Judy Christenberry - Never Let You Go

“Look, Miss Kennedy, I think there’s been a mistake,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “I’ll be on my way.”

“Wait!” He heard Beth call as he turned his back on her, not bothering to shake hands with her. He didn’t want to touch her again. The last time had unsettled him for some strange reason.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“On down the road. I have others interested in my services.”

“I haven’t said I’m not interested,” she reminded him.

“You’re not the only one to make the decision, lady. I don’t work where I’m not wanted.” He opened the door and walked out to his beat-up pickup, ignoring the whispering going on between the sisters.

Hearing footsteps behind him, he hoped it was Abby, the sensible older sister. But the tingling on the nape of his neck told him it was Beth.

Soft name. Feminine. Trouble.

“Mr. Davis, could we talk a minute?”

“Nothing to talk about,” he muttered. All his instincts were yelling for him to get the hell out of there before she persuaded him to stay.

He slid behind the wheel and closed the door, but the window was down, since it was October, and she put her hand on the opening.

“What’s your hurry?”

“I’ve been waiting over an hour for you to get your rear in gear, lady. I don’t like to waste time.” He kept staring straight ahead. He’d already noted her hazel eyes, the dash of freckles across her nose, the full lips that started a hunger in him that was dangerous.

Hell, she was too young for him to be thinking those thoughts. He was only thirty-two but he felt years older in comparison to her fresh beauty.

“I didn’t have a flat tire on purpose.”

“Doesn’t take that long to fix a flat tire. Unless you’re sitting helpless-like alongside the road waiting for Prince Charming.” He figured even then someone would happen along pretty quick for a woman like Beth Kennedy.

She flushed and looked away. “I didn’t have a spare,” she muttered.

“What did you do?”

“I had to walk to a neighbor’s house and call the garage in town and have them bring one out to me.” Now she looked him in the eye. “I should’ve called here to warn you I’d be late. I apologize.”

“No problem,” he said, and cranked the engine in his truck.

“So I apologized. Why are you leaving?”

“I don’t work with anyone who won’t give one hundred percent.”

Both of those pretty brows rose, almost disappearing in her soft bangs. “Who said I wouldn’t?”

“You have to be hungry to make it in rodeo. You’re not hungry.”

“Oh, yes I am.”

“How could you be? Your next meal doesn’t depend on how well you race.”

She studied him, which made him all the more uneasy. He knew some women were attracted to him. He’d had too many offers to deny the truth of it. But he was untrained in social skills.

“Does your next meal depend on your job?” she asked casually. But he saw the intelligence in her eyes. More trouble.

He shrugged. “Not my next one, but eventually I’d run out. It did once.”

“Mine did once, too. Not now, as you’ve obviously heard. But it’s not food that drives me. And I think it’s not food that drives you. That doesn’t make me any less hungry. Does it you?”

Damn, why didn’t she back off? He couldn’t be anything but honest. “Nope.”

“So, we have something in common.”

“I charge a hefty fee.” He was searching for reasons to leave. He should have known money wouldn’t be one of them. But he’d try. He doubled his fee, watching her face as he named it.

“My, my, you are proud of your work, aren’t you?”

The urge to justify that amount, to tell her just how good he was, surged through him, but he held it in check. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

He stared at her, not sure what her single word meant. And irritated that she could be even more succinct than he was.

“Okay, what?”

“I’m agreeing to your price. I’m assuming that’s in addition to room and board. Anything else?”

“Yeah. If I take on any other training jobs, I’ll need stable space for the animals. I’ll pay for the extra feed, of course.”

“I’ll have to check with Abby on that. She runs the ranch. But I think it’ll be okay. When can you start?”

What the hell was he doing? He’d had every intention of driving down that long, dusty driveway and never looking back. Now he was practically moved in.

“Wait a minute. I haven’t seen you ride.”

“So we’ll try it for a week or two and then reevaluate. If you don’t think I’m worth your time, you move on. Or if I don’t like the way you work, you move on. If we’re both satisfied, we keep going.” She was watching him closely. When he didn’t respond, she repeated her earlier question. “When can you start?”

“Uh, in the morning?”

“Right. It’ll take about an hour to fix up a room in the bunkhouse. You’ll take your meals at the house with us. The stable has a couple of empty stalls,” she said, gesturing to the two-horse trailer he had hitched to his truck. “Want some help settling your horses?”

“No! I handle my animals. No one else touches them. Got that?”

“Got it. And I hope you take lots of sugar in your coffee,” she returned.

He knew he was going to regret asking, but he couldn’t help himself. “Why?”

“’Cause you need to sweeten up. Otherwise, everything around you is going to go sour,” she snapped, stepping back from the truck.

“Maybe I need something more than sugar,” he retorted, determined to make her back down. “What do you say to that?”

“That you’re out of luck unless you want to visit town and fork over some cash. That’s none of my business as long as you do your job.” Her chin was rising again, a sign he’d already figured out meant she was digging in her toes.

“I’ll do my job, lady. You just see if you can stand the pace.” He glared at her, but she said nothing else, simply giving him a careless salute and walking toward the house.

He watched the sway of her rear in those tight jeans and was afraid he might drool. Visiting town for some female companionship might be a necessity if he hung around Beth Kennedy for any period of time.

Damn, he’d gotten himself into a mess.

Beth could feel his glare on her. She hoped her trembling legs didn’t show beneath her jeans. What had she gotten herself into?

She wanted to be a barrel racer. The best barrel racer in the world. She’d heard of Jedadiah Davis, read about him. She couldn’t wait to have met him.

Of course, she should have called, but she’d thought she could get home quicker than she had. And she hadn’t wanted to tell her sisters what she was up to.

She should have known he’d be offended by his wait. He was so full of himself—okay, so maybe he had a right to be self-confident. He was the best.

And the handsomest.

She hadn’t expected his rugged good looks. Those piercing blue eyes seemed to read every thought in her head. But that must not be true, or he would have known he’d rocked her almost from the beginning.

Abby was anxiously waiting when she reached the house, taking Beth’s thoughts away from her reaction to the man.

“Well? Are you going to train with Mr. Davis?”

“He’s staying. I’ve got to clean out one of the unused rooms in the bunkhouse.”

“I’ll help,” Melissa, the middle Kennedy sister, said from the doorway. “I’ve been intending to work on those rooms anyway.” Since their visit to the lawyer’s office a month ago, after their Aunt Beulah’s death, learning of their inheritance, Melissa had been redoing the house, making it more efficient and more beautiful.