Roxann Delaney - A Saddle Made For Two

“Sure is,” he said with a quirk of his lips. His gaze traveled back to hers. “You okay?”

Finding that her voice had deserted her, she nodded.

He stepped up into the camper and knelt down next to her. “Hang on.”

Unable to watch, she squeezed her eyes shut. She could feel him grip the handle, then both she and the shovel tilted to the left and back again. He brushed against her leg, and another shudder shook her, this one warm instead of cold.

“It’s just a bull snake, hon,” he said, standing.

“Right. Just a snake.” She gritted her teeth to keep them from chattering, but her terror eased when his soft chuckle swept through her like a hot, summer wind.

“You can get down, now.”

Uncertain if it was completely safe to remove herself from the shovel, and afraid to look, she stayed put. “Are you sure? Is it…dead?”

“Naw. You aren’t big enough to do that. You just kinda choked him up a little.”

He stood so close to her his warm breath whispered across her temple. The shovel gained her nearly a foot in height, but when she opened her eyes, she still had to look up to see into his eyes.

She nearly fell off the shovel when she recognized her rescuer as Chace Brannigan, the nation’s leading saddle bronc rider.

Sliding his arm around her waist, he held her steady. “One step at a time, hon.”

She took another deep breath, forcing herself to ignore the way her heart skipped a beat, and eyed his other hand. The snake’s body hung limp in his grip. “Get rid of that, will you?”

He glanced at the reptile before giving her a lopsided grin. “Soon as you get down from there.”

The soft, rhythmic thumping of his heart against her shoulder sent her own heart pounding. His scent— fresh air and rugged country male—surrounded her, making her slightly dizzy. She knew she should be scrambling down, but she couldn’t seem to set herself in motion. She’d encountered plenty of cowboys in her twenty-six years, but none had ever caused her heart to trip like a moonstruck adolescent’s.

Determined to gain control of herself, Ellie stepped off the shovel. He didn’t let go. The cramped interior of the camper was filled with the cowboy, making breathing difficult. Without room to take a step in any direction, she forced air into her lungs and out again until her head cleared.

“The snake?” she reminded him in a voice that didn’t sound normal.

“Oh, yeah.” He released her and took a step back to the door, tossing out the body, which had begun to move.

Shrinking away, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming again. While his attention was occupied, she pivoted around the shovel and put the implement between them, breathing only a little easier.

“Thanks,” she said, when he’d pulled the door shut and faced her.

He shrugged, crossed his arms on his broad chest and leaned against the closet. “That’s a dangerous weapon. You always keep a shovel handy?”

She kept her gaze averted from a pair of shoulders as wide as Texas, but she could feel him watching her. “It’s safer in here.”

“Couldn’t be too safe, considering that snake.”

She jerked her head up to stare at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Snakes can crawl through some pretty small spaces,” he said with a grin. “It coulda come up through a hole. Reckon you ought to double-check the place. Just in case.” He shoved away from the closet, shrinking the space between them.

Nodding, she propped the shovel against the wall. Bone weary from the loss of adrenaline no longer pumping through her body, she took a step back on wobbly legs and sank onto the cushioned seat around the small table. “I’ll do that.”

“And you might want to keep your door locked. If I can come in, anybody can.”

Ellie thought of the cowboy who had called out to her. “Dumb cowboys,” she muttered.

“’Scuse me?”

Her cheeks burned when she realized what she’d said. The cowboy in front of her had saved her from what she considered a fate worse than death, and here she was insulting him and his kind.

“Sorry,” she said, ducking her head. She managed to push herself to her feet. She didn’t like being beholden to anyone, but she’d been raised with manners. Keeping her gaze on the pearl snaps of his colorful Western shirt, she stuck out her hand. “Thanks for…rescuing me. I guess I owe you.”

One long stride brought him closer to her, and he took her hand, engulfing it in his. Being barely five feet tall had often put her at a disadvantage, but she’d dealt with it. Until now. He was one big cowboy. She reasoned that he wasn’t any bigger than a dozen other cowboys she knew, but he sure seemed like it. Strength radiated from him, overpowering her senses and leaving her tongue-tied.

“My pleasure.” His voice was a husky whisper.

When he didn’t let go immediately, she slowly raised her gaze past the solid, muscled chest she’d leaned against, over a strong, chiseled chin and jaw. Lingering on lips set in a crooked smile, she looked up into twinkling eyes. That was enough to remind her of what was happening. What was she thinking?

She jerked her hand from his, leaving a tingling sensation in her fingers. She had more sense than to be mesmerized by a hunky cowboy with cool pools of blue for eyes. She’d had enough of cowboys and ranches to last her the rest of her life. And all of it learned at the price of her parents’ lives. No, she was not looking for a cowboy. No way, no how.

“Well, thanks again,” she said, hoping to get him out of the camper in a hurry.

He didn’t budge. “You had a good ride tonight.”

She shrugged, trying to relax in spite of the way he was looking at her. “Not bad.”

“It was good enough to keep you ahead and win the first-place prize money. You’re standing pretty high in the rankings.”

Ellie nodded. A few more wins and she’d have a secure spot for the National Finals Rodeo in Las Vegas. Winning the Barrel Racing title wasn’t important. She only wanted to compete. Once. And then she’d be done with it. Retired. She’d leave her gypsy life-style behind for an easy life in the city. Easier than going from rodeo to rodeo, at least. Much easier than living on the Oklahoma ranch her parents had left her and her brothers. A ranch she didn’t want to return to. Ever.

“I’m really tired,” she told the cowboy, when she realized he was still standing before her. “If you don’t mind…”

“Oh. Yeah. Guess it is late.” Hesitating, as if he’d just been shaken out of a deep sleep, he finally turned for the door, opened it and stepped down.

Ellie let out a sigh of relief, welcoming the breathing space his departure gave her. She was ready to collapse into bed—clothes, boots and all.

“Be sure and lock up,” he reminded her, sticking his head back inside.

“I will.” She waited for him to close the door, but he stood watching her. “As soon as you leave,” she added as incentive.

“I’m Chace Brannigan.”

“I know.” Did he think she was deaf and blind? Who didn’t know Chace Brannigan? She’d heard of the three-time champion saddle-bronc rider and seen his pictures plastered in every rodeo magazine in the country, but their paths had never crossed. The roller-coaster ride her stomach was on made her wish they hadn’t this time, either.

“Yeah, well, lock up,” he said again.

With a sigh of exasperation, she glared at him. “I said I would.”

“Now.”

He disappeared, and the door swung shut with a thud. Ellie stared at it for a moment before forcing her feet to move. She always locked the door. Especially at night. She locked it to keep out cowboys like him.

“Lock the door,” she mimicked under her breath. She could take care of herself and didn’t need anyone telling her what to do. Peeling back the curtain at the window only enough to peek outside, she saw him standing on the ground less than a foot from her camper, watching the door.