Sarah Anderson – One Rodeo Season (страница 11)

He parked and headed toward her truck. Something told him that, even if she had gone back to her hotel, she’d be here early.

He was not disappointed. She was sitting exactly where he’d left her. The only difference was she had on a different shirt, a pale green shot through with pink.

She still had her hat on. He was more disappointed than he cared to admit.

“Hey,” she said when she saw him.

“Hiya,” he replied. Her brows furrowed. Now what had he done wrong? “What?”

She tilted her head to the side as she looked at him. There was something about her face today that was softer. He took back everything he’d ever thought about her being not traditionally beautiful. She was gorgeous.

“Your accent.”

“What about it?”

“Now it’s gone. It was stronger.” She shrugged.

He allowed himself a small smile. “Yeah, it comes and it goes, depending on who I’m talking to.” It was always strongest when he went home and everyone spoke the same way. But sometimes, when he was hanging out with someone he was sure wouldn’t hold his accent against him, it slipped out.

“It was pretty,” she said without looking at him. Then her face scrunched up as it had last night when she’d sleepily told him she liked the wet T-shirt. It was a look that said pretty loud and clear I can’t believe I said that.

“You eaten today? Something more than doughnuts?”

“I remembered to have lunch.”

There was something about the way she said it that struck him as weird. “You remembered? Is that something you usually forget?”

“I eat when I’m hungry.” But she didn’t meet his eyes when she said it.

He tapped the hood again. “Come on. Let’s go grab something before the show.”

She shook her head. “I’ll stay here, thanks. I want to keep an eye on my bulls.”

“Did you sleep in the truck last night?”

The color on her cheeks deepened. “No.”

That admission made him want to smile. She’d done as he’d asked. He got the feeling that didn’t happen too often. “And yet, the bulls were fine?”

That got him a sharp look. Her whole face was transformed from one of surprisingly feminine beauty to a tough, tomboy scowl. “Yes.”

“Then they’ll be fine for another hour.” Again, he wondered who Dale was to her. He couldn’t tell how old she was—he’d guess Lacy was in her twenties, although whether that was twenty-two or twenty-nine was up for debate.

She could have been married. Or not, he thought, checking out her ring finger. No tan lines. But she was certainly old enough that she could have been in a long-term relationship. Of course, it was also possible that Dale had been someone else entirely—not a lover, but a friend, a brother...family.

She opened her mouth, to argue no doubt. Ian shot her a hard look. “I’m betting you’re going to load up those bulls and head straight for home, wherever home is. I’m betting you won’t stop until you get there. I’m betting that you’ll ‘forget’ to eat then. So dinner now.”

Her eyes narrowed, but then, unexpectedly, she gave in. “Fine,” she said, cranking on the engine. “But I’m driving.”

He snorted. “Yeah, I’m not surprised.” He crossed around the front of the truck and climbed in. “You know where you want to go?”

* * *

THEY WOUND UP at Denny’s. If Ian had any reservations about her choice, he didn’t voice them.

For some reason, her dad had loved Denny’s. And every single time they ate at one—which was frequently—he cracked the same “Moons Over My Hammy” joke. And Lacy laughed. Always.

Part of her felt as though bringing Ian to Denny’s was wrong, somehow. She hadn’t been able to face eating here alone. Somehow, with Ian, it felt as if...

As if she could do this.

“What are you going to get?” he asked when they slid into a booth that looked out onto the street.

“I’m not that hungry,” she said. When he looked up at her sharply, she said, “I ate today. Really.”

For a moment, she thought he was going to scold her like a child—much as he’d all but scolded her bull last night. But then his mouth twisted off to one side and he said, “Easy, Evans. We’re just friends here.”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t sound like you believe me,” he said from behind his menu.

“I’m not very good at having friends,” she admitted. It’d always felt like such a failure, that she wasn’t any good at maintaining friendships. Her mother had once said that Lacy was an out-of-sight, out-of-mind kind of person, and it was true.

He tried not to laugh but didn’t quite make it. “You don’t say.”

She rolled her eyes. “I suppose you’re friends with everyone?”

“Most everyone. I’m either friends with them or they deserve to be flattened by a bull.”

“Or by you?”

“If need be,” he told her. “Did you have a history with Jerome before this rodeo?”

She physically flinched at the mention of that jerk. “No. Didn’t even know his name. I don’t normally pal around with the riders.”

He let that set for a moment. The waitress came over, poured the coffee and took their orders. Lacy ordered a salad but Ian ordered three appetizers and a steak dinner with sides. The waitress gave his physique a once-over before she left the table.

Lacy looked with her. Today, Ian had on a gray shirt. It was still cuffed at the elbows and he still had that leather strap around his wrist. He’d taken his hat off and set it on the windowsill. The hat was brown felt, but the band wasn’t horsehair or leather. Quills? That would make sense, she guessed. He was an Indian.

Ian cleared his throat. “Or the fighters?”

She didn’t want to answer that question because admitting that she’d never hung out with a bullfighter before felt as if she was admitting something. That Ian might be an exception.

So she changed the subject. “Is this your first year as a fighter? I think I would have remembered you from last season.” If she could get him to talk about himself, then maybe he wouldn’t ask any questions about her.

He went along with her tangent. “Yeah. I used to play football—”

“Shocking,” she said, a smile on her face. A real smile. Then she made the mistake of letting her eyes drift over his shoulders and down to that chest.

Ian leaned forward, a playful smile on his lips. “You know, you’re actually quite funny when you want to be.”

Was that a challenge? It sounded like one. “Don’t tell anyone. It’d ruin my reputation as that bitch with the bulls, and then where would I be?” She ignored the way her face warmed at his compliment, and she really ignored the way he noticed it. Something in his eyes shifted—deepened.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his voice lower. She felt it in her chest. But then, he leaned back, breaking the spell. “Anyway, I got lucky getting to tag along with Black Jack. Otherwise, I’d probably be down at the level below this one. Black Jack was up in the bigs for a long time before he got into a bad wreck. He thinks we can get back there if...”

She arched an eyebrow at him and actually smiled. “If you stop throwing bulls to the ground?” She was teasing him, she realized. When was the last time she’d teased someone?

“Yeah, that.”

The waitress set down a huge mound of onion rings and mozzarella sticks. “Be right back with those chips,” she said, and Lacy swore she winked at Ian.

If he noticed, he didn’t show it. Instead, after offering Lacy some cheese sticks, he said, “How about you? How long have you been rodeoing?”

It was a perfectly innocent question, the kind someone asked when they were making polite small talk. But suddenly it was harder to breathe. A weight was on her chest and she wished she’d ordered the Moons Over My Hammy, just for Dad.

“I’ve been coming for as long as I can remember. My dad was the stock contractor. The Straight Arrow was his business.”

“Ah,” Ian said, as if that had answered all his questions. “This your first year without him?” His voice was kind.

She nodded, a small movement of her head.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She tried to shrug, but it wasn’t a smooth thing. She was not a smooth woman.

She couldn’t hold up under his intense gaze, so she grabbed a cheese stick and began to eat it to hide her anxiety.

“Is your mom doing okay?”