Her embarrassment warmed to a conflagration. It had only been a second, she knew it had, but she felt guilty about staring, as if shed invaded his privacy in some obscure way.
Then, when he was almost past her, the sneer softened for an instant into a smile. For that instant it seemed to her as if the smile was inside her and touching all her senses at once: she felt it like a warm breath against her skin, heard its music like the tinkle of wind chimes, smelled its fragrance and tasted its sweetness like aching memories of long summer days in childhood. Just for an instant
Then he was reaching for the top bar and pulling himself up and over the fence with the fluid grace of a wild animal. It was then, with her perceptions returning to dusty sweaty reality, that Lauren realized the spurs on his boots had no rowels.
The breath shed forgotten a while back gusted from her along with a little exclamation of surprise. A bareback bronc rider without spurs? What was that? She knew competitors in that event, assuming they managed to avoid being bucked off for the mandatory eight seconds, were judged in part on how vigorously they employed their spurs to the animals neck and withers. Which was a big part of why Lauren didnt care for the rough-stock events. Timed events, like roping-now that was different. She considered a well-trained working quarter horse a wonder and a joy to behold, sheer beauty on four hooves, and never tired of watching horses and riders working together in perfect sync. But as far as she was concerned, the bucking events were just so much machowell, bull. Grown men trying to show one another how tough they were by tormenting bigger, faster and stronger animals, and risking life and limb in the process. What could be dumber than that? But here was a man whod just taken one of the most breathtaking rides shed ever seen, and without once resorting to the barbarity of spurs!
Maam? A short distance away, the man called Bronco had dropped to the ground beside the fence and paused to regard her with those fierce brows pulled down in a frown and a question.
Lauren had to wait for the crowds roar as a new rider burst from the chute, a moment that seemed to take forever, tethered as she was to those terrible eyes. When it had subsided, it was all she could do to hang on to her poise as she made a gesture toward his scuffed dust-caked boots and tried to explain. I was just noticing you dont wear spurs. Howd you get that horse to buck like that?
It seemed another interminable time before he answered her. A time in which his face remained absolutely deadpan, only those obsidian eyes moving as they subjected her to a thorough and frank appraisal. Horse and I have an understanding, Johnny Bronco finally drawled.
His voice was a surprise-warm and deep, but with an unexpected roughness to its texture. Like a bearskin rug.
An understanding
Under those forbidding brows, his eyes glittered now with something shed have sworn was amusement. He makes me look good, I dont hurt him. That way we both come out ahead. He touched a finger briefly to the brim of his white cowboy hat before he turned.
As she watched him walk away, his contestants number flapping between his broad shoulders, Lauren discovered that she was smiling, and that, for no apparent reason, her heart was beating hard and fast.
An understanding
Hed spoken almost those same words to her yesterday, she remembered, moments after shed tromped on his instep with the heel of her cowboy boot. Just after hed subdued her with embarrassing ease.
Lets you and me come to an understanding, Laurie Brown, hed whispered in her ear in that skin-shivering voice that she imagined must resemble the warning growl of an alpha-male wolf. You dont give me trouble and I dont hurt you. That way we both come out of this unbloodied.
She thought she must have begun hating him at that moment.
Brought you some breakfast, he said now, his tone so indifferent, his face so empty of expression she wondered if shed imagined that chuckle. He placed a foil-covered paper plate on the foot of the cot and held out a heavy crockery mug, adding, Coffee? with aloof courtesy, like a waiter.
Lauren took the mug and curled her hands around it, judging for a moment its weight and the heat of its contents and considering its possible effectiveness as a weapon.
It was a fleeting thought. Gazing into the shimmering black liquid, she saw instead a pair of glittering eyes, and was sure that her captor would already have read the notion in her mind. She remembered all too well the feel of his hands on her arms, the hard press of his body, like something not made of human flesh, bone and sinew, with reflexes quicker than thought. She remembered pain, too bright and sharp to bear but gone before she even had time to gasp. And still not something she cared to experience again anytime soon.
She ducked her head and sipped the steaming brew, then shuddered and thrust the mug away. I take it with cream and sugar.
Ill keep that in mind, he said dryly as he moved to the door in that silent gliding way that was so different from the cowboys swagger shed seen yesterday, watching him cross the rodeo arena. He paused with a hand on the door latch. This morning youll drink it black. And youve got ten minutes to do it in. Ill be back to take you to the john, then we ride.
Ride! Lauren rose, clutching the blanket to her chest with one hand, the mug of coffee with the other. Ride where? Where are you taking me? Oh, how she hated the stark hope and fear in her voice.
A moment later she wondered if that might have been what made him hesitate, then turn his head to regard her along one shoulder. His dark gaze swept over her once, up and down, before he replied in a dispassionate tone that made her think, for some reason, of cops and military officers. Youre being moved to a secure location.
Secure! Jangling with adrenaline, she cast a wild look around her. Who do you people think I am-Houdini? And how, she thought hopelessly, will anyone find me then? At least they can trace me this far. People knew I was coming here to see, of all things, a man about a horse
Miss?
Lauren started as a hand touched her elbow. She turned slowly, reluctant to leave behind the image of the black-ponytailed bronc rider nimbly dodging a collision with two miniature cowboys chasing each other through the sparse crowd with war whoops and whirling lariats. One frame stayed in her mind, though, as she faced the bronze-skinned barrel-chested man whod spoken to her. It was that of a gloved hand resting briefly, almost tenderly, on a childs dark head, and a chuckle drifting back to her on the dust-spangled wind.
Miss, the barrel-chested man said again, in a firm but deferent tone that identified him unmistakably as officialdom-even before Lauren noticed the red ribbon emblazoned with Official attached to the pocket of his white Western-style shirt. Im gonna have to ask you to move away from the fence, if you would. We dont want to see anybody get hurt. If youll take a seat in the bleachers
Sorry, Lauren said cheerfully, dusting her hands as she yielded to the guiding hand on her elbow. Actually- and she flashed a smile at the official -Im looking for someone. Gil McCullough. You wouldnt happen to know where I can find him, would you? Im supposed to talk to him about a horse.
Gil? The officials eyes and body language registered surprise. Clearly hed pegged her as a flatlander and a tourist in spite of her scuffed boots, well-worn jeans and light- blue long-sleeved shirt, Western-style but plain-working ranch-hand clothes. Probably her blond hair, she thought, and wished shed thought to stuff it all up inside her hat and out of the way. In this crowd she stood out like a sore thumb-which, come to think of it, probably explained why the bronc rider had noticed her. So much for the notion of kindred souls.
Well, the official said affably, hes got a plenty of em. He jerked his head in the direction of the campers and horse trailers parked in rows behind the arena. Thats his outfit over there-white trailers with the big ol orange sun on em? Just go on over there and ask around. Somebodyll know where hes at.
Lauren murmured her thanks, but instead of looking toward the trailer, her eyes were searching the hard-baked landscape and the clumps of cottonwoods that skirted it for some sign of the cowboy known as Bronco. But he appeared to have vanished into the crowds milling around the bucking chutes and refreshment stands. Or maybe, she thought, hed simply been swallowed up in the shimmering heat waves, like a desert mirage.
A collective gasp rose suddenly from the crowd in the bleachers as a rider bit the dust-hard. The official headed for the arena fence as the announcers voice provided reassurance-Hes okay, ladies and gentlemen, hes okay. Lets give the man a big hand-thats all the reward hes gonna get today.
While the crowd cheerfully applauded the hapless rider, Lauren went off to find the man shed come all the way to Arizona to see. With any luck, if she could manage to talk McCullough down enough on his asking price, tomorrow shed be heading home to West Texas with one of the best quarter horse studs east of the continental divide for company.
expecting company-
What? Lauren interrupted, and gave her head a shake, momentarily confused at hearing the word in her mind spoken out loud and panicked to realize she hadnt any idea of the context.
Broncos eyes gave her no clue. Wed just as soon you not be here when it arrives. He glanced at his wrist. Your ten minutes are now eight. If you plan on breakfast before we mount up, Id suggest you get to it. He thumbed the latch and pushed open the heavy wood-plank door.
The chilled air made Lauren gasp, lending a note of panic to the question shed meant to ask with more dignity and calm:
Are you going to kill me?
Bronco halted as if shed thrown something at him, one foot still on the plank step, the other already on the ground. Then he pivoted slowly back to face her. With his arms braced, one on the door, the other on the frame, he appeared to bar the way as if he actually thought she might try a break for freedom.
In contrast to the tension and the unspoken dominance in his posture, his chuckle sounded almost friendly. Kill you? Why would we do that? Youre worth too much to us alive.