Last of the Red-Hot Cowboys (17 page)

“Just a little,” Jimmy said. “Just enough to keep a steer and a few goats on. Not like what Trace has.”

“—and the hardware store in town,” Hattie continued. “Jimmy, this is Ava, one of Judy's Hell Belles.”

“I heard about those,” Jimmy said, tipping his hat to Ava. “You girls are giving our fellas a heart attack.”

Hattie laughed. “That's what happens when talented, pretty girls come to a town that's run mostly by men. The men remember that there's more to life than just …”

“Work,” Jimmy Merrill said.

“Being alone,” Hattie supplied.

Jimmy smiled at Ava. “It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Gives us something to talk about besides ourselves.” His gaze went to Hattie. “Here's the deal: Judy just called. She's looking at picking up some new team members.”

“I told you not to give up on Judy, Ava,” Hattie said.

“So Judy wanted to know if I'd rent her that place we have in town. And she wanted me to find out if I knew of anyone who might be interested in putting together financing for a rodeo here in Hell. She wants to start her own bull-riding and bullfighting school, right here in Hell,” Jimmy said, emphasizing the last bit with relish.

Hattie nodded. “That's my girl.”

“I don't understand,” Ava said. “Trace says there will never be a rodeo here.”

“Let me explain the town a little to you,” Jimmy said. “I've known Trace since he came screaming into this world. I've known Miss Judy a long time, about fifteen years. You might call them Stubborn and More Stubborn.”

“They're both really good people,” Hattie told Ava. “But Judy is what they call a go-getter. And Trace is what they call a thinker. They play off each other all the time. Most of us just stand back and watch the fur fly because we know how much they love each other, like sister and brother. In the end, it's always Hell that benefits.”

Jimmy nodded. “And if Judy says we're going to have a rodeo, we probably will. Because nobody loves Hell as much as Judy does.”

“Okay,” Ava said. “I'll start work whenever you need me, Hattie.”

Hattie smiled. “So you're going to stay in Hell a while longer?”

“I can learn how to stand back and watch the fur fly with the rest of you.”

Jimmy and Hattie glanced at each other with a smile.

“Stubborn goes a long way here,” Jimmy said. “Welcome to Hell.”

* * *

Ava went back to the bungalow, realizing she was mad and annoyed, all courtesy of one particularly asinine cowboy who thought way too much of himself.

Cameron and Harper had returned from their lesson, looking pretty disconsolate as she walked in the door.

“What's wrong?” Ava asked.

“Trace cut us from bullfighting training,” Cameron said. “He said he'll oversee our riding so we can work out our horses, but that's it. He'd instruct us in English or Western, jumping, he doesn't care—as long as it doesn't involve us being around big animals with horns.” She sighed with disgust. “He even said he'd instruct us in roping with some of his horses, if we wanted—thought we'd probably discover we liked it. But I came here to bullfight, and that's what I'm going to do.”

“He says we're not bullfighters, and that Judy needs to put her boots back on the ground where they belong,” Harper said. “He never gave us a chance.”

“He wasn't planning on it,” Ava said, “the jackass. He just didn't want us out at Wild Jack's with the Horsemen.”

“Where's Judy, anyway?” Cameron asked.

“Off scouting a new team,” Ava said absently, and gasps erupted from her teammates.

“That's wrong!” Harper said. “I gave up a lot to come here. We didn't even get near a bull!”

Ava blew out a breath. “Trace and Judy are locked in some power struggle about this team.”

Cameron paced around the room, her hands on her hips. “We could go back to the Horsemen. At least they were willing to train us. But they're insane.”

Harper nodded. “My son's coming to town soon. I can't be around any weirdness like that.”

Ava wouldn't be caught dead out at Wild Jack's, even if they promised to give her her very own bull. “They're not the answer.” She thought about what Hattie said. “I've gotten a job at the Rolling Thunder. I'm not going to be run out of town by a crazy, stubborn cowboy.”

“What about us?” Harper asked.

“You'll have to figure out what's right for you. I plan to stay and be a burr under Trace's saddle.” In fact, that was a hugely appealing thought.
A nice hard, pointy burr
.

“We'll talk to Judy when she gets back,” Cameron said, “have her tell us why she's out scouting for more team members when we're not even being trained. Then we'll figure out who we need to gripe to in order to be able to get what we need.”

“I like it in Hell,” Harper said. “The people are nice, and I think this would be a great place for Michael to grow up. I really don't want to leave, either.”

“Then find a job to tide you over until we get this team thing figured out,” Ava said. “In the meantime, we'll make the Outlaws as miserable as we can.”

Cameron and Harper looked at her.

“How do we do that?” Cameron asked.

“I'm not sure exactly,” Ava said, “but I know it involves no dates, no kisses, and definitely, no sex.”

“That'll be harder for you than for us,” Cameron said, laughing. “You
kissed
Trace.”

Yes I did, and more, it was amazing. Some things are easier said than done
.

“He cut me off the team,” Ava said. “I'm pretty sure I won't be kissing him anymore. He's a jerk, and a dictator.”

They laughed. “I give it twenty-four hours,” Harper said.

Cameron nodded. “If that long.”

Ava glared. “Thanks for the support.”

They shrugged, went to their rooms. Ava went to hers, telling herself that no one, absolutely no self-respecting female, kissed a rat fink jackass who destroyed her dreams.

“I wouldn't kiss Trace if he were the last man alive,” she called to her roommates. Laughter floated back to her.

No matter how much I liked the way he held me and made love to me, I'm not about to fall into Trace Carter's big, strong arms again like a helpless female who can't resist the alpha male
.

Not even one more kiss
.

Trace didn't feel good about what he'd done to Ava—not that day, and not the week after. The worst part was, his body and his brain were all wrapped up in her. It felt like he'd lose his mind if he didn't get inside her again—but the chance of that happening was less than zero.

He really, really hoped he hadn't fallen in love with her; was, unfortunately, deeply certain he had.

“I needed more time to think it all through,” he told Heracles, who tried, as usual, to help him find clarity of thought by sending a swift hoof against his ankle. “You missed, old friend.”

Heracles blew out a breath, eying Trace just to let him know that the battle would proceed another day. Trace laughed, and patted him on the back. “What would I do without you keeping me on my toes?”

Heracles had no answer for that. Trace was all out of answers, too, so he decided to go into town. Part of him hoped that he'd spot Ava's horse trailer or truck, but the only way he ever knew whether she was still in town or not was by driving past the bungalow to make sure she was still in Hell.

Way too much of his brain was dedicated to worrying that she'd gone back to Virginia.

He'd miss her lips terribly. Soft, sweet, perfectly moldable lips, that hovered underneath his so … well,
fragilely
. And her body, dear God, her sassy, welcoming, warm body. Ava felt fragile and vulnerable, and everything inside him rose up wanting to protect her.

But he'd told her the unvarnished truth.

Like she was one of his platoon, and not a delicate female.

“Oh, hell, that isn't the problem,” he muttered, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he watched people going into the Rolling Thunder. “The problem was that I ran like a scared pup.”

Even for lunchtime, it seemed like a lot of people were streaming into the Rolling Thunder. Hattie served good food, but he wasn't certain why so many folks would be finding themselves hungry at one time. Maybe she'd changed the menu, put on something new that people found irresistible.

He was hungry, too. All this thinking about Ava gave him an ache in his gut, which had to be hunger. He also hadn't slept well since he'd made love to her, which had nothing to do with his conscience donkey-kicking him all night. Judy was going to be home sometime today and she was going to give him the short side of her temper.

He wasn't afraid of Mayor Judy, but he did respect her. The discussion they needed to have about her “team” would likely not be the most pleasant conversation.

He got out of his truck, strolled toward the Rolling Thunder. Soft, musical notes floated on the air, and he could smell the delicious aromas of home-cooked food.

He went inside—and was astonished to see Ava sitting with a guitar, singing in the middle of the diner.

Singing real pretty, too.

His heart dropped into his boots at the sight of her, and it came to Trace that it shouldn't do that; hearts shouldn't jump around like jack-in-the-boxes, particularly unemotional hearts like his. But there he was, poleaxed by the sight of Ava, whom he'd greatly feared would be packing up and leaving any day now—all because he was a rude jackass.

The diners listened to her, their eyes on her as she softly stroked the guitar. Her sweet voice had people sitting with rapt, misty expressions. He picked out a booth where he couldn't be seen, pointed to a chicken-fried steak and a glass of milk on the menu, added a slice of cinnamon cake for good measure, then got back to listening to Ava.

Hattie came by, slid into the seat across from him.

“It's about time you showed up around here,” she told him.

“When did you hire her?”

Hattie smiled. “Probably the day you let her go.”

He frowned, knowing he was being chastised, and probably rightfully so. “My partners suggested that she doesn't have the right stuff for what Judy's planning, and I concurred.”

“It's safer that way,” Hattie said, and Trace thought she was being just a bit too wise, even for her normally wise self. “Did you know she could sing?”

“No.” He looked at the cake and the chicken-fried steak that was put in front of him, and thought what the hell, life is short, live it backward sometimes, and started with the cake.

“There's probably a lot about her you don't know,” Hattie said, watching him gulp down the food as he tried not to swivel toward Ava. If he moved his head just right, he could spy Ava's hair through the plastic green plants that lined the half-wall, but he couldn't do that right now. Hattie would catch his tell, and there'd be no stopping her once she had him figured out.

“I'm sure there's a lot of things I don't know about a lot of people,” Trace said, feeling cross and trying to ignore how Hattie had him figured out.

“Did you know she has several brothers who ride bulls?”

“No.” The cinnamon cake melted in his mouth, the steak was a tad crispy on the outside, hot and moist inside. If Hattie would just go away, he could focus on the food and not on Ava.

He seemed to focus on Ava just about 24/7.

“One of her brothers got a bad ride, got tangled in his rope. The bullfighter wasn't a good one, shouldn't have been on duty. Didn't get him loose, and her brother took quite a licking. He probably won't walk right in this lifetime.” Hattie looked at him. “She's not in Hell just because she wants to be the prettiest bullfighter around.”

“I know that.” He put his fork down, glared at Hattie. “It doesn't matter. We don't train women. And I shouldn't have let those doe eyes and that pretty smile and that sweet, sexy body convince me that I couldn't let her walk away. So when I finally came to my senses, it was hard on both of us.”

“Okay,” Hattie said, sliding from the booth. “Suit yourself. By the way, the cake's on me. You need something sweet in your life.”

He ignored that, and ignored Steel when he took Hattie's place in the booth.

“Trace,” Steel said, and Trace reluctantly turned from spying on Ava.

“Sheriff.”

“We've got ourselves a wee problem in Hell.”

He didn't want a wee problem—he wanted to focus on the shocking development that was Ava sitting in the Rolling Thunder drawing customers like bees to flowers. She wore a white dress and hot pink boots (which looked too much like Judy's for his comfort), and he could practically hear a siren going off in his head.

No, there definitely
was
a siren reverberating between his ears.

“What can I do you for, Sheriff?”

“Found a whole lot of dead chickens out at the judge's farm,” Steel said.

“Foxes? Coyotes?” It wasn't entirely unusual to lose chickens—they were tasty critters to hungry animals. The judge kept his place pretty secure, though, even from coyotes.

Steel shook his head. “No. The carcasses were there. Their necks had been snapped. Boot prints were everywhere.”

“Not a good thing,” Trace said.

“Not when a man loses ten prize-winning chickens, no.”

Trace looked at the sheriff, pondering this unwelcome information. “Rory didn't hear a thing?”

“Not a peep.” He grimaced.

Trace sat back in the booth. “I'm going out there later today to check on the bulls. I'll see if I can scout anything.”

“Appreciate it.” The sheriff moved to slide from the booth.

“Steel, when's Judy getting back?”