Reckless in Texas (10 page)

Tossing the phone on the table, Violet headed into her bedroom to strip off her grubby clothes and dive into the shower. When she was scrubbed and dried, slightly more than her bare minimum of makeup slapped on, she dug up a decent set of underwear, pulled the shirt over her head, and studied herself in the mirror. Other than the color, it wasn't so bad. The cap sleeves covered her shoulders and the vee of the wrap front didn't dip very low, but it was really,
really
red. Plus the fabric was stretchy, silky stuff that clung to every curve, and the wrap was held in place by a couple of ties that came loose with a tug. Way more convenient than Violet would've liked, in the interests of her willpower. She turned sideways and winced. The fit didn't exactly downsize her bust.

“For when you want to get someone's attention,” Lily had said with a wink, when Violet opened the box.

She wasn't sure she wanted that much of Joe's attention, but it would have to do. She turned her back on the mirror, grabbed her purse and strode out to the kitchen—then froze when she saw Joe walking across her lawn. Her pulse did a mad little jig. Compared to his usual sloppy T-shirts, he looked almost formal, a black polo tucked into his jeans and topped with a belt and buckle. He bounded onto the deck with those springy steps that made it seem like gravity didn't affect him.

Violet took a deep breath, reminded herself that she had, in fact, been on a date before and did know how to act, then went to the front door to answer his knock. “Hi.”

“Uh…”

He seemed to get stuck after that, so Violet tried again. “Ready to go?”

He nodded, still mute, his eyes fixed on a spot somewhere below her chin. He smelled heavenly, clean and spicy. Probably cologne some sponsor or other had given him. Joe didn't seem to wear anything but freebies. Even tonight his shirt had a Dodge Trucks logo embroidered above his heart. The trophy buckle, on the other hand, was not something they handed out to just anyone. Montana Silversmiths, personalized in gold letters.
Joe Cassidy, National Finals Rodeo Bullfighter.
He was the best of the best and had the hardware to prove it.

He still hadn't moved.

“Joe?”

He drew in a breath big enough to push his shoulders up a couple of inches, then let it out in a whistle. His green eyes gleamed when they met hers. “I thought pink was my favorite color. I'm going to have to reconsider.”

Joe reeled in his tongue and took the car keys Violet held out to him. Considering the way she'd avoided him all day, he'd half expected her to answer the door in the dusty jeans and Texas Rangers cap she'd worn down at the corral. Or to pawn him off with some feeble excuse why she had to cancel. He'd expected damn near anything but that red shirt.

She strode around the far side of the car and climbed into the passenger's seat while he was still trying to adjust his expectations, among other things. He managed to get in the car without slamming anything in the door—barely—but as he put the key in the ignition, Violet reached back for her shoulder belt. Everything lifted and shifted under the red silk and he lost motor function when the scent of warm strawberries washed over him. Screw oranges. He had a new favorite fruit too.

“You dropped the keys,” she said.

He nodded, but didn't move to pick them up.

Violet fanned a hand in front of her face, wafting more strawberries his direction. “Kinda hot in here.”

He nodded. Then he realized she meant the actual temperature, which was about three hundred degrees inside the sun-baked car. He scrabbled around on the floor, found the keys, and got the car started. Violet reached over to crank up the air conditioner and Joe lost another thousand brain cells when the seat belt pulled tight across her chest.

Cross my heart, darlin'.

Violet frowned at him. “You didn't get too much sun out there jogging, did you? You look a little…glazed.”

He blinked, forcing his eyes up and forward. “I'm fine.”

Providing he didn't get distracted and run off the road. That would be bad, especially when the prospects for the evening were suddenly looking very, very good. He'd made his intentions perfectly clear and that shirt was Violet's answer. Unless she'd worn it just to torture him. That brought his blood pressure down a notch.

She tapped the gear shift knob between them. “D is for ‘Drive'.”

Right. He put it in gear. “I was letting the car warm up.”

Because that was important when the outside temperature was pushing ninety-five. Geezus.
Get a grip, Joe.
It wasn't like he'd never seen boobs before. Violet's just had a habit of showing up when he least expected them. Catching him off guard. He frowned as he looped the car into a U-turn in the driveway. If he was going to stay one step ahead, he needed to focus on something besides that shirt.

He patted the steering wheel. “Nice car.”

“Thanks. I just bought it in June. I've barely been home enough to drive it.”

“Got a thing for Cadillacs?” he asked, thinking of her horse.

She smiled slightly. “They both have excellent safety ratings. Plus it's easier to wipe apple juice off leather seats.”

He glanced in the rearview mirror. A booster chair stared at him from the middle of the backseat, radiating waves of disapproval. Joe tilted the mirror up so all he could see was the dust rolling off the road behind them. At the end of the driveway he stopped underneath the black iron gate with a big J set in the middle, then turned toward town. Half a mile down the highway, an identical entrance led to a house and barn nestled against the foot of the bluff, except this gate was shut tight and padlocked. He'd checked it out when he jogged past.

“What's that place? It looks like part of your ranch.”

“It belongs to Cole.”

“He doesn't live there?”

“Not since his family died.”

The declaration was like a bucket of ice water in Joe's face. His foot came off the accelerator and the car slowed abruptly.

“His family?” he repeated. “As in…”

“His parents and his older brother.”

“How?”

“Car wreck.” Violet delivered the information in a monotone, as if she'd said it so many times the emotion was worn flat. “They were driving home from a Cowboys game in Dallas. A woman dodged an armadillo, lost control, and hit them head on.”

“That's…” What? There wasn't a word to describe it, so Joe didn't try. He let the car roll to a stop on the shoulder of the highway as he studied the ranch buildings. Weeds had grown up around the barn and corrals, but the house looked like the owners had only gone away for the weekend. “How long has it been?”

“Fifteen years in November.” Violet's eyes were as dark and flat as her voice. “I was thirteen. Cole was a sophomore in high school.”

Which made Cole around thirty years old, same as Joe. Younger than he looked. Or acted. “No wonder he's so, uh…”

“It didn't help.”

Joe cocked his head, curious. “He's never been the sociable type?”

“Not really, but it got worse after the accident because, well, you know.”

Honestly? No. Joe couldn't possibly know. He'd never had that much to lose. There was really only his mother, and she drove him insane sometimes, but he couldn't imagine…

“We're still recovering. Financially, I mean. The other, well…” The hitch of her shoulders held a pain too deep to express. “They were partners, our dads. Mine was the horse guy, the practical one. Cole's dad was all about the bulls. The big dreamer. Always swore someday one of his bulls would buck in the eliminator pen at the National Finals.” She blew out a breath that was half laugh, half sigh. “Dirt Eater is the last of the calves out of his cow herd.”

“He gets my vote.”

She blinked, clearing the shadows from her eyes. “Really?”

“Sure.” Joe gave a shrug of his own, searching for a way to lighten the mood. “But what do I know—I'm just a bullfighter.”

She laughed, the sound a little forlorn. “Feel free to pass that vote along to the powers that be, would you? Then maybe I'll get to stand on the back of the chutes in Las Vegas at least once before I'm too old to climb the steps.”

He should've taken the bitter edge in her voice as a warning and steered clear of the subject, but once again his curiosity won out. “Your parents were talking about the McCloud stock this morning at breakfast. Sounds like the deal fell through.”

“It never got off the ground. We can't come up with enough capital to buy him out.”

“Sure you can,” Joe said. “You can sell Dirt Eater.”

Her jaw dropped, her expression as horrified as if he'd reached out and slapped her. “I…we…
no!
That's insane. When you get a bull like him, you build on those genetics, you don't sell it.”

“You do if you've got the opportunity to double up the quality of the rest of your herd.” Joe pivoted in his seat, bracing an elbow on the steering wheel as she continued to stare at him as if he'd suggested she put Beni up for auction. “Think like a cowboy, Violet. If you want to put on the best rodeos, you have to attract the best contestants, and they have a lot of options. Why would you choose one rodeo over another?”

“Prize money.”

Joe shook his head. “Too simple. You want the best chance at winning the money, which means the best odds of drawing a horse or bull that will take you to the pay window.”

“Same thing.”

“Not even close. As of now, you've got six solid pay-window bulls.” He listed them off, beginning with Carrot Top. “If you average thirty bull riders per rodeo, buck each bull twice, that's less than a fifty-fifty shot at drawing a winner.”

Violet's stare morphed into astonishment. “You've worked one rodeo and you've got our whole lineup memorized?”

“It's my job.”

She gave her head a shake. “You forgot Dirt Eater.”

“When's the last time someone won a check on him?”

Her chin came up, pride sparking in her eyes. “No one has made the whistle on him in two years.”

“So he's not exactly a money bull, is he? Not at rodeos like yours. You ride that bastard, you should get paid thousands of dollars, not hundreds.”

Violet's chin wobbled a touch. “Are you saying he's too good for us?”

“He's too good for anything but the top twenty rodeos in the country.”

She ducked her head. Joe breathed a silent curse. He wasn't trying to be mean. Just practical. And this was a lousy way to start a date.

He made a deliberate effort to sound sympathetic. “I know it's hard to part with a bull like him, but with the money you'd get for that one animal, you could step up the level of your entire herd. I've watched Dick Browning do this three different times over the past fifteen years and look where he's at now.”

Exactly where Violet wanted to be. At the top. Or close. Dick hadn't quite made that last leap, but with Joe's help…

“He sold something as good as Dirt Eater?” Violet demanded.

“Ever heard of Lightning Jack?”

“Of course. He's the leading bucking horse sire in the business.”

“Well, Dick Browning raised him—and sold him right after his first trip to the National Finals, for major cash. Enough to buy a brand-new semi.”

“Seriously?” Violet's nose wrinkled in disgust. “He sold a potential Hall of Fame horse to buy a truck?”

Okay, maybe that wasn't the best example. It still rankled that Dick had ignored every argument Joe mounted against the sale. He sure wouldn't admit that he'd shed a few private tears when Lightning Jack climbed into someone else's trailer.

“This is a business, not a petting zoo.” He thumped a finger on the console between them. “Dick needed capital and he didn't let feelings get in the way. That's how you grow.”

“You don't sell your legacy.”

The set of Violet's mouth was stubborn as she turned her head to gaze at the abandoned ranch, but he'd seen the flicker of speculation in her eyes. She was thinking about it. Imagining the possibilities. Now was the time to back off, let her come around on her own—not that he had any stake in her decisions. But he could feel the frustration, the
wanting,
rolling off her in waves. The least he could do was attempt to point her in the right direction.

He straightened in his seat and pulled the car back onto the highway. “Just an idea.”

Violet didn't say anything. Joe counted off her silence in mileposts.
One, two, three…

“Cole would never agree.”

Joe almost smiled, but she'd brought up an angle he hadn't considered. “Does he own Dirt Eater?”

“No more than the rest of us.” Violet shifted, adjusting her seat belt, and Joe's vision went red again. So much for distracting himself. “We had a mess on our hands after the accident. No wills, no life insurance, nothing. Once we were back on our feet, I persuaded Daddy to sit down with a financial planning firm. They set us up as a corporation, with the five of us as equal partners.”

“Five?”

“Dad, Cole, Mom, Lily, and me.” Violet ticked them off on her fingers.

“You all have equal say?”

“In theory.”

But in practice, Steve had the final say. He was willing to listen, though, which was a novel experience for Joe. Versions of this afternoon's discussion at the corral had played out a hundred times on the Browning Ranch, but Dick didn't take suggestions or tolerate disagreement. He might eventually come around to Joe's way of thinking. But by then it was always Dick's idea.

He did come around, though. That's what mattered, not who got credit. Not pats on the back and
Atta boys,
no matter how warm and fuzzy Steve's approval made Joe feel. Dick Browning didn't dish out praise. Joe had never needed it. But the stark contrast had stung enough to send him running, pounding out mile after scorching mile. His brain felt blistered by the constant friction of his thoughts grinding around and around and around inside his skull. If he didn't find a way to stop them, he was going to bust an artery.

He took a deep breath full of warm, sweet female.
Here. Now.
For the moment, everything else was out of his control, and he couldn't think of a better way to focus on the present than concentrating on how to get Violet out of that shirt.

* * *

Earnest, Texas, was a cluster of buildings ten blocks square, indistinguishable from any other wide spot on the plains. Violet pointed to a street ahead. “Turn left up there. The barbecue place is two blocks down.”

Joe followed her directions and parked outside the tiny, shingled building with a plywood sign that read The Smoke Shack. The place was even smaller than it looked from the outside, and the owners seemed to think the heavenly aroma of smoked meat was all the decor it needed. Two lopsided tables the size of checkerboards were shoved against cheap wood paneling. A window was cut into the wall opposite the door, with a counter below and a hand-printed menu above: brisket, ribs, and sausage, pinto beans and potato salad on the side.

The lanky, shaggy-haired teenager behind the counter tore his attention away from a television mounted in the corner of the kitchen. His eyes went wide beneath the brim of his cap and his mouth pursed into an appreciative whistle. “Whoa, Violet. Nice…shirt.”

“Shut up, Korby.” Her disgusted glare failed to register because his eyes were locked on her chest. “Any chance you could quit staring at my boobs long enough to get us some food?”

He blinked and dragged his gaze up to her face, then over to Joe's. His jaw dropped another notch. “Hey, you're Joe Cassidy. I thought Hank was filling me full of shit when he told me you were coming down here.”

“Are you a bullfighter too?”

“Oh, hell no,” the kid said.

“Korby thinks he can ride 'em,” Violet said.

“Hey, I qualified for the state high school rodeo the last two years!” Korby boasted. “Practice session tomorrow afternoon, right?”

“Every Wednesday till the weather turns.”

Korby puffed out his chest. “Then Joe can see for himself.”

Violet gave the menu a pointed glance. “Assuming he doesn't starve to death first.”