The Bull Rider's Plan. Jeannie Watt

here they were.

      He suddenly looked up, meeting her gaze. Oh, yeah. Those were some eyes. Her memory wasn’t faulty.

      “Morning,” he said.

      “Morning,” she echoed, wishing her voice wasn’t so thick.

      His eyes strayed down to her legs. “Are you wearing my jeans?”

      “Maybe?” She automatically hitched up one side as she answered. “You weren’t using them.” She indicated the duffels with a jerk of her chin. “And it looks like you’re packed for your rodeo trip, which leads me to believe you weren’t taking them.”

      “Maybe I wanted something clean to wear when I got home. Besides, that’s not the point, Em.”

      She leaned her elbows on the counter next to him. “What is the point, Jess?”

      “The point is that you took my stuff without asking.”

      “And if I had wandered out in my underwear to ask permission...?” She gave him a how-would-that-have-gone-over look.

      “You could have called from the bedroom.”

      “Oh, Jeh-ess...can I wear your pa-ants?” She raised her eyebrows in a mock innocent expression. “Like that?”

      “Yeah. Like that.”

      This felt like old times, when Jess would go all follow-the-rules on her whenever she came up with a great idea, like going out to party with him and her brother, even though she was underage, and she would argue with him.

      “You want me to take them off?”

      “No.” The word came out so rapidly that it was almost embarrassing. His loss.

      “Then I guess I get to wear your jeans.” She looked around the trailer. “You have a clothes dryer here?”

      “Yeah. Right.”

      “They make those apartment-size things.”

      “I go to the Laundromat.”

      “Pity. Now I have to wear your jeans.”

      He didn’t answer, making her think that he was simply making noise about the jeans. The toast popped and he set it on a plate, then put the plate on the table. Emma took the hint and sat down, even though she wasn’t the least bit hungry.

      “We’re going to talk.”

      “We are?”

      “I brought you to my home rather than leaving you to the mercies of your mom. I want some answers.”

      She narrowed her eyes, ignoring the fact that it made her head hurt. “What kind of answers?”

      He set a cup of coffee on the table next to the toast and then leaned back against the counter, folding his arms over his chest. His expression was don’t-mess-with-me serious when he said, “Tell me what’s going on.”

      “You want to know my business?”

      “Yeah. I do.”

      Em studied the table, debating. Other than Darion, no one knew the whole truth. She figured by this time, the conjecture was worse than what had actually happened, and far be it from her to disappoint the local gossips. She looked up at him. He had his stern brother look on. Somehow it didn’t seem as effective without Len there to back him up.

      “Fine. What do you want to know?”

      “Why are you really hiding from Selma?”

      Emma planted her elbows on the table and pressed her fingertips to her forehead. Jess knew her family. Knew the dynamics. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have done the good-guy thing and taken her to his place instead of dropping her off at the motel where Selma would have had a fine old time making a scene. Em owed him.

      “She wants me to marry Darion. She assumes Darion feels the same way.”

      “He doesn’t?”

      “No. We broke up by mutual agreement.”

      “Tell her that.” Em leveled a look at him and he cleared his throat. “Right.”

      “She honestly believes that if she strong-arms us into matrimony it’ll all work out. She thinks I have the jitters.”

      “But you don’t.”

      She gave her head a slow shake, because a fast one would have hurt. He looked like he wanted more information, but she’d gotten as personal as she was going to get. “She won’t let it rest. I thought moving into the motel would make my point.”

      “How much are you paying to stay there?”

      “Nothing. I helped Howie get through all his math classes from kindergarten on. He’s kind of indebted to me.”

      “His folks know?”

      “I think they think we should get married—Howie and I, I mean.” She let her head fall back, closing her eyes. “I need to escape.”

      “Running doesn’t work.”

      She opened her eyes. “How do you know? Have you ever run from anything?”

      “Is this working for you?”

      “I haven’t run far enough. I can’t afford to run far enough.”

      “Is there such a thing as far enough when Selma is involved?”

      “Maybe not.” She let out a breath and then took a small nibble on the edge of the toast. Her stomach told her to stop, and she did, setting the toast back on the plate. As to the coffee...she swallowed hard. She truly was a drinking lightweight. “Do you have orange juice?”

      “No. I’m taking off later today, so I emptied the fridge. That’s why there’s no butter on your toast.” One corner of his mouth tightened. “You know...if you needed a place to stay, you could stay here.”

      Emma stared at him. Selma would find her...but maybe not for a couple of days.

      And surely she’d give up when Emma started paying her back for the wedding dress she hadn’t wanted, which had been a special order and couldn’t be returned.

      “You know...I think Selma was trying to make sure I didn’t back out of the ceremony by buying me that dress.”

      “What?”

      Jess never had been that good at following her thought processes...but neither had anyone else. Her mind did tend to jump around. Even Len had problems and he was the person closest to her. She smiled at Jess—maybe her first smile in days. “I appreciate the offer.”

      “I’ll be gone for the better part of the summer.”

      “Hitting the circuit?” She remembered the rodeo purse.

      “Hitting it hard. I have to decide whether to go pro this January. Time is running out for me.”

      “I see.” She studied the table in front of her, wondering what her next move would be now that Selma had ferreted her out at the Starlight and had brought Wylie along for backup. She’d eventually find her here. Her life would be hell for the next few weeks. Darion would be no help, because Selma thought he also had cold feet and would be as hard on him as she was on Emma if he was foolish enough to come back to Gavin.

      Neither of them had the jitters—they had each chosen the wrong person and were doing something about it before it was too late. Selma didn’t see it that way, which made Emma wonder about her marriage to her father.

      Had they settled? If so, they seemed happy, which only gave Selma ammunition.

      If only Darion had cheated on her...or done something outrageous. Then maybe Selma would back off.

      “Em...?”

      She raised her gaze, met the eyes of the man that she trusted