Blazing Bedtime Stories, Volume VIII: The Cowboy Who Never Grew UpHooked Read online

“—thought maybe you and I could get acquainted,” she went on. “I’ve been a fan for years and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do—”

  “That’s great, sugar,” he cut in, giving her his infamous smile, “but I’ll have to take a rain check.” He sidestepped her and left her staring after him.

  He wasn’t trying to be rude. Hell, he loved women. All women. Brunettes. Redheads. Blondes.

  Especially blondes with green eyes.

  His thoughts torpedoed back to the arena and the woman he’d stumbled into earlier. She’d been all stuffed up with her button-up blouse and stiff black skirt, her hair pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail. Nothing like most of the buckle bunnies who hung out near the chutes. Then again, he’d learned never to judge a long time ago and so he knew the hands-off vibe he’d gotten off her had been just an act. Obviously a damned good one since he was still thinking about her. And her luscious body. And her eyes. She’d had the prettiest he’d ever seen. Rich. Potent. Mesmerizing. Like ripe pastureland after a month of April showers.

  Her image haunted him for a few more heartbeats before he managed to tuck it away and focus on the situation at hand.

  Women.

  Yep, he loved ’em and he never failed to make time. And he sure as hell didn’t mind signing autographs for each and every one. He loved his fans.

  But this was different. It was crunch time. His younger brother’s birthday was tomorrow and Pete intended to be there when Wade rolled out of bed. He’d never let the kid down before and he sure as shootin’ wasn’t going to start now. Wade had seen enough disappointment in his young life. They both had.

  “Don’t tell me,” Eli McGinnis said when Pete stepped off the bus and found him standing nearby. “One got past me.” Eli had a head full of steel-gray hair and a mustache to match. He wore a straw cowboy hat, a pearl-snap shirt and a pair of starched Wranglers. Word on the circuit had it that he was seventy-five if he was a day, but to hear Eli tell it he was barely legal. “Dammit to hell, I hate a crafty gal.”

  “It was two gals,” Pete told his driver. “Aren’t you supposed to be standing guard until we’re ready to pull out?”

  “I cain’t be standing around all day babysitting this big old bus like I ain’t got nothin’ better to do.”

  “That’s what I pay you for.” Eli had been working for Pete ever since the man had retired from the rodeo circuit himself. Pete had learned the ropes from Eli, so he owed him. He’d given him a job and a place to live after he’d retired. Eli had been a permanent fixture in his life ever since.

  “You pay me to drive,” Eli reminded him. “Besides, you ain’t the only rooster in the bunch, you know.” He tugged at his pants and straightened his belt buckle. “Maybe I had a little female company that I just couldn’t turn down. A man like me’s got needs, ya know.”

  Pete eyed him. “Bathroom break?” he finally asked.

  “Funnel cake.” Eli swiped at the powdered sugar that clung to the corner of his mustache. “But just so’s you know, I surely ain’t lost my touch. That there cake was served up by a mighty nice-looking female named Justine.” He grinned. “Why, she gave me a few extra shakes of sugar and didn’t even charge me for ’em.”

  Before Pete could point out that Justine gave everybody extra shakes because she had a nervous condition that made her hands tremble, his two stowaways came sashaying off the bus. Pete spent the next few minutes signing two autographs—left shoulder blade and right bikini line—and posing for some quick pictures before managing to excuse himself and disappear back inside.

  “Are they gone?” he asked when Eli finally climbed back inside the bus and powered the door shut behind him.

  “For now, but I wouldn’t go counting my chickens just yet. One of them twittered or tweedled or some such nonsense and I saw a whole mess of females coming around the semi parked just behind us.” He shook his head. “Which means we’d better get the hell out of here ’afore somebody else crawls up in here. It’s a helluva long way home.” Eli climbed behind the wheel and radioed security to clear a path.

  A few seconds later, the bus rumbled forward and Pete breathed a sigh of relief.

  Followed by a growl of aggravation when he walked into the bathroom a few minutes later and pulled back the shower curtain. And found yet another woman waiting for him.

  The woman.

  The stiff, conservative blonde with the pretty green eyes.

  As irritated as he was, there was just something about the way she stared up at him that made him smile. Oddly enough, the fatigue slipped away and excitement rippled up his spine. “Determined to get that autograph, are you?”

  She was the one to smile this time. A light sparked in her incredible green eyes and his heart skipped a beat. “You have no idea.”

  3

  “SO WHERE DO YOU WANT IT?” Pete Gunner’s deep, sexy voice slid into her ears, skimmed along her nerve endings, and for a split second, Wendy forgot all about her job.

  Her brain conjured a quick visual of his fingers working at the buttons of her blouse and his rough palm grazing her breast as he branded her with his touch.

  She stiffened and reached for her briefcase. “Right here.” She pulled out the stack of papers and slapped them into his palm before she did something really stupid.

  Like give in to the sudden heat slip-sliding up and down her spine, then rip off her clothes and press herself up against his hard, hot body.

  Besides, she’d meant no matter what as in chasing him down and hiding out in his bus and cornering him when he had no easy means of escape. Not jumping him.

  Not yet.

  She ignored her crying hormones and steeled herself. “Just sign these and I’ll be out of your hair.”

  He stared at the contract, his gaze drinking in the first page before colliding with hers. Surprise glittered in his bright blue eyes. “You’re from Western America?”

  “Wendy Darlington. Marketing.” She held out her hand to shake, but he just kept staring at her as if she’d grown two heads.

  “Darlington,” he murmured, seeming to turn the name over in his mind. “Wasn’t there a pitcher by the name of Mitch Darlington?”

  “Daddy dearest.”

  “No way.”

  “Way. Now can we—”

  “Say, didn’t he pitch for the Texas Rangers at one time?”

  “And the Cubs and the Red Sox and a handful of others that have nothing to do with why I’m here. You agreed to sign and I’m here to make sure that happens.” She motioned to the documents in his hand. “There’s only one signature line on the last page, but there are several spots that you need to initial in between. Those are all marked.” She pulled out a pen and handed it to him. “Just sign it all and I’ll be out of your way. You can drop me at the next intersection.”

  He seemed to contemplate her words for the next few moments while her heart beat a frantic rhythm. As if she feared he might refuse.

  He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. They had a verbal agreement and that was as good as gold. This was just a formality.

  A formality that would keep her from getting canned.

  “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” she rushed on. “No surprises. The money’s all there. The terms are exactly what our lawyer spelled out.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll get right on this.” An easy grin spread across his face. “Just as soon as I get cleaned up first.”

  “You could just sign it now and be done with it.”

  “You wouldn’t want me to sign something I haven’t read, now would you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then it’ll have to wait until after I take a shower.”

  The words conjured an image of his hard, rippled, naked body. Water sluiced over him, running in rivulets down his golden skin—

  Um, excuse me. You’re here to work, not fantasize.

  Especially since Pete Gunner wasn’t even close to her fantasy man. She liked calm, mild-mannered, understated men. Like Jim. He was t
he staff accountant for Western and he made an amazing lasagna. He’d brought it to the last office party and everyone had oohed and ahed. He’d also invited her out a half-dozen times over the past year. Not that she’d accepted. She’d been so worried over the new line and Pete’s role as spokesman that she hadn’t wanted to spare the time.

  That, and Jim was just about the most boring man she’d ever met.

  She squelched the thought as soon as it struck.

  Boring was good. Preferable to the love-’em-and-leave-’em type.

  Then why are you standing here watching rodeo’s biggest womanizer take off his shirt?

  Pete undid the last button of his shirt and reality smacked her. “W-what are you doing?”

  “Taking a shower, remember?” He grinned and the shirt dropped to the floor, revealing a muscular chest sprinkled with silky hair. “Unless you plan on washing my back, I’d get while the getting is good.” He reached for the button on his jeans and she whirled. His laughter followed her out of the bathroom and into the living area of the bus.

  A table stood to her left with a bench on one side and two plush-looking chairs on the other. She slid into one of the overstuffed chairs, plopped the papers down on the marble-topped table and drew a steadying breath.

  Okay, so she’d had temporary brain malfunction. No big deal. She would simply reboot.

  Pulling out a pen, she set everything out and flipped the page to the first spot he needed to initial. There. The moment Pete Gunner finished his precious shower, he would sign and she would head back to Houston.

  Her job would be secure. Her life would be back on track. And she could finally breathe again.

  Shifting her attention from the anxiety rippling in her stomach, she took a good long look at her surroundings. The motor coach was top-of-the-line with a rear bedroom, a full-size bathroom and a kitchen. A media center sat just to her left complete with a plasma TV, Blu-ray player and several other pieces of equipment that she couldn’t identify. And then there was her chair.

  The softest, most supple leather she’d ever felt. It tugged at her backside, cushioning her tired muscles, lulling her to sink back. Relax.

  Not.

  She perched on the edge, fully alert, ready for the handsome cowboy to waltz out of the bathroom so she could save her ass.

  At least that was the plan for the first five minutes. But then five turned to ten and ten to twenty, and her back started to ache. She braced herself, but it only made her more uncomfortable. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to scoot back just a little. There. That was better.

  It’s not like she needed to be ready for a foot chase. She had him cornered. If he wanted to stall, fine. She would kick back and wait him out.

  The bus rolled along and the hum of the shower echoed in her ears. Before she knew what was happening, her head started to feel heavy. She slumped forward once, twice. She jerked upright and glanced at her watch. Ugh. It was half-past midnight and she’d been up since six in the morning. To make matters worse, she’d been tossing and turning every night for the past six months thanks to a certain unreliable cowboy. With her job hanging in the balance, sleep hadn’t been a luxury she could afford. Not then and certainly not now.

  She had to do this.

  She yawned and fought to keep her eyes open. A battle she was destined to lose. The chair was too comfortable and the cowboy too damned slow, and suddenly there seemed nothing wrong with closing her eyes for just one teeny, tiny minute. Just to pass the time.

  * * *

  WHAT THE HELL was she doing here?

  The thought echoed in Pete’s head as he stood under the shower and let the hot water beat down on his sore muscles.

  Okay, so he knew what she was doing here. Western had been dogging him with those contracts for months now and they’d obviously gotten tired of waiting. He couldn’t blame them. They’d offered him one hell of a deal. One he’d be crazy to turn down. He would make more in one year as the Outlaw Outfitters spokesman than he’d made in the past three seasons on the circuit. Sure, it wasn’t nearly as much fun. But at least it didn’t hurt like hell.

  He flexed his throbbing shoulder and tried to ignore the stab of pain that shot through him.

  Signing was the best thing for him. He knew that.

  Then stop fooling around and sign already.

  He would.

  He would haul his ass out there, read through everything, sign on the dotted line for the sexy little marketing exec who’d cornered him on his own bus, and be done with it.

  With her.

  At least that’s what he told himself when he finally climbed out of the shower, dried off and put on a pair of clean jeans.

  He found her slumped in a chair, her eyes closed, her lips parted. A steady snore filtered through the air and a smile touched his lips. She was a little thing, but she sure could belt one out.

  He didn’t blame her. He’d paid an arm and a leg for those chairs and he’d dozed off in them too many times to count. Particularly after a night like tonight.

  He sank down in the chair nearest her and shifted his attention to the papers spread out on the table. Snatching up the copy, he kicked back and turned to the first page.

  He meant to read the entire thing.

  He really did.

  But his shoulder nagged at him and he couldn’t seem to concentrate. After two pages, he tossed the stack onto the table and reached for the remote control. A click of a button and a rerun of the latest NASCAR race blazed across the massive screen. The sound roared through the bus and she stirred.

  With the fast reflexes of an eight-time PBR champion, Pete hit the mute button. The sound faded into the steady hum of the engine.

  Wendy shifted, but she didn’t open her eyes. Instead, she half turned, snuggling deeper into the chair.

  He fixed his gaze on the TV and tried to ignore his throbbing muscles keeping tempo with his heartbeat. He could kiss a good night’s sleep goodbye. Times like this, it was all he could do not to grind his teeth. Which was why he’d turned down the woman tucked into his bed. And the one stowed away in his bathroom. Even a warm, willing body wasn’t enough to distract him from the pain wrenching through him after a particularly grueling ride.

  But damned if the steady, hypnotic sound of Wendy Darlington’s snoring didn’t do just that as he sat there and the minutes ticked by. That, and she smelled really good. Like homemade peach ice cream. And heaven knew he’d always had a hankerin’ for peaches.

  He closed his eyes and focused on the soft zzzzzzz echoing in his ears. Her scent filled his head and oddly enough, his shoulder started to settle down. Not that the pain went away completely. There wasn’t a woman alive who could distract him that much.

  But at least he managed a few hours of peace. No crying shoulder. No bulls to ride. No contracts to sign. And most of all, no truth nagging at him, because, as determined as Pete was to sign the damned contracts, he didn’t really want to. He’d gone from being a nobody to a somebody by being wild and free and reckless. The leader of the notorious Lost Boys—the most talented group of riders on the circuit so-called because they hailed from the same small town of Lost Gun, Texas. Pete was their poster child. He lived for the thrill of the moment, and Western America was all about the future. About supplementing his income when the fun ended and he was no longer raking in the cash. While the contract wouldn’t actually keep him from climbing onto a bull, it would still send a powerful message that Pete Gunner was getting older, wiser and it would certainly end his career as PBR’s favorite badass.

  But none of that mattered as he sat there, listening to Wendy Darlington snore softly just a few feet away. Instead, he fixated on the sound and let his troubles slip away along with the pain. And then for the first time in a long time, he actually fell into a deep sleep.

  4

  SHE HAD THE WORST CRICK in her neck.

  The pain edged its way past sleep until Wendy finally opened her eyes. She blinked once, twice and reality quickly crash
ed down around her.

  Pete Gunner sat on the opposite side of the table, a pile of pancakes drizzled with sweet-smelling syrup in front of him. He wore nothing but a pair of jeans and a smile. His shoulders were broad, his chest solid and tanned and muscular. Golden swirls of hair spread from nipple to nipple before whirling into a funnel that dipped below the table’s edge. A bucking bull tattoo blazed across one thick biceps. Muscles rippled and flexed as he scooped a bite, and her mouth went dry.

  “Good morning.” His deep, sexy voice snapped her back to reality and the all-important fact that there was sunlight streaming through the windows.

  Oh, no.

  She bolted upright and winced at the pain at the base of her skull. “This can’t be happening.” Her gaze swiveled to the window and she blinked against the stream of brightness. “I slept all night? The entire night?”

  “A whopping six hours.” He shoveled in a mouthful of pancakes and chewed.

  “It’s six-thirty? In the morning?”

  “I thought we already established that,” he said after he’d swallowed.

  “Have we been driving all night?”

  “With the exception of a thirty-minute stop, yes.”

  “Where exactly are we?”

  “Texas.”

  She gave him a duh look. “Exactly where in Texas?” She glanced sideways and caught a glimpse of Welcome to Pinto Creek on a road sign that flew by. “Pinto Creek?”

  “For about the next five minutes, then we’ll be in Lost Gun. And then home.”

  “How far is that from Dallas?”

  “Three hundred and twenty-six miles.” He motioned to a mile marker that rushed by. “And counting.”

  “This can’t be happening.” Panic bolted through her and she pushed to her feet. As if there were any place to go. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  He shrugged. “People get grouchy when you wake them up. For all I know you could be some kind of early morning crazy who threatens to murder the first person that taps them on the shoulder. I like breathing too much, especially when I’ve got a mean bull coming up in Boulder next week.”