How to Kiss a Cowboy (9 page)

There were guys who wanted to date Suze, but they were all like her—awkward, serious types who respected her abilities more than they craved her touch. None of them could touch Brady when it came to looks, and none of them talked to her with that easy, bantering charm.

With one quick conversation, one wild rebel yell, and one admiring glance, Brady Caine had spoiled her for all the other boys.

Marta handed Suze another tissue, jolting her from her reverie. Suze patted her face, surprised to find it wet with tears.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to cry all over you. I need to get over this stupid fixation on a guy who barely knows I'm alive.”

Marta patted her back gently. “You are very foolish.”

“I know.” Suze folded the tissue and gave her nose a final, undignified honk before tossing it in the trash. “It
is
stupid. Foolish. And mostly, I'm over him. It's just that he still lets out that yell once in a while, after somebody rides a rank bronc or gets away from a mean bull. I hear it all the way across the arena, and it brings me back, you know? To that day and how I felt—oh, never mind.”

“You are not foolish to care for him,” Marta said. “It sounds like you are alike.” She stood and led Suze over to the makeup chair, spinning it so Suze could see herself in the mirror.

Oh God. She'd made a mess of her makeup—again. This woman seemed to have infinite patience, but it was embarrassing to be such a screwup.

Still, she couldn't resist pursuing the conversation, even though she knew it was unprofessional to get so personal with the makeup lady.

“I'm nothing like Brady,” she said.

Marta lifted Suze's hair off the back of her neck and let it fall in graceful waves over her shoulders. “It sounds to my heart like you are the same,” she said. “He has the whoop, you ride fast—you are alike.”

Suze turned to look at the woman, amazed. She'd thought the exact same thing the first time she'd heard that wild shout from Brady. It was as if the wildness in him called to the wildness deep inside her. Every time she heard that yell, it reminded her of the kinship between them.

“You know, I think there is something in common between us, deep down,” she said. “Maybe that's why I can't let go. I always felt like he could release my real self, you know? He did—just that once. He made me stop worrying about what other people were thinking and really live.”

“Maybe you have to do that on your own,” Marta said.

Suze nodded. “Maybe he's become an excuse. I don't know. But I need to get past it, that's for sure.”

“You think about this,” Marta said. “You race the horses, am I right?”

“Just one horse,” Suze said, smiling.

“But you compete. You have to be first. Faster than everyone.”

Suze nodded.

“It is your job to compare yourself to others when you ride,” Marta said. “But in life, that is not a healthy way to think. In life, you can only do your best.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Suze said.

“In sport, you compete,” Marta said. “In life, you live. And living is enough.”

“Thank you.” Suze did her best to drink the words in, make them part of herself. Marta was right, although she didn't know that Suze's competitive nature had its roots in her childhood. Her father had always compared her—to other racers, to her mother—and she'd always come up short.

Marta began bustling around, gathering up her makeup supplies.

“What are you doing?” Suze asked.

“Getting ready.” Marta opened what looked like a fishing tackle box and began to lay an assortment of brushes and sponges on the counter. “You're going back out there, correct?”

“Are you kidding?” Suze spun the chair to face Marta and made a scary face, making the woman laugh. “I went and ruined your makeup again. I look like one of those women who stays too late at the beer tent and ends up drunk, with their mascara all streaked.”

“We can fix that,” Marta said. “I can fix anything.”

“I couldn't ask you to. I've given you enough trouble already.”

“Pooh.” Marta dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. “Sit down, Suzanne. Let me fix you.”

Suze sat down and closed her eyes while Marta ministered to her face for the third time that day.

If only it was that easy. If only Marta really
could
fix her.

But the makeup lady was right.

She was going to have to do it herself.

* * *

Once you gave yourself over to Marta for a makeup session, you were hers until she declared you complete. So Suze was a helpless victim, trapped in the spinning chair like a fly in a spiderweb when someone tapped on the door a moment later.

“Come in,” Marta sang.

The door was behind Suze, but she could see it in the mirror as it opened.

Brady.

She wanted to hide her face or crawl under the table, but Marta had her trapped, so she was forced to stare straight at his image in the mirror while her lashes were curled. She couldn't even close her eyes.

“Hey,” he said, smiling ruefully. “I did it again, didn't I?”

“Did what?” Suze couldn't believe how her heart longed for him, even now. When he smiled like that, she wanted to believe everything was all right.

“I messed up. I do it every time I see you.” He came over and rested his very fine ass on the counter, folding his arms over his chest. “The good news is, I had a witness this time, so I know what I did wrong. The last couple times, I was too dumb to figure it out, but Stan caught the whole thing. So at least I know what to apologize for.”

“You don't have anything to apologize for.” As Marta released her lashes, Suze started to shake her head but stopped when a mascara brush loomed large in her field of vision.

“She says you kicked her,” Marta said, her voice steeped in motherly disapproval. “Misanthropically.”

“Um…metaphorically, yeah.” Brady looked down at the floor and bit his lips. Maybe he was smarter than he looked. Suze might be in love with the man, but she hadn't figured he knew any six-syllable words.

Maybe she didn't know as much about Brady as she thought.

“But, Suze, I swear to God, that wasn't what I meant.” His eyes hardened, and his lips narrowed to a thin, grim line. “I hate the way Lariat does these ads, with the girls kneeling and all. I hate it, and I didn't want you to have to do it.”

“Close your eyes,” Marta demanded, and Suze obeyed. She felt a soft brush skimming over her face, over the nose, the cheekbones, the chin. She should feel self-conscious, letting Brady watch this, but she was never self-conscious around Brady. Lord knew he was never self-conscious around her.

A memory flashed across her mind—Brady naked in bed, his head resting on his crossed arms, that broad, tanned chest with sun-bronzed hair sketching a faint line over the bars of his abs and then down, down, beneath the sheets.

She tried to rub the picture out of her mind, but it wouldn't go away. Not even when she opened her eyes.

Fortunately, Brady didn't seem to notice she was picturing him naked. He was too busy talking his way out of the corner he'd talked himself into.

Brady actually talked a lot for a cowboy. She'd never realized before what a blessing it was. It gave a girl time to think.

About him. Naked.

“It's okay for the rodeo queens,” he said, watching with interest as Marta stroked liner onto Suze's lids. “They like to pose sexy and all that. They're just happy to get their picture in a magazine.” Marta turned back to her magic box, and he reached over and grabbed the arm of the chair, giving it a slight turn toward him so Suze was forced to look into his eyes. “But you're better than that.”

She huffed out a little laugh. “Right. That's what you meant when you said, ‘Hell, no, not with her.'”

“Exactly. That
is
what I meant.”

His eyes were steady on hers, and she almost believed him. Almost.

Fortunately, Marta needed to stroke on another coat of mascara, so she couldn't look at him, which meant he couldn't work his wiles on her. Otherwise, she probably would have ended up forgiving him without even realizing what she'd done.

She'd once seen a nature documentary where a sparrow was hypnotized by a snake. That's how she felt when she was around Brady—like that helpless, hopeless sparrow, hypnotized by his brown eyes.

What happened to the sparrow if the snake slithered away—when it was left there, hypnotized and hanging? Did the little bird long for more? Did it pine away? Did it ever recover and live a normal life?

Or did it spend its whole life searching for the snake, even knowing it could kill?

Brady was still talking. “What I said was ‘Hell, no, not with her.' As in, I refuse to do this stupid pose with a woman I admire and respect and—well, you know.”

Marta was standing behind Suze, fluffing her hair. “I don't think she knows.”

With the toe of his boot, Brady traced a line on the floor.

“I think you need to tell her,” Marta said.

He took a deep breath and met Suze's eyes. Tell her what? She waited, a little breathless.

When he finally spoke, he didn't say what she'd expected.

“We're friends, Suze. Aren't we? We're at least that.”

Oh God. She did
not
want to talk about this.

“Of course we are.” She hated her phony, snappish tone of voice, but she couldn't help it. “I almost wrecked it after one too many beers, but we're still friends.”

He shook his head. “You didn't—I had to—oh, never mind. Just promise me that if I treat you badly from now on, you'll say something. Don't just walk away.”

She had
run
away, but she didn't correct him. “Sure. I'll tell you.”

* * *

“There.” Marta stepped back and waved a hand at Suze like an artist unveiling a masterpiece. “She looks beautiful. You think?”

Brady grinned. “I
know
.” He held out his hand. “Come on. Let's get this done. I told Stan to think of something else—an action shot or something. I promise I'll make sure it's done right.”

Suze didn't know how to respond. She took his hand without thinking and stared back, mesmerized by the faint gold starbursts surrounding the pupils in his brown eyes. His tone was so gentle, and there was so much heart shining in his eyes that every bone in her body told her to trust him.

But that's how it always was with Brady.

“Suze? Give me a chance, okay?”

She got the impression he was talking about something more than today's photo shoot—but maybe that was just wishful thinking. It was probably a line that had worked on six hundred other women. He had enough girls flocking around him to run clinical trials on which lines were most effective. He could do focus groups to determine what kind of sweet-talking worked on rodeo queens, what won over buckle bunnies, and what drew in the barrel racers.

Although she could save him the trouble on that last test. Everything he said worked on her—every single line, as long as he said it with that sweet, crooked smile.

She released his hand, shaking her head. He headed toward the door, then turned around fast, as if he just had to say one more thing.

“You need to know this.” He looked up at the ceiling, as if searching for inspiration, then down at his boot tips. When he looked up, his eyes met hers and held her gaze. “You run rings around all the other girls, and not just on horseback,” he said. “You're beautiful, you're classy, and you can ride like nobody I ever saw.” He gave her a little shake, as if she wasn't listening. “Don't ever let anybody tell you different.” His eyes never blinked, those gold flecks sparking in the sunlight. “Not anybody.”

Stan was all business as soon as Brady and Suze returned to the arena.

“Suze? We're going to do an action shot.”

Brady gave her a smug nod, and she grudgingly returned it.

“I want to do something authentically
cowboy
.” Stan said the word as if it was a new concept he'd invented. “Brady suggested it, and I just got permission from the main office to do it.” He turned to Brady. “Got to thank you for this, buddy. I'm so tired of that other pose, I could spit. They were designed by the marketing department and tested on focus groups, but I'll guarantee the focus groups were all middle-aged men with porn addictions. Now, thanks to you, I get to design the shoot myself. I'm thinking something with both of you on horseback. Moving fast, in stop-action. Can you rope?”

Both Brady and Suze nodded.

“Then you'll each need a horse and a rope. Use the fanciest tack you've got.”

Brady grinned. “I'm a bronc rider, remember? My fanciest tack is a saddle that's not too tore up and trampled.”

Stan shook his head. “Well, at least try to find something clean.”

Suze laughed. “I'll loan you something.”

“Thanks.” She'd earned another Brady smile. Score.

“We'll meet back here in two hours and get started.” Stan looked at Suze. “Don't worry. I'll call Marta back to do touch-up. You'll look fine.”

“I don't know.” Suze looked from Stan to Brady and back again, as if she was wondering what they were up to. Brady tried to look innocent, and then realized he actually
was
innocent for a change.

“What are you up to?” Suze asked.

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you trying to pull that innocent act on me? Don't lie to me, Brady. I've seen it before.”

“I know, but this time I actually
am
innocent.”

She gave him a disbelieving stare.

“I know. I can't believe it either. I think you're a good influence.”

Brady knew Suze needed the money from the shoot, so he knew she'd cooperate. But he wanted her to enjoy the experience, and he only knew one way to ensure that. She was the most competitive person he knew. If she thought this was a contest, she just might relax and have fun.

“If you need a few roping pointers, I'd be glad to help,” he teased.

She tossed her hair and looked annoyed. “I can rope just fine.”

He loved it when she tossed that golden hair, especially when it was all done up in swirls and curls, like now. He wanted to make her do it again.

“You sure?” He wrinkled up his forehead so he looked all earnest and serious.

Yep. That got him another hair toss.

“I was a roping champion in 4-H before you even knew how to ride a horse,” she said.

He'd been hoping she'd bring that up. “Oh, yeah. What is it you rope in 4-H again? Puppies?”

Hair
toss.
“It's goat tying. You know that. They don't let us do calves, but I've roped them on the ranch.”

“Goat-roping champion, huh? Well, that's pretty impressive, honey.”

She turned to face him, and he realized his quest for hair tossing might have gone a little too far. Her eyes were narrowed to slits, and color had risen to her cheeks. She looked absolutely gorgeous—and mad as a cornered badger.

“Don't call me honey.”

“Okay, darlin'.”

She let out a noise like a cross between a mad chicken and a rodeo bull, and spun on her toes, stalking off across the arena toward the parking lot.

Stan looked up from where he was gathering cables, clearing a space for whatever “action shot” he had in mind. “That went well.”

Brady grinned. “I thought so.”

“I heard once you were a real ladies' man, Caine.”

Brady leaned back against the fence, thumbs in his belt loops. “Yep.”

“Well, if that was an example of how you romance the ladies, you've got a ways to go.”

“I'm not trying to get Suze Carlyle into bed.” Brady wasn't about to mention that had already happened. “I'm just trying to get her through this shoot. Trust me, she's beautiful when she's mad. And she'll play along just to prove she's a better roper than I am. Which she is, by the way. Way better.”

Stan gave him a sharp, considering look while he rolled up a length of cable. “If I didn't know you better, I'd say you actually liked this girl.”

“But you
do
know me better. And, hell, I like 'em all.”

Brady spit for emphasis, but he didn't spit much as a rule, and instead of landing in the dirt of the arena, the glob landed on the toe of his own boot.

“Smooth,” Stan said. “Bet that really slays the ladies.”

Brady shoved off the fence and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. “I need to make some calls. Got to see a man about a horse. Or a couple of men.” He squinted across the rodeo arena, where a dust devil had whipped up and was whirling in front of the bucking chutes like the ghost of a wild ride. “I just hope there's a decent animal left around here somewhere. Most everybody I know is in Fort Worth or Rapid City.”

As a rough stock contestant, Brady didn't haul his own horses. Only the barrel racers and ropers did, and even ropers sometimes borrowed horses from the locals. The summer months were so packed with rodeos all over the West that a hardworking contestant could hit as many as three in one day. Brady was going to have to hustle if he was going to find a horse to ride. There were a couple at Decker Ranch, but they were old lesson horses, hardly animals he could put on the same page as Suze's Speedo. His brother Ridge had a couple of nice quarter horses in training, but there was no way he'd let Brady ride a client's horse.

He was starting to regret razzing Suze. If he couldn't find a decent horse, he wouldn't be able to rope anything. Not even a goat.

* * *

Suze was just turning into the drive when Speedo, grazing in the pasture that bordered the driveway, lifted his head. His pointy ears swiveled like tiny radar dishes until they fixed on her, and then he flung himself into action, racing the truck to the turnaround in front of the barn. Patient as a faithful dog, he stood at the gate and waited for her.

Speedo was always calm, except at race time, when his personality transformed. Once he saw those barrels, he was laser focused and crazy for the win. Speedo loved running barrels like a Labrador loves fetching tennis balls.

Suze stepped up and rubbed the whorl of fur on his forehead.

“Hello, old man.”

The nickname fit these days. His muzzle was beginning to gray, and it was a challenge to keep his famous blond mane looking good. She'd spent a fortune on horse shampoo and conditioners in the past couple months, and even more on vet bills to treat his various arthritic joints. The fast stops and tight spins of a professional rodeo horse were hard on an animal's body. She was going to have to retire him soon.

And then what?

That question kept her up at night. Though you could sometimes turn a mediocre mount into a pretty good barrel horse, you needed an animal with racing in his genes and running hardwired into his brain if you wanted to compete at the highest level.

That's why she was willing to do whatever Lariat wanted. A few more contracts like this one, and she'd have the money she needed to buy a new horse.

As she slipped a halter over the gelding's handsome head, she could almost feel her blood pressure dropping.

Sometimes she wished she could have a horse with her all the time, like a service animal. She felt so much better when she could just lay her hand on Speedo's warm neck, or cup her hand under his whiskery muzzle. Horses never judged you. They never implied you weren't good enough. Once they trusted you, they were yours, and you were theirs.

If only human relationships were that simple.

Remembering Stan's advice, she led Speedo over to the barn and cross-tied him in the alley. She grabbed a bucket with a big
S
on the front that was full of brushes and took her time polishing his coat to a high shine. His skin twitched under the brush, the way it did before a race.

“Hold your horsehair,” she said. “We're not running today. Just posing pretty for a picture. You can do that, can't you, handsome boy?”

Speedo nodded as if he understood.

His blond mane was looking good, and she combed out the magnificent tail that streamed out behind him like a flag when he ran. Then she grabbed two prize saddles—one for her and one for Brady—and a couple of flashy bridles to match.

The truth was, Speedo didn't need much in the way of equipment. Once she was on his back, he'd go where she wanted if she just thought about it. The books said horses sensed slight, subconscious movements of the body, but it always felt like he was reading her mind.

“You're my equine psychic,” she said. “Aren't you?”

Speedo stretched his neck out and nibbled on her shoulder.

“So how about if you predict how this shoot's going to go? Are we going to ride rings around Brady Caine and whatever pathetic old broken-down mount he manages to come up with?”

Speedo nodded again, stamping one front foot for emphasis.

Suze lifted a coil of rope down from a hook in the wall and held it out for the horse to smell.

“We're going to do some roping, okay, bud? Something different.”

She'd roped on Speedo just a couple weeks ago, so she had no doubt he'd do fine. Horses who were so consistently used for one particular sport needed to be ridden for other purposes, or they'd go stale, doing their jobs by rote instead of using their minds. She and Speedo played all sorts of games, practicing pole bending and roping, as well as taking long trail rides into the open land around the ranch. Sometimes she'd take a rope on trail rides, so she could rope fence posts or drag old logs just for fun.

“We'll do fine today, won't we? We'll show Brady Caine who's boss.” She patted his neck, then unclipped the cross-ties and led him to the corral.

“Don't you dare roll while my back's turned,” she said. “I just need to hitch up your trailer and then we'll go. We're going to look like stars and perform like pros.” She smiled to herself. “Brady Caine's going to swallow his tongue when he sees what he's up against.”

Marta's words came back to her.
In
life, you can only do your best.
Suze knew deep down that this shouldn't be a competition, but that was how her mind worked. She was so used to racing that everything became a quest to be the best.

“Marta's right. I'm being stupid,” she muttered, more to herself than to the horse. “I need to stop worrying what other people think. And I don't need some man to back me up, either.” She tossed her hair, and it felt so good brushing her shoulders that she did it again. She thought of the way Speedo would toss his head when she tried to hold him back before a race. “Just watch me, Brady Caine,” she said to herself. “Just watch me go.”

She meant it. She wasn't going to cry over Brady or let that careless grin give her heartache. If she wasn't good enough for him, that was fine with her. If you asked around, she wasn't good enough for anybody. Not for her father, who compared her to her perfect mother in everything she did; not for the other girls on the circuit, with their cliques and their boyfriends, their lip-gloss smiles and stylish clothes; not even for her mother, whose triumphant smile gleamed from dozens of photos around the house, her beauty and confidence a silent reproach. Sometimes Suze wondered what kind of woman would want pictures of herself all over her house and none of her own child, but she didn't like to think about the answer to that question.

Speedo gave Suze a playful nip, as if to remind her that she was good enough for him and she was good enough to win races. To all appearances, she took her wins in stride. But in her mind, she threw her success in the faces of everyone who doubted her.

Not
good
enough? How about this? And this? And this?

How
about
two
world
championships
before
I'm twenty-five? How about that?

But for some reason, she never could win quite enough races to make herself absolutely sure they were wrong.