Rough Rider (4 page)

Part of him couldn't blame Rachel. She'd never hedged about her expectations, but he hadn't anticipated it all happening so soon. But pressuring him about it, especially tonight, only got his back up.

“A bottle of Coors,” Dirk quipped. “That's in my future—the immediate one anyway.”

“But what about the pictures? The photographer's been waiting all this time on you. Please Dirk.” She gave him a beseeching look. “If you don't want to go upstairs and change, maybe you could just borrow Daddy's jacket.”

“Your father's jacket?” Dirk shook his head with a derisive chuckle. “I'm sorry, Sunshine, but your Daddy's jacket won't fit me any better than his shoes.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You'll figure it out. I'm going to the bar now. You want anything?”

“No. Thank you,” she snapped.

When he moved to kiss her cheek, she jerked away.

“I'm not waiting on you anymore, Justin Dirk Knowlton.”

“C'mon. A few more minutes won't make any difference.”

“That's
not
what I meant. You've taken me for granted long enough.” Standing as tall and defiant as her petite frame would allow, she anchored her hands on her slim hips. “I think it's decision time for us.”

She was telling him in no uncertain terms to ante up.

He opened his mouth and then closed it again, biting back the apology that had sprung to his lips only seconds ago. He wasn't about to kowtow to someone else's expectations and desires—even Rachel's. It was
his
life, damn it! He was only twenty-two. He needed to live a little before settling down.

When he failed to respond, her pretty mouth molded into a mutinous expression. “I mean it, Dirk. I'm done with waiting…I'm done
with
you
.” With an angry toss of her blond head, she spun on her boot heel, leaving him staring after her.

She'd issued her ultimatum. He'd balked. And now she'd broken it off. This entire night had turned to pure shit! First the bull ripped his arm out of the socket and tried to impale him and now his girl dumped him? Maybe he'd gone too far, but he still couldn't regret his actions. He refused to be led by his nose—or any other body part.

She'd strung him along for four years with promises that made him salivate. That wasn't to say he hadn't had a taste of her. He had, and she was a fine dish indeed, but the appetizer had only made him all the hungrier for the main course. He doubted he could have held out much longer if she hadn't reciprocated in kind. Although she'd compromised her vow of purity to keep his interest, she'd also made it abundantly clear that anything more would require a multifaceted, two-carat emerald-shaped promise on his part.

He knew what she needed now, sure enough, what he could do to make things right at least for a little while. Ten minutes in a janitor's closet with his face buried in her snatch would have her purring like a kitten again. Only problem was there were too damn many people around for them to disappear together, especially with a magazine photographer in the house. He wouldn't take that risk. She was right about her reputation. He could just imagine what kind of photo spread would hit the newsstands if Miss Rodeo Montana got caught with his tongue up her twat—one far better suited for
Hustler
than
American
Rodeo
Magazine
.

In no mood to go chasing after her, he told himself a little distance wouldn't hurt either of them—at least until he figured some things out. He really needed that beer.

* * *

Although Grady had invited her, Janice still felt like an interloper at the party. She was neither family nor friend to the Carsons, but just a lowly stock hand. Entering the Plaza ballroom, she felt completely outclassed. She wasn't the only girl wearing jeans, but hers weren't accessorized with eighteen-hundred-dollar, hand-tooled, Swarovski-crystal-covered boots. Her hair wasn't impeccably coiffed and crowned by a rhinestone tiara over a Resistol beaver hat.

But it wasn't just their pricey designer clothes. The snide sidelong looks from the counterfeit cowgirls told her she didn't belong. Janice felt the same way. With her self-confidence in shreds, she made an excuse to Grady and a quick detour to the ladies' room from which she planned to make a quick and painless exit.

All of that went out the window, however, when she came face-to-face with a teary-eyed, mascara-stained Rachel the rodeo queen, surrounded by her buckskin-fringed court. Greeted with dagger looks, Janice froze in her boots. Feeling like an intruder into a private melodrama, she was half tempted to back her way out the door but then they all turned back to Rachel. It was as if Janice had become suddenly invisible. More likely, they'd just decided she was beneath their notice.

“That bastard!” a brunette indignantly declared. “I can't believe he'd string you along like that! It's past time you kicked that cowboy to the curb, Rae.”

“Yeah,” a strawberry blond chimed in. “You've wasted enough time on him. There's plenty of hot guys just dying to go out with you—ones who would show you the kind of respect you deserve.”

Respect? What was up with that? They couldn't be talking about Dirk. Janice had never seen Dirk disrespectful to anyone who didn't deserve it—especially not to a woman.

“I hate him,” Rachel sobbed. “No,” she amended through gritted teeth, “I positively
loathe
him.”

Janice closed the stall door, latching it shut behind her.

“Assholes like him always treat a woman like shit once they've gotten what they want.”

“I guess you'd know best, Mary Jane,” Janice heard the brunette mumble.

“But I didn't…we haven't…” Rachel protested.

“What?” exclaimed the cowgirl choir.

Janice felt her own jaw drop. Although her conscience told her to tune them out, she found herself holding her breath while she emptied her bladder.

“Let me get this straight,” said Strawberry. “In almost five years, you still haven't done the dirty?”

“No…” Rachel replied. “Not
technically
speaking…”

“How
technical
are we talking, sugar?” the voice belonging to Mary Jane eagerly inquired.

“It's vulgar to kiss and tell, Mary Jane,” Strawberry chided. “Didn't your mama teach you anything?”

“Yeah, how not to get knocked up.” Mary Jane giggled. “I just can't believe Rae took that ninth-grade purity vow for real. I think mine barely lasted through my sophomore year.”

“
We
know
,” said the brunette. “The whole school knew. It's probably why you never wore a Miss Teen Rodeo crown.”

“Fuck off, Miss Holier-Than-Thou.”

The girls had their claws fully exposed, and Janice half expected to see dark locks of hair and leather fringe flying over the stall door.

“Cut the bullshit, you two,” said the third voice. “This is about Rachel and Dirk. And it seems to me she made the right decision to hold out. He's toed the line until now, hasn't he? How many of you can say that?”

“Sorry, Rae,” Strawberry said. “She's right, but if he's taking you for granted, maybe it's time to shake things up.”

“What do you mean?” Rachel sniffed.

“There's a whole room full of hot cowboys just outside that door. You only need to waltz your little moneymaker out there and take your pick.”

“But that's just it,” Rachel wailed. “I don't want any of them. You can't understand how it is between him and me. It's always been Dirk. It's
only
been him.”

Janice watched through the crack as three sets of arms enfolded her, muffling her sobs.

“What about Wade?” one of them suggested. “He's pretty damned hot.”

“I wouldn't mind a piece of that myself,” said Mary Jane.

“Exactly,” replied the voice Janice recognized as Strawberry. “What better way to make that SOB pay than to play up to his little brother?”

“Little?” Mary Jane said. “He's gotta be six foot three at least, and you know what they say about the tall ones. Or maybe it was boot size? Anyone get a good look at his feet?”

“He's perfect, Rae!” Strawberry intoned with another annoying giggle.

Yeah, perfect if you're a nasty, conniving, and manipulative bitch
, thought Janice. Hadn't any of them grown up yet? This whole scene was like junior high all over again. She'd heard more than enough. Janice rose and flushed. She was thankful they were gone by the time she opened the door.

Although Rachel knew Dirk far better than she did, Janice couldn't imagine him putting up with this kind of childish crap. He wasn't an adolescent boy to play those games with. Half of her hoped Rachel wouldn't take such inane advice—but the other half couldn't help hoping something else altogether.

* * *

Dirk was nursing a longneck and mulling over his next move when he spotted Don Carson at the end of the bar. Given that Carson was both Rachel's father and the host of the bash, he figured it best to man up now about the tiff, rather than dealing with awkward repercussions later.

Seeking a bit of liquid courage, Dirk emptied his beer and ordered a second, but by the time he turned around again, Carson was engaged in conversation with Jack Evans, a prominent Bozeman attorney. He made his way closer to the pair, pulling on his beer and waiting for a lull.

“Who's that young man with Rachel?” Evans asked Carson.

“I believe that's Justin Knowlton's younger son, Wade,” Carson replied.

Dirk's gaze followed theirs across the room to find his brother—the smooth, schmoozing bastard—posing for pictures with his arm around Rachel's waist.

Wade was only a year younger than Dirk and a former classmate of Rachel's. He'd had the hots for her for years, but she'd blown him off in favor of Dirk. Now it seemed she'd set out to make him jealous, and Wade appeared more than willing to conspire with her.

“Low crawlin' sonofabitch,” Dirk mumbled and took another long pull on his beer. Although he was only halfway through his second drink, Evans's and Carson's voices had taken on a buzz-like quality that made his inner ears itch.

“Isn't Rachel seeing the older one, the bull rider who wrecked tonight? Did you catch the replay of that?” Evans visibly shuddered. “I'm surprised he lived to walk away from it.”

“Yes. I saw it, and needless to say, I've serious qualms about my daughter tying herself to a rodeo cowboy. I like the boy well enough, I s'pose, and I'll allow he
might
be the exception, but as a rule they're a good-for-nothing lot. I don't have to tell you I wouldn't mind if she switched her interest to Wade over there. I hear he plans to study law.”

“Does he now?” Evans assessed Wade while Dirk ground his teeth. “I could use another clerk this summer. Why not introduce the boy.”

“Sure. Why not? C'mon, Jack. I want to get a few photos with my gal anyway.”

Dirk tracked their progress across the room with a scowl hanging over his eyes. Rachel chose that moment to look in his direction. Their eyes met just long enough for her to see that he'd noticed her, before she turned back to Wade, laying a hand on his arm and flashing him a brilliant smile.

“Fuck it. If that's what you want, go for it, Sunshine. I ain't playin' that game.”

Turning his back to her, he upended his bottle, drained it dry in three swallows, slammed it down, and ordered another. He was on his third when Grady entered the ballroom. Catching Dirk's eye, he made a beeline to the bar. Dirk acknowledged him with a silent nod.

“What's up your ass?” Grady demanded.

“Nothin',” Dirk snapped.

“Bullshit. Why are you over here drinkin' alone when there's a party going on?”

“Where's Janice? I thought she was coming with you.”

“That'll happen later,” Grady smirked. “It's only proper to buy her a drink first.”

“Asshole. That's not what I meant.”

“She's in the john. I told her to meet me here.” He signaled the bartender and ordered a double shot of Pendleton.

Dirk's gaze riveted back to Rachel and Wade. His brother was leading her out to the dance floor with the photographer still snapping. The band had switched to a slow dance, a mediocre cover of George Strait's “Marina Del Rey.” Dirk silently dared his brother to move his hands an inch closer to Rachel's ass. She pulled Wade's head down to hers almost as if to kiss him. Dirk saw red. He was poised to bolt out of his chair when she looked straight at Dirk and whispered in Wade's ear.

“Wanna tell me what the fuck's goin' on?” Grady asked.

“Not really.” Dirk took another brooding swig of his beer, his gaze never leaving the dancers. When the song ended, he spun back around before Rachel could catch him staring. The band followed up with another George Strait number, “She'll Leave You with a Smile.”

When Dirk looked out on the dancers again she was doing exactly that, staring adoringly into his brother's face. He wondered if she'd requested that song just to rub salt in the wound.

“Ah.” Grady nodded. “I get it now. Fuck that shit. You can have all the rodeo queens, Pretty Boy. The maintenance is too high for my blood. 'Sides”—he grinned—“I'm hankering for a piece of that.” He inclined his head toward a tall redheaded cowgirl approaching the bar.

Dirk's hackles rose to see that he meant Janice. He didn't understand why Grady'd set his sights on her when there was any number of women present that he could have taken straight up to his room, probably without even buying them a drink.

“What's your poison, Sweet Cheeks?” Grady asked.

“Just a beer for me. Whatever's on tap is fine,” Janice replied.