Roxann Delaney - A Saddle Made For Two

“I guess I’d better get the trailer hooked up,” she said without looking at her friend. “It’s past time to get on the road.”

“Nate’s probably wonderin’ where I’ve got off to,” Reba said, letting the subject drop, and turned for the door. “You take care until Phoenix. We’ll see you there.”

“You bet.”

When Reba had gone, Ellie opened the closet door to reach for a towel. Catching her reflection in the full-length mirror on the inside of the door, she stared at the image looking back at her and grimaced.

“No wonder Chace Brannigan was gawking at you last night,” she announced to the rumpled figure before her. Turning sideways, she grabbed at the back of the excess pajama fabric to pull it tight across her body and scrutinized the effect.

With a disgusted grunt, she released the material. What did she care if she didn’t have the kind of curves men panted over?

She quickly changed into her clothes from the night before and grabbed a clean set, ready to hit the showers and eager to get on the road. But when she pushed open the camper door, the first thing she saw was the cowboy who’d rescued her the night before. He was obviously headed for the showers, a towel draped around his neck.

When he didn’t look her way, she breathed a sigh of relief and ducked into the camper. Ignoring the clippity-clop of her heart, she waited until she felt safe to leave.

She wasn’t interested in a cowboy, couldn’t be, even if he was the current leading saddle bronc rider in the country and sexy as sin, to boot. She knew all about his kind. She’d met too many “my way or no way” cowboys. Hadn’t she proven she could do it alone? Besides, rodeoers ended up on ranches. She wanted desperately to leave the past and that kind of life behind. Nothing would stop her. And she didn’t need anyone’s help. The sooner she got on the road, the sooner she could put some distance between herself and one particular, bossy cowboy.

Bleary-eyed from too little sleep, Chace let the stinging spray of the primitive shower near the arena clear the fog from his brain. To his disgust, his sharper mind left him with vivid memories of the night before.

“Hell,” he muttered when his body began to spring to life. He’d spent half the night listening for the clang of a bell and the other half considering a cold shower. There were other remedies for his problem. One idea, which included hauling a particular petite package into his arms, he promptly discarded. Reviewing every millisecond of his latest ride in his mind would be safer. And damn sure more productive.

Dressed again and whistling an off-key tune, he started for his truck. As soon as Ray returned with a thermos of coffee, they’d be on the road. With barely a month to go until the official end of the season, Chace was eager to get to Phoenix. After that, only a few more rodeos until National Finals. Then, if everything went well, he could retire. The money he hoped to win would keep the Triple B Ranch in the black and put an end to worrying about losing it. That, and stop his youngest brother’s plans to turn the family spread into a dude ranch. Hell, he didn’t want strangers traipsing all over the place.

Once back home again, he could begin to make up for leaving Trey to deal with the ranch on his own. Maybe they’d even get lucky enough to entice their brother, Dev, to come home. Working together, they could keep it out of the wrong hands and make the place the successful ranch it had once been. Four generations of Brannigans had owned and worked the Triple B, and he and his brothers had fought to keep it after their father’s death. He knew he belonged there. He’d ducked his responsibilities for too long.

Wide awake, and with his hormones under control and well leashed, Chace didn’t bother to steer clear of Ellie’s camper. But he didn’t expect to find temptation in a tank top as she leaned over to hook her horse trailer to her pickup, offering him a much better glimpse than the pajama top had the previous night.

“Hell and damnation,” he grumbled, knowing that’s exactly what he was in for if she didn’t straighten up and change the view.

To his relief, she moved, but only to the opposite side of the trailer hitch, giving him an eyeful of worn denim stretched tight across the best-looking little backside he’d seen in a long time. It was even better without the pajama horses galloping across it. The sight pulled a tortured groan from him. If he had any sense, he’d turn around and walk back to his truck and forget all about it. But his feet wouldn’t move away any faster than his eyes.

As he watched her wrestle with the coupling, he clenched his hands into fists. He had to do something besides stand there with his tongue hanging out like a panting dog. When she gave the bumper an angry kick, he moved into action.

“I’ll get it,” he growled.

Her head jerked up, her eyes wide but narrowing as he closed the gap between them. “I can do it,” she announced, giving him her back and bending over again.

Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead when he stopped behind her. All he had to do was take hold of those mind-blowing curves and pull her up against him. He placed his hands on her hips, but forced himself to scoot her aside. “Let me do it.”

“It’s my rig,” she said in a tight voice from behind him while he gave the hitch a nudge.

“And it’ll be your smashed fingers,” he replied, snapping the ball cover in place. He turned to find her slipping into a faded chambray shirt and noticed her hands tremble as she fought the buttons.

Anger? He hoped not. He wanted to have the same effect on her that she had on him. It would serve her right.

With her head down and her face hidden from view, her fingers fumbled with the last button. “I’ve been managing my own truck and trailer for almost ten years, since I was old enough to drive. I’ve hooked them up thousands of times.”

He detected a tremor in her voice, but when her head came up and she looked at him, he saw the flash of defiance in her eyes. Damn, she was one stubborn woman.

“Look, Brannigan, I appreciate what you did for me last night, but I don’t need your help. I can take care of myself. Just let me get loaded and on the road.” She did a quick pivot and marched to untie her horse from the back of a nearby truck.

He moved out of her way and leaned back against the side of the trailer, watching in silence as she loaded her horse into her trailer with the skill of a seasoned professional. Maybe she didn’t need his help now, but without it the night before, no telling what she would have done. Her gentle handling of her horse proved she wasn’t as tough as she might want him to believe. And the stubborn tilt of her chin as she stomped past him to the cab of her truck didn’t erase the memory of the terror he’d seen in her eyes the previous night. It only aggravated him.

He stalked to the truck’s door, reaching it as she slammed it shut with such force it could have registered on the Richter Scale. Planting his hands on the edge where the window was rolled down, he leaned in, his face inches from hers. “You may not want my help, but you sure as hell need it.”

A red flush flooded her cheeks, and her chin went up another notch. “Get your face out of my truck,” she said in a haughty tone.

“Now look here, little bit, I got rid—”

“Don’t!” The crimson shade of her face went deathly pale. Tears glistened in her dark eyes, and she squeezed them shut. “Don’t ever call me that.”

Reaching in, he cradled her cheek in his hand. “Aw, hon, I didn’t mean to—”

“Leave me alone,” she whispered. “Please.” When her lids fluttered open, she turned her head, slipping away from him, and she reached for the ignition. Gunning the motor, she slammed the truck into gear, spewing dirt behind her tires and nearly taking his head and hand with her.