How to Kiss a Cowboy (3 page)

Then she fell off the step.

She fell into him, and awkward as it was, it was romantic too, because he caught her and she slid slowly down his body to the ground. The hard planes of his body answered her curves, and she caught his scent—leather, sage, and the familiar combination of dust and sweat that spelled
cowboy
.

And then he kissed her, and it was the only thing she'd ever felt that was better than riding a fast horse.

Suze knew this kiss didn't mean anything to Brady. He'd dallied with most of the other barrel racers, and there was no reason she should be special to him, no matter what sweet nothings he whispered. But after a while, the warnings in her head faded away, because he knew exactly,
precisely
how she wanted to be kissed.

His lips slid over hers slowly at first, softly, in a sort of experimental way. Her knees turned to jelly, but then a plume of warmth rose inside her and she felt suddenly strong. Lacing her arms around his neck, she kissed him back and the night noises that surrounded them faded away.

She'd wanted this kiss since the day she'd first seen Brady swaggering down the halls of Grigsby High. He and his foster brothers were from the group home in Wynott. It was the home where the bad kids lived—or so said the school gossips. Brady Caine, Ridge Cooper, and Shane Lockhart walked like men, not boys, and they could send a girl stumbling through a haze of hormones just by glancing her way.

The girls whispered that they were so bad, their parents couldn't handle them. So bad, they'd been sent to the foster home. So bad that when the place shut down, all the other kids got adopted and those three stayed.

The other girls' eyes glittered when they talked about the brothers, and they tossed secret, flirtatious glances at them from under their lashes. They seemed to think being bad was a
good
thing. Suze didn't get it any more than she understood why her own eyes always sought out Brady in the hallway, or why she felt a strange flutter inside whenever he caught her looking.

Tonight, Suze got it. Apparently, bad boys knew how to kiss a girl senseless, and Brady was no exception. She'd dated a few times, but she'd never been kissed like this. Brady seemed to be tasting her, testing her, drinking in her secrets and her needs.

Then the kiss changed—the angle and the intent. It was as if the
conscious
part of kissing was over, and the two of them were lost inside a fog of sensation. His breath came hard, and she could feel his heart pounding under his shirt, because, oddly enough, she actually had put a hand on his chest to push him away at first. Not because she didn't want him to kiss her, but because Brady was famous for teasing the girls and she was afraid it was a joke.

This was no joke. Something about laughing, good-natured Brady had changed. His tongue tangled deliciously with hers, stroking, probing, exploring as if he needed to know every part of her.

Suze knew a Sunday night affair with Brady wouldn't last through Monday's sunrise. But just this once, she let herself go. She felt like what they were doing was meant to be, as inevitable as the flowing of a river or the whisper of the wind in the trees.

She knew she was feeling too much. Men like Brady didn't want women to fall in love with them. Sex was a game to them, and if you took the game too seriously, nobody would ever pick you for a partner again.

She broke the kiss, turned away, and walked smack into the side of her trailer.

“You okay?” Brady took her by the arm and looked her up and down.

Oh, those eyes. Hot fudge. Warm and sweet.

“I'm fine,” she said. “Just clumsy.” She laughed, and it came out a little too high. She sounded kind of crazy.

Brady smiled, putting the killer dimples on display. “We're all clumsy sometimes. I fall off horses a lot.”

She laughed. “You do, don't you?”

He sobered. “Sometimes I'm clumsy about kissing too,” he said. “I hope you didn't mind.”

“No,” she said. “No, I didn't mind. It was fine.”

He looked so deeply hurt she almost rushed to reassure him before she realized he was joking. “Fine?” he said. “Just
fine
?”

“More than fine.” She gave him her best smile, but she could feel it trembling at the edges. How could she tell him how much she'd liked it without sounding like a seventh grader? She needed to be honest somehow, without giving too much away.

“It made my night.” She finally found the right, light tone. “Thank you.”

She opened the door, flicked on the light, and turned to face him. Miraculously, she didn't slam her face into the door or fall off the step.

“Good night, Brady.”

“Aren't you inviting me in?”

Another land mine. How was she supposed to politely refuse what he was offering? Because he wasn't angling for an invitation to tea.

She'd just say no.

“No,” she said.

“Oh.” He looked so disappointed, she kind of felt sorry for him. He'd ditched the three rodeo queens to follow her, after all.

He strolled over to the folding camp chairs she'd put beneath the chili pepper lights and sat down. Slouching until his long, lean body was practically horizontal, he crossed his ankles and folded his arms behind his head, making himself very comfortable in her space.

Her
private
space. She liked to sit alone outside her trailer in the evenings and listen to the conversations all around her. When it got late and the talk died down, she'd turn off the tiny lights and gaze up at the stars, feeling just as small as those faraway twinkles, lost in the vastness of the universe.

“Come on,” he said, patting the other chair.

“What?”

“Dang, girl, is it that bad?”

“What?”

“My reputation. Is it so bad you're afraid to sit out here and talk to me?”

To her surprise, she realized she wanted that. Just to talk.

It would be foolish to sleep with him, but there was nothing wrong with talking for a while. She could use a friend, and who better than Brady? He seemed to understand her.

“You want a beer?” she asked.

“Sure.”

She reached into the little refrigerator, which was only a foot or so from the doorway, and grabbed an ancient six-pack of Bud. She'd had it for months, and it had been in and out of the fridge. Probably tasted like panther pee by now, but what the heck.

She stepped out of the trailer, letting the door slam behind her, and sat down in the second chair. She'd always wondered why she bothered to set up two when she almost always sat out there alone.

Now she knew.

Pulling two beers out of the plastic six-pack carrier, she handed one to Brady and popped the other one open for herself. She didn't drink, but this seemed like a good time to start. She took a healthy gulp and nearly coughed it out.

Yup. Panther pee.

They sat silently, awkwardly, until Suze knew the time had come and gone for some sort of exchange. But she didn't know what to say, and he seemed oddly content to sit there, staring out into the darkness. She'd parked at the edge of the Cowboy Corral, beside a line of scrub that bordered the dirt parking lot. The lot was empty now, and the darkness seemed to go on forever.

Finally, he spoke.

“Is your mother the reason you barrel race?” he asked. “To honor her memory?”

“No. Not really. I mean, sure, it helps me remember her.” She stretched out her legs, crossing them at the ankles, and looked out at the sky. Sipping her beer, she felt dreamy for a moment, as if she could float up there and catch the stars. “But mostly, I do it so I can ride really, really fast on a good horse.”

He smiled. “Escaping?”

“Probably. I never thought of it that way.”

“So are you running
to
something or running away?”

She didn't even have to think. “Running away.”

Brady gave her a sharp, appraising look, and she wished she
had
thought before she'd admitted that. It didn't sound like much, but it defined her life—and that was kind of pitiful.

Time to change the subject.

“So how about you? Why do you do what you do?” she asked.

“Well, that's the thing,” he said. “My brothers say I do it for buckles and babes, and that bothers me.”

Suze grinned. “I don't see why. If they want to judge you by that standard, you're a howling success.”

He laughed again. She so loved to watch him laugh. Maybe they'd be friends after this—if she could keep that trailer door closed. She didn't want to be another one of the women Brady left behind. She wanted to be his friend. The challenge was to resist the sexual magnetism that emanated from him like the reflected aura that had shimmered around him in that puddle on the asphalt.

“Everybody thinks I'm superficial,” he said.

She almost laughed. Of
course
he was superficial. That's what everyone loved about Brady. It might not feel good to be called shallow, but in a way, it was another word for
honest
. Brady never lied about his motives or pretended to be anything other than what he was. And that was refreshing.

But right now he was being serious, and nobody wants to be laughed at. Staring up at the sky, she thought about how that would feel—to have everyone think your only purpose in life was to have a good time. She supposed life could feel a little empty that way.

“There's a lot more to you than buckles and babes,” she said. “Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, with me.”

He grinned. “Some people would say different.”

She whisked away the comment with a wave of her hand. “I'm no babe. You left them back at the bar.”

“You're right,” he said. “You're not a babe. You're something more.”

She felt his eyes on her and tried not to blush. The things he was saying—this was better than any fantasy she'd ever had. And she'd had many fantasies, all of them starring the man beside her.

The man who was looking for something from her. Not sex, but meaning. She needed to quit mooning about him and
talk
to him.

“Just think about it,” she said. “What's the real reason you do it? The deep down reason?”

“Same reason you do, I think. The way you talked about riding before, about that moment when you start the race? That's the kind of thing I do it for.” He looked up into the star-spattered sky. It was smudged with a few streaky clouds, but they didn't obscure the bright speck of light that drew a quick arc across the sky and disappeared.

Brady turned to Suze, a question in his eyes, and she smiled. They shared the rare experience without a word. She liked that.

Maybe Brady wasn't as superficial as they said.

His voice went low and soft. “I collect moments like that. Rare moments.” He reached over and took her hand, and she was so dazzled—star dazzled, Brady-dazzled—that she let him.

Moments. Rare moments. She wondered if he knew he'd just created one for her.

But he was still talking rodeo.

“When I get settled just right in the saddle, and I brace my feet and give the nod—I guess that's my equivalent of your moment, when Speedo starts his run.” He was warming to the topic now, edging forward in his chair and gesturing as he talked. “It's the possibilities. A thousand things could flow from that moment, and you don't have a clue what's going to happen. You could win; you could lose. The bronc could make one of those high, straight-legged jumps where you leave the saddle for a second and float above him, weightless.” He raised his hand, palm down, in the air. “I love that feeling. Or he could sunfish and crash down on you, like that danged Tornado did to my brother.” The hand flipped over, palm to the sky, and crash-landed in his lap.

“How is your brother?”

“Better,” Brady said. “He won't rodeo again, though. Dang bull rolled over on his hand, and he has no grip at all. But he's married now, and happy.”

“That's good.” She shuddered. “He's lucky he's alive. That was a terrible wreck.”

He nodded. “Every time I board a bronc, I feel how little separates life and death.”

Suze grabbed another beer from the six-pack. Popping the top, she took a long drink. “I try not to think about that when I watch you.”

“Why not?” He grinned. “Half the crowd's hoping I'll wreck.”

He seemed to have forgotten about the falling star they'd shared, which was all right with Suze. She'd hold that moment for a long time—the way he'd turned and smiled, the way he'd taken her hand. It would become a treasure, like a shiny toy kept hidden away so she could play with it whenever she felt down.

“How can you know they're hoping you'll get hurt and not be—I don't know, angry or resentful?” she asked.

He shrugged. “That's just how it is. So when I get bucked off, I try to dismount slick. I want to land on my feet and tip my hat, like it's nothing to me. I don't want to give them that wreck.”

“It always seems like it really is nothing to you.” Suze flushed. “I mean, I know you want to win as much as anybody, but you're so good-natured when you don't score. I don't know how you do that. I think it's why you're so popular.”

He shrugged. “Rodeo's the best thing that ever happened to me. It's my world, the best one I ever knew. If that crowd wants me to get stomped, frankly, I don't mind giving them a show once in a while. Long as I can stand up and climb back in the saddle the next time my name's called, I'm good.”

One part of her was listening to his words; the other part was reading the current that flowed beneath them. Brady had survived an ugly childhood in the foster care system, and an uglier one before that, with abusive parents. He didn't talk about it, but she knew his real life had begun when Bill Decker pulled him out of the system and onto the ranch.

She looked up at the trees and stars, and thought how lucky she'd been to be born into this life. Her father might be hard to please, and she sure wished her mother had lived. But she had horses and blue jeans and a country world so wide, she'd never run out of dirt roads and rodeos.

“Rodeo saved you, didn't it?” she asked Brady.

He was quiet for a long time, looking up at the sky as if he'd find the answer written in the delicate tracery of the stars. It felt to Suze like the world held its breath, waiting to see if he'd let her in.