Montana Gold. Genell Dellin

get hurt while you’re fighting bulls and it will not be your fault. You won’t have anything to do with it.”

      “And I know I’m not God.”

      “You don’t talk like it. You talk like a naïve, little-girl greenhorn out to save the world.”

      “Don’t ‘little-girl’ me, buddy. I may only be half as old as you are, but I’ve had more than twenty-four years’ worth of trouble to face up to and I know what my job is and how to do it.”

      “I don’t need a nursemaid,” he said. “And I am not twice as old as you are.”

      They glared at each other as the song ended but even when they stopped moving, their bodies wouldn’t part. They stood just as close together as when they were dancing, breathing hard and looking daggers at each other.

      Finally, Chase let go and Elle stepped back out of his arms as if she couldn’t wait to get away. She whirled to leave him but then she turned.

      “You can dance,” she said. “Sorry I doubted you, but with an old man, you never know.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      ELLE HAD FORGOTTEN how much she loved driving at night. It gave her that same feeling—or nearly—of being wrapped up in her own world that always came over her in the arena. But tonight, instead of her and a bull, it was her and Missy Jo, who’d just gone sound asleep in the back seat. They rolled on through the dark down a mostly empty Texas highway with Missy’s mares, Skitter and Shine, standing quiet in the trailer hitched on behind and Aussie, her dog, sprawled all over the passenger seat and half the console, riding shotgun.

      She reached out and turned the music up a little. Yep. Nothing like being in charge of the universe and feeling it in motion.

      Elle rolled the window down a little more. She didn’t care if her hair did whip around her face, she loved the smell of the wind and its power on her skin. For late March, she wasn’t used to the weather being so nice and warm.

      She flew on, shooting in a straight path through the dark endless space, with the dashboard’s glow the only light. Headed for somewhere new, another place where she wouldn’t have to stay. Another place she could leave whenever she wanted. This was freedom.

      She glanced at the speedometer and eased her foot off the pedal. No sense ruining a good run with a ticket from the highway patrol. When the needle hit seventy, she punched on the cruise control and shifted in the seat. Holding the wheel with one hand, she took her cup from its holder and sipped the coffee. Still hot, still fragrant. Per-fect.

      Los Lonely Boys were singing about heaven from the CD player, their voices soothing her mind and tickling her ears, rocking her in their rhythms.

      Heaven’s right about here. On earth, it won’t ever be any better.

      RodeoAustin had been a great one for her and also for Missy Jo, sleeping with a smile on her face. And now they were speeding toward the next arena, toward that eternal chance of an even more spectacular performance that kept all the rodeo cowboys and cowgirls on the road.

      Toward the ultimate thrill, that primeval gamble of life against death.

      That gamble that required everything the players possessed—skill, intelligence, wit, physical strength and agility. The game to end all games.

      What else could she want? She was one of the most successful players. She had a talent for it. A love for it. Making her every dream come true was definitely possible.

      One of these years, the top forty-five bull riders in the world would vote for her and she’d be working for the Professional Bull Riders. That was when a bullfighter knew he or she had really made it to the top—when the riders chose her to protect them.

      Oh, and she’d never forget Austin because that was where she’d danced with that bronc-riding legend, Chase Lomax. The small of her back arched toward the memory of his warm hand. Her whole body wanted to move with his again.

      The remembered feel of him flowed over her skin and brought his woodsy, citrusy scent to fire her blood.

      Maybe that was heaven, too, being in his arms.

      Heaven or not, it was a miracle. She might pretend to other people, she might keep secrets and lie or evade the truth all the time with them, but she had taken a vow not to lie to herself anymore, so she had to face it: Chase Lomax made her feel something sexual.

      But she mustn’t get her hopes up too much. A thrill or two during one dance was a long way from real lovemaking.

      It’s a start, though. It proves it’s possible.

      Oh, yeah, and what an irony. The first man whose hands really touched her had to be a sexist woman-chaser rude enough to tell her she was in the wrong line of work.

      Was it worth the risk to take it further? She knew she could by the way he’d looked at her when they left the dance floor and the way he’d kept saying things to her during dinner. He was intrigued.

      However, sleeping with him could be a risk to her career, if she let his remarks about it invade her head. It might even be a risk to her heart because she couldn’t take sex lightly, and wasn’t her goal to make it mean something as well as to really feel something? Chase Lomax was famous for breaking hearts.

      But the greatest risk of all would be that it would fail and destroy her hope.

      Which is stupid to even think about because approximately half the human race is male and there are millions more men out there.

      Too bad she wasn’t the type to try them all, one after the other. No way could she do that.

      But if she decided she was afraid to go further with Chase, how would she ever know? He might be her best chance for the rest of her life to find out whether she could ever really feel anything with any man or if she would always be damaged goods. Or perhaps sexually-challenged, to be politically correct.

      She felt a wry grin curl her lips. Politically correct she wasn’t.

      But there was something more in Chase that drew her. A shadow of something in his eyes that made her want to know enough about him to name it.

      Which made it even more important to leave him alone. She needed to find out about herself, not him. She was tangled up enough inside without getting involved or falling in love. She wasn’t ready for that. No way could she fight bulls with a distracted heart or a broken one.

      On the other hand, this had to be worth pursuing, because there’d been some tension or something in the air between them last night—right from the minute Chase walked up to that table.

       Yeah, sure. He wanted to tell you about your mistake.

      She could go into this without her heart, though. It’d be for her body only. All she wanted was to find out if she could ever be normal.

      Oh, yeah, for double sure. Remember how you couldn’t look away from that family last night? Three stairsteps, little cowgirls. A mommy and a daddy still in love, holding hands?

      True. She did want that. Someday. But she had to find out about herself first. She could never get married again until she knew. She’d gotten so sick of pretending with Derek and she was not going to spend the rest of her life like that.

      So if you had the guts to leave Derek, and you have the guts to be a bullfighter, why are you scared of giving Chase Lomax a whirl in the name of research? You’ve never been known for a coward, Farrell Hawthorne.

      Right. She couldn’t be a coward when Farrell was her name. Her mother named her, not one of her three brothers, after their legendary great-great-grandpa.

      Farrell St. Clair, legend among the real, old-time cowboys, had made a name that, to this day, still came up in every discussion of Montana’s best bronc riders ever. In spite of being born sickly and with