The Texan's Little Secret. Barbara Daille White

You ran like a rodeo clown tearing away from the bull wanting to stomp on his butt.”

      She laughed and tossed her hair over her shoulder, under cover of checking her surroundings. To her left, Kim sat in conversation with the woman on the other side of her. To the right, she saw only the broad back of the man on the next stool. No chance of interruptions from either of them. No interference, either.

      She looked at Luke. “I wouldn’t run from a bull. That means I’d have no reason in the world to run from you.”

      “Good to hear. Buy you a drink?”

      She didn’t bother to look at her mug. “No, I’m fine, thanks.” She swiveled her seat again, deliberately putting her back to him.

      He stepped between her stool and Kim’s to set his beer mug on the bar. His chest brushed her arm. The rest of him seemed to fill every inch of space between them. The mint between her teeth crunched to bits. She faced forward, which only made things worse. Who the heck was that worried-looking woman in the mirror?

      Darn Luke. Maybe Kim hadn’t been far off the mark about her falling to pieces. Over the years, she had pulled herself together. But Luke had always had the power to make her feel...not so wild. She had to work twice as hard with him as with anyone else to keep up her pretense. And right now, she desperately needed that defense. She didn’t need to sit here with him for the time it would take to share a drink. She didn’t want to share that much more of her lifetime with him.

      Still, she would never let him see her care.

      “So, cowboy...” Her voice sounded much breathier than she’d intended.

      As if to hear her better, he lowered his head. Her senses revved into high gear, automatically registering details. The gleam in his light brown eyes. His aftershave, something spicy with a kick to it that made her mouth water. She imagined running her fingertips down the plane of his cheek and along the line of his jaw, could almost feel the gentle scratch of golden five-o’clock shadow.

      After what seemed like an eternity, he shifted to lean against the bar. And in a heartbeat, she put her defenses in place again. “So, cowboy.” She tried again. “Come here often to pick up women?”

      The line wasn’t that funny, but he gave her a lopsided smile. “Every chance I get. You interested?”

      “I’d rather spend time with that bull over in the corner. In fact, I plan to spend time over there.”

      “With a hunk of metal? That’s got nothing on a live bull.”

      “You’d be surprised.”

      “I damn sure wouldn’t. There’s a difference.”

      “You still need to stay in the saddle.”

      “True enough.” This time, his mouth curved in a full smile.

      As far as she could tell, he hadn’t moved, but the space between them suddenly seemed tighter, the air in the room warmer, the lights dimmer.

      “You think you can handle it?” he asked.

      “I know I can.”

      “Something besides a slow, sexy ride?”

      He had asked the question straight out. No teasing, no taunting, no smile. What else could she expect from a true bull rider? A champion.

      Too bad she wasn’t in his class.

      The question had made her pulse jump to triple time. Her temperature seemed to spike a degree. And her irritation level for even having these reactions put her blood pressure through the roof. “Slow and sexy’s for city slickers, and you know it.” She leaned forward. In the narrow space, her shirtfront almost brushed his. Giving him the most languid smile she could manage, she added, “I like to make my rides worthwhile.”

      His eyes lit with his grin. “All right, then.” He pointed in the same direction she had. “If you’re so confident you have what it takes, why don’t you mosey on over there. But if you plan to show me what you’ve got, you’ll really have to crank ’er up.”

      “Watch me.” After all the stories she had told him of her childhood competitions with her brothers, he had to know how she would respond. Wild and crazy Carly would never pass up a challenge like this one. Besides, she’d had plenty of experience riding those “hunks of metal” he despised. She’d knock him off his bar stool.

      Smiling at the thought, she turned sideways on her own stool. Her knees grazed his champion belt buckle. He sucked in his stomach as if she had zapped him with a cattle prod.

      No matter what she’d told Kim, she wasn’t immune to Luke. The knowledge bothered her—but at least she had the satisfaction of seeing he wasn’t unaffected by her, either.

      Still smiling, she went to the small table in one corner of the room. After scribbling her name on the required form, she stood aside to wait her turn.

      Luke came up to join her just as a new rider straddled the bull. The crowd pressed forward, eager to watch the show. A man’s elbow caught her in the ribs. After a quick “sorry,” he turned away again.

      From behind her, Luke put a hand on her shoulder. To protect her? To steady her? To keep her still so he could get a better view?

      She didn’t know and couldn’t take the time to care. She was too busy fighting to ignore the heat licking low inside her.

      Other riders, two or three or a dozen, took their turns in the saddle. Again, she didn’t know and didn’t care. Passing up the opportunity to check out their technique might be her downfall in the competition. But she couldn’t seem to focus.

      When her name was called, Luke squeezed her shoulder lightly. He leaned down, putting his head close to hers again, and murmured, “Have at it, cowgirl.”

      His voice, deep and intimate, made that lick of heat in her belly flame. But his final word turned the rest of her to ice.

      Years ago, she had told Luke her secrets, her longings, her dreams, her fears. Her worries about her place in her family. Her irritation over her dad. She had loved Luke and shared everything with him. Had given him everything, too, the night she’d slept with him.

      She had trusted him.

      And only days later, he had come to the Roughneck, as eager to apply for a job there as she’d been to sign up for a ride on this fake bull tonight.

      Daddy’s little cowgirl, he’d called her that day.

      The insult and his desire to work for Brock were the worst forms of betrayal.

      Now, she turned and stared at him. He stared back, making her heart skip a beat. She cursed herself for not having better control of her reactions. This man had once done her wrong, no denying it, yet she couldn’t keep from responding to him, his nearness, his smile.

      “I’ll show you a cowgirl, all right,” she promised.

      I’ll show you exactly what Daddy’s little girl can do.

      And she did.

      But the fun she’d once gotten from it had gone.

      The ride was rough. She was tilted and jerked around. She fought to go the distance in front of the crowd—because that’s what Carly Baron did.

      Yet none of it mattered.

      Just the way her passion for barrel racing had vanished, so had her interest in riding Luke’s “hunk of metal.” Was it his scorn over the mechanical substitute that had taken the pleasure from her ride? Would mounting a real bull give that feeling back to her?

      Or was riding, like her relationship with Luke, just going to be a part of her past?

      * * *

      “SO? WHAT DO you think?”

      Luke shrugged. How the hell had he gotten trapped into this situation?

      That