Kimberly Raye – Texas Outlaws: Billy (страница 2)

He’d waited too long for this shot, worked too hard. He wasn’t letting anything mess it up and he wasn’t letting anyone beat him.

All the more reason to turn and get while the getting was good. Billy had come out tonight to have a few beers and relax. To lose the nerves.

He’d had a shitty training session today and all because he was wound tighter than a rattlesnake about to strike. He’d gone four days without a decent night’s sleep. Four days of tossing and turning and visualizing the semifinals coming up in eight days. He needed a good strong ride to push him into the finals. And he needed great to actually win.

And he had to win.

Because even more than the title, Billy had several sponsorships riding on this next win. Big money all looking to back the next superstar since they were losing Jesse. And if there was one thing Billy liked, it was money. Before Pete had taken him in, Billy and his brothers had grown up dirt-poor without a pot to piss in. Their dad had spent his time drinking himself into a stupor and looking for the next big score instead of taking care of his three boys. That had meant cheese sandwiches for dinner every night.

When they’d had dinner, that is.

There’d been too many times when they’d had nothing at all. No food on the table. No shoes on their feet. No decent clothes on their backs. No bed to lay their heads. He and his brothers had spent more than one night in the backseat of their dad’s broken-down Chevy because the old man had gone on a drinking binge, thanks to some moneymaking heist gone wrong.

Billy had been young at the time, only eight when Silas Chisholm had died in that fire after the biggest score of his life had earned him two minutes of fame and a feature spot in the hour-long Famous Texas Outlaws.

More like Stupid Texas Outlaws. The old man had been celebrating with a case of white lightning that had made him more than a little careless with a lit cigarette. He’d set himself on fire and taken the money with him.

At least that’s what everyone thought.

Billy ignored the mess of questions swimming in his head. Questions that had just started to surface, thanks to a surge of new interest sparked by the anniversary of the documentary and his oldest brother’s crazy intuition.

Jesse had dropped the bomb just a few days ago that he felt certain the money was still out there and that Silas had had a partner in the heist. His older brother had even uncovered said partner’s identity.

Not that Billy gave a shit about any of it. He was more content to let sleeping dogs lie. To stop trying to dig up the past and just leave it six feet under where it belonged.

He wanted to forget those early days. The cold upholstery beneath his cheek. The hunger eating at his gut. The uncertainty knocking in his chest. And the bitter fact that out of all three boys, Billy was a chip off the old block. The spitting image of his father.

The same hair.

The same eyes.

The same, period.

Like hell.

He might look like the old man, but he wasn’t following the same miserable path. He was going to ride his ass off, impress as many sponsors as possible and bring home a win.

Hopefully.

He stiffened against the niggling doubt and took another drink of his beer.

He needed to get out of his head and breathe for a little while. Maybe talk shop with the other contestants and see who posed the biggest threat. He had an idea, since he’d been following all of his fellow contenders, but still. It was good to see them face-to-face, to look deep into their eyes and see the drive. The determination. To see who messed up tonight by drinking too much, or staying out too late, or carousing with too many women. All three were distractions better avoided.

Which was why Billy sure as shootin’ wasn’t out tonight looking to get laid. No matter how much he suddenly wanted to.

Hell, no.

He tugged at the top button of his shirt and tossed down another swallow of Coors Light. Neither did much to cool the fiery lust burning him up from the inside out. Tossing down another long swallow, he turned his attention to the old cowboy standing next to him.

Eli McGinnis was the grandfather that Billy had never had. He looked as if he’d stepped straight out of a Larry McMurtry novel with his snow-white slicked back hair and a handlebar mustache that curled up at the ends. He wore a plaid Western shirt starched within an inch of its life, a pair of Wranglers and a knowing expression that said he’d been there and done that a dozen times over. An old rodeo cowboy, he’d been a permanent fixture at the Gunner spread for as long as Billy could remember. A mentor to all of the Lost Boys, Billy included. Eli had also been instrumental in Billy’s success on the rodeo circuit. The old cowboy had been handing out advice and badgering him into hanging on just a little longer, a little tighter, a little more, for years now.

“...make sure your hand’s under the rope real solid before you even think about giving the signal.”

“Got it.”

“And keep your back bowed, but not too bowed.”

“Will do.”

“And get your eyeballs back into your head.”

“Already done—” The comment cut off as Billy’s head snapped up. He stared into the old man’s knowing gaze. “What the hell are you talking about, Eli?”

“That uppity-up over yonder.” Eli motioned across the sawdust floor. “If you keep staring at her like that, she’s liable to burst into flames right here and now.”

“You’re losin’ it, old man. I’m doing no such thing. My mind’s all about tomorrow.”

“True enough, but to get to tomorrow, you’ve got to make it through tonight.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Landsakes, do I have to spell it out for you?” He gave Billy a nudge. “Get your ass over there and dance with the woman. Otherwise, you’ll keep wonderin’ and that sure as shit’s gonna kill your concentration and lead to another sleepless night. Better to blow off some steam and get your mind off everything for a little while.”

“I thought it was better to avoid any and all distractions.”

“Yeah, but if that isn’t working out too well, you have to move on to plan B.”

“Which is?”

“Just get to it and get it out of your system.”

Billy glanced across the dance floor, his gaze colliding with the hot brunette’s. The air rushed from his lungs in that next instant, and for a split second he forgot to breathe.

A crazy reaction. But then that’s what happened when a twenty-six-year-old, red-blooded male in his prime went without sex for four months and six days and two hours and twenty-nine minutes.

Lust.

That’s all it was.

And nerves.

Tomorrow was big. The first official day of training for the semifinal round that would, hopefully, lead him straight to the finals. The press would be there. The rodeo officials. The fans. All watching and speculating. It made sense he’d be a little nervous. Not scared, mind you. More like anxious. Excited.

He sure as hell wasn’t getting all worked up because of the way her eyes sparkled and her lips curved into a smile.

A smile, for Christ’s sake.

“Maybe you’re right,” he heard himself say. “Maybe I should just get to it.”

“The sooner you start, the sooner it ends.” Eli nodded. “Then you can get focused again and forget all about those long legs and that tiny little waist and those really big—”

“Enough,” he cut in. “I get the point.”

“Then stop talking and start walking.”

“Yes, boss.” He left the old man grinning after him and headed across the dance floor.

2

SABRINA COLLINS NEEDED a cowboy in the worst way.

One hundred and fifty of them to be exact, which was the only reason she’d agreed to leave her L.A. apartment and head for a place like Lost Gun, Texas.

The small town played host to one of the biggest rodeos in the state, which had started a few days ago with several preliminary events. The official start, however, was tonight’s dance. While the town was little more than a map dot, for the next few weeks it would be the place to be for rodeo fans across the nation. Particularly the male variety.

On top of that, the town had gained recent notoriety thanks to a documentary featuring famous Texas outlaws. Lost Gun had started out over one hundred and fifty years ago as a haven for outlaws and criminals, and so it had been a natural pick for the documentary crew who’d not only played up the town’s history but also focused on a crime committed by one of Lost Gun’s very own who’d robbed a local bank and then bit the bullet in a house fire. The money had supposedly perished in the fire, but the television host had raised enough questions to make viewers think that the treasure might still be out there. The town had been a go-to spot for fortune seekers ever since.

Not that Sabrina was interested in a bunch of treasure hunters.

She wanted cowboys. Hot, handsome, real cowboys.

Just like the one headed straight for her.

He had short blond hair and chiseled features. The faintest shadow of a beard covered his strong jaw. A white cotton T-shirt—the words Cowboy Tuff blazing in red letters across the front—framed his massive shoulders and hugged his thick biceps. Worn, faded denim cupped his crotch and molded to trim hips and long, muscular legs. His scuffed brown boots had obviously seen better days, but then that was the way every cowboy worth his salt liked them.