marked with last year’s date. A replay of the event they were talking about.

“It started like any other ride…”

The sound switched to the voice of a different announcer. “And now we have Hammersmith, coming out of the pen…”

A huge black bull tore into the arena, bucking wildly.

“And at this point, A.J. looked to be in control…” the live commentator said over the voice of the replay.

The bull bowed its head, then snapped it up, bringing its horns within inches of the rider’s face.

“But watch when Hammersmith goes into his next spin…”

Janna didn’t want to watch, but she couldn’t
not
watch as the sound changed, going from the present-day announcers to the voice that had commented on the scene live.

“He’s down! He’s down!” the live announcer screamed.

Janna watched in horror as the young rider flew off the bull and crashed headfirst at an unnatural angle in the middle of the arena. The image cut away just before impact, but it didn’t take much imagination to fill in the blanks.

“Shit,” one of the ranch hands muttered under his breath.

“Doctors reckon the vertebrae were broken right there,” the original commentator said over the voice of the other. “Nothing no helmet’s gonna do about that.”

A horrified gasp rang out from the audience, followed by shouts as the bull wheeled to charge the limp body.

“Look at our bullfighters move in!” the live commentator shouted. “Look at that! Look at that!”

The coffee mug shook in Janna’s hand shook as she watched three men dart forward.

“This is why we don’t call them rodeo clowns, folks…” the commentator said of the three men.

“Watch the one in blue…”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cole go stiff. But her focus remained on the screen, where the fastest of the three bullfighters darted between the bull and the limp body in the dirt, trying to distract it. He sprinted right into the bull’s field of vision, but the bull was intent on the fallen rider.

Any normal human would duck out of the way, but the bullfighter in blue planted himself right in the bull’s way, daring the animal to attack him.

“Seventeen hundred pounds of charging bull, folks, and this man’s holding his ground.” The announced whistled.

The bull lowered its horns and thundered on.

“Get out of the way, man,” one of the ranch hands murmured at the screen.

The other two bullfighters waved and hollered from each side, trying to draw away the bull — to no avail.

Janna shook her head at the impossibility of it all. If the bullfighter moved, the charging beast would trample the fallen rider. But if the bullfighter stayed,
he’d
get trampled.

She watched, frozen, as the man put his hands out and grabbed the bull’s horns. The animal snapped his head upward, lifting the man.

“Look at that!” the announcer screamed as the man threw his weight to the side.

“Jesus, that guy has balls,” another ranch hand muttered.

The bull’s head twisted to the side, all his fury focused on his new foe. It cleared the injured man by an inch and bulldozed onward, trying to trample the bullfighter. The man dragged his feet, trying to stay clear of the hooves. Somehow, he found enough traction to spring to one side and then ducked as the bull jabbed his horns right. Dashed to the left again…

“That’s what you call a pro, folks,” the announcer murmured.

It went on like that for another minute, with an unrelenting bullfighter and an equally determined bull, until finally a man on a horse charged in and drove the bull away.

Cole slid off his seat and headed for the saloon doors without saying a word, but Janna’s eyes stayed rooted on the TV. There was something about the bullfighter on the screen…

She watched the man in blue rush to the injured man’s side as medics sprinted across the arena with a stretcher. He crouched over the fallen bull rider, then backed away to give the medical team space.

“God, it doesn’t look good,” the event announcer said in a hush.

The bullfighter backed up for a good ten feet before turning toward the camera. After two more steps, he collapsed to one knee. He spent a long time there before the other two bullfighters came along, slapped him on the back, and pulled him to his feet.

A tall man with sandy hair.

Holy shit.

Cole. That was Cole, being pulled to his feet.

The television switched back to this year’s announcer, who shook his head sadly. “Real heroes, those bullfighters. The doctors did what they could, but a broken neck is a broken neck…”

She shut her eyes.

“Scenes that will haunt all of us…” the announcer said.

She turned to the saloon doors, which were still flapping from Cole’s silent exit. She shook her head. Cole…

A second later, she darted outside, following him.

Cole strode down the sidewalk, barely aware of the space in front of him. His ears rang, and his nose tickled with the scent of angry bull. Instead of the street, all he saw was the arena. All in his memory, but all so clear.

He’s down! He’s down!
the announcer had screamed.

He winced at the memory of the fallen rider, lying in the dirt. Not getting up. Never getting up again.

God, if only he hadn’t talked to the kid earlier that day. The rider, A.J., was a rookie on the bull-riding scene. Cocky on the outside, nervous as hell on the inside because he’d drawn the rankest bull in the lineup. Cole knew; he’d seen the kid an hour before his ride, hunched over the bathroom sink, staring at nothing.

“You got this, kid.” He’d opened his big mouth, slapped the kid on the back, and shot him a you-can-do-this smile.

Jesus, he’d sent the guy to his death.

The kid forced a stiff nod and echoed his words. “I got this.”

When the kid’s turn came up, Cole could see the same nervous twitch in his eye. The kind of anxiety a rider couldn’t afford to carry into the arena.

One of the handlers at the chute gave the kid a reassuring look that said,
Nothing wrong with pulling out.
But the crowd was cheering, the bull snorting — everything was ready for the rider’s eight seconds of fame.

And for whatever reason, the kid looked to Cole. Right at him with eyes that begged,
What the hell do I do?

Cole gave the kid a thumbs-up that said,
You got this.

He might as well have filled in a death certificate, because the guy had nodded, mounted up, and seconds later…

He watched the bull twist and throw the rider. Heard the crack as the kid landed on his neck. The guy was still alive when Cole got to him, after the bull had finally been driven away. Still wheezing, still wide-eyed with panic. Still totally limp.

“You’ll be okay,” Cole had lied. Twice. Then he’d backed away and let the medics in, because they could make a miracle happen, right?

He shook his head as he stomped down the sidewalk. No miracle. No happy end. And the worst part was everyone insisting on patting him on the back as if he’d truly helped.

No, the worst was the letter he’d gotten from the kid’s mother a few weeks later. A goddamn thank-you letter he’d burned the first chance he got, though the words were permanently seared into his memory.

Thank you for doing everything you could to help my son…

Christ. If only she knew.

He fumbled with the key to his truck and glared at his own haggard reflection in the window. Some fucking hero. Some fucking help.

Footsteps rushed up behind him, but he reached for the door handle without turning.

“Cole.”

For the first time in weeks, hearing Janna’s voice didn’t turn everything inside him to mush.

“Cole!”

He stayed still, gripping the door handle so hard, his knuckles turned white.

When she patted him on the back, part of him wanted to give in to her soft touch. To turn and hug her and let her be the one to whisper in his ear. But he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Shouldn’t.

“You gonna be okay?” she asked. Softly, like he might break.

“Sure,” he said through tight lips. And he was. It was A.J. who wasn’t okay.

“I mean…”

“Fine,” he barked, scratching madly at his arm.

Janna’s eyes followed the gesture, and her brow furrowed. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head. His arm didn’t really hurt. Scratching the itch had become a habit, that was all.

“Cole…” She turned him around, locked her eyes on his, and for a second, he was submerged in the deep blue. But then she gasped slightly, and her eyes went wide. “What’s wrong?”

Other than the fact that he’d ushered an innocent man to his death?

“Did you get hurt in the fight? I mean, the fight in the saloon that night?”

It took his mind a second to jump from bull riding to the night she and Jessica were held up by those thugs. The night he’d helped Janna out of a pickle and ended up thrown into a wall.

“Been thrown worse than that.”

“I mean, cut.”

“No,” he said, rubbing his arm, then hiding the motion.

Too late. Janna pulled his arm toward her and tugged his sleeve up.