Chapter 4
Shyanna could tell Jensen was confused when her phone went off. “Wha-what’s that noise?” he asked, peering around through half-lidded eyes.
“It’s my phone. Alarm. Time to get up. I’ve got to go take care of Rhubarb. You should probably get up too and go see about your guys,” she said as she sat up, the sheet still pulled up and over her breasts.
And she giggled when Jensen grabbed it and pulled it down. It was hard to stay still when he leaned in and nipped her left nipple, but she managed. “I’d really rather stay here with you,” he groaned and slid his hand up her thigh.
“I’d rather stay here with you, but I can’t.
I’ll see you in a bit, okay?” Standing beside the bed, she began picking up her clothes starting with her panties and making her way into the living area where she’d lost most of them.
When she sat down on the sofa to pull on her jeans, the ache between her legs made her suck in a breath, but she liked it―a lot.
It was some kind of delicious. She could hear him moving around on the other side of the folding door, and she grinned to herself.
Jensen Strader was a man she never thought she’d have a chance with―long legs, long arms, tall, muscled up, and a gentleman unlike any other she’d ever met.
Having someone who respected her as a person and didn’t just want her as a piece of ass when he was drunk would be something new for her, and he claimed he was interested in a relationship.
That was more than she could’ve ever expected.
“Bye. See you later,” she told him as her hand grasped the latch on the door.
But when she opened it, she hesitated long enough to peer out.
No one else seemed to be moving about, so she wasn’t too afraid of being seen leaving his trailer.
By the time she got to the barn, she’d braided her hair again and straightened her clothes.
Rhubarb was sleeping on her feet, and Shyanna just let her be. By the time she got showered and changed, her mare would be awake and hungry, so she made her way to her trailer. Thirty minutes later she was ready for the day and hoping to find something at the food trucks when she got there.
They didn’t disappoint. There was a chicken and cheese biscuit in her sack along with a hash brown patty, and the coffee smelled fresh and rich. She’d no more than sat down when a deep voice asked, “This seat taken?”
“By you,” she said with a grin as Jensen joined her. “Finally up and at ’em?”
“Yeah. I was up really late last night.”
“Oh, you were, were you? And why is that?”
“I dunno. Somebody kept snatching all the covers off me,” he said with a chuckle as he unwrapped his breakfast.
“I bet you kept kicking them off and just wanted somebody to blame it on,” she offered, snickering.
“Uh-huh. You go with that story if it makes you feel better,” he said with a smirk. They sat in silence, eating the equivalent of fast food, until everything was gone except the coffee.
“What the hell’s going on here?” a voice asked, and they both turned to find Stag coming their way. “I’d ask to sit down, but I’ve got to be careful of the company I keep,” he said, his voice serious but the hint of a smile on his face.
“Yeah. We’re bad news. Terrible reputations. You know, cleaning up after ourselves and saying please and thank you and all that kinda shit. Wouldn’t want to get mixed up with the likes of us,” Jensen said with a chuckle.
“Well, this is it. It’s make or break time, y’all,” Stag said. “Tonight’s the night we’ll find out who’s going on and who’s going home.”
“Every go-round tonight will be wicked. I can’t wait.” Jensen was excited. His rides had been exceptionally good the previous months, good enough to keep him at the top, and he expected that evening to be no exception. “Shy, you did really well last night.”
“Thanks. I guess I’m out of team roping though, what with the lack of a partner,” she mumbled under her breath.
She could hear the shock in Jensen’s voice when he said, “I know I’m no pro, but I thought we did pretty good.”
Shyanna shook her head. “Yeah, but you can’t do that every night. You’ve got your own events to prepare for. You shouldn’t be helping anybody out, just concentrating on your own work.”
“I don’t mind, really.” He’d finished his food and was still sipping his coffee. “I can keep doing it until you find another partner,” he told her.
“I’m not going to find another partner. Nobody wants to rope with me,” she said, her voice low enough that Jensen had trouble hearing her.
It seemed Stag had heard her when he said, “Well, that’s what happens when girls get involved in a man’s world.”
“Girls? This is a woman, in case you haven’t noticed,” Jensen snapped back. “She’s got as much of a right to be in those events as any of us.”
“I’m just sayin’, you know how it is,” Stag said, and Shyanna could tell he was trying hard not to look at her.
Why couldn’t the rest of the guys be as supportive as Jensen?
One look up at him and she could tell Stag’s words were pissing Jensen off.
They were pissing her off too, but she was used to it.
Jensen, on the other hand, was such a good guy that he didn’t understand what she’d gone through all those years.
It was time to cut the tension and, besides, Shyanna had finished her food. “I guess I’d better get going. See y’all later.” As she stood, she picked up her trash and carried it to the nearest can before heading back to the barn. Rhubarb would be waiting for breakfast.
“I know your organization is smaller than some, and that’s where we’d like to come in and help,” the bespectacled man in the expensive suit told Jimmy Fuller, one of the founders of the USPCA.
“And how do you intend to do that?” Jimmy asked.
Wallace Bergman cleared his throat. “We can sign on as your chief sponsor, and the money will roll in.” What he didn’t tell Jimmy was that they’d expect to have all other veterinary medicines banned from the grounds.
If there was a horse sick with something they didn’t make a medication for, well, sorry ’bout its luck.
That’s how it would have to be, but that little detail would be buried in the contract and by the time they realized it, it would be too late.
Zesser Pharmaceuticals would wait and let them do whatever they wanted until they’d taken half a million dollars in sponsorship money.
Then they’d pounce and enforce the stipulations of the contract.
USPCA would’ve taken enough sponsorship money that they couldn’t pay it back, and they’d have to capitulate.
And once they were in the door, they could go to work.
There had to be cowboys in their association who’d needed money or drugs, and Bergman’s ability to skim quality control deleted drugs gave him a big supply of illegal pharmaceuticals with which to make money for him and his minions.
Rodeo fans would flock to their rodeos when they discovered they could get cheap pharmaceuticals right there in the stands, and ticket sales would soar.
And that would be good for the USPCA too, even though they were clueless.
“I don’t know about that. There’s gotta be a catch. What is it?” Jimmy asked, and Bergman had to admit, the old cowboy was no dummy.
“No catch. Just our standard contract. That’s it.”
“You know I’ll have to talk to my partner about this before I can commit to it,” Jimmy informed him. Bergman had expected that. Dale Gresham was an astute businessman, and Jimmy couldn’t make that kind of decision without talking to his partner.
“Not a problem. Just give me a call. I’ll be around,” Bergman said, standing and picking up his briefcase.
By the time he got to his car, he’d passed at least fifteen cowboys. God, they were a rangy-looking group. He’d be thankful when he got back to the city. Those raggedy country types completely freaked him out.
“And he says he can get us a lot of money if we just let them be our primary sponsors,” Jimmy explained to Dale the next day.
“What’s the catch?” Dale asked.
“I asked the same thing. He said there wasn’t one, just the standard contract.”
Dale knew better. “Did he leave you a copy of the contract?”
“Sure. You gonna read the whole damn thing?” Jimmy asked, laughing.
“Nah. Just the highlights,” Dale answered, but that was a lie. He’d read the whole thing and then call this Bergman clown back. Damn city slickers. They always thought country folk were ignorant.
That would be Bergman’s downfall. He’d just met his match.
“What are you doing?”
Shyanna looked up from the list to see Jensen standing there, hands on his hips. “I’m scratching myself off,” she answered quietly.
“No, you’re not. You’re going to stay in the event. Damn it, I told you I’d help you out,” he said, taking the pencil from her hand.
“And I told you that you shouldn’t be doing that,” she replied.
He shook his head. “I’m a big boy. I can decide what I should and shouldn’t do. I’ve got to get down to the alleys. It’s almost time for the bulldogging event. But don’t scratch yourself, Shy, I mean it.”
“Okay, okay. Fine. You win―this time. But next time, maybe not,” she said with a tiny grin. Shit, he was an insistent son of a bitch.
She watched as he strode down the concourse and down the stairs.
At the bottom, he turned and disappeared into the alleys, and she knew it would be just a matter of time before he’d be down there in the holding area astride Cobra, the big dun dancing as Jensen held him back.
Then it was time for the event to begin.
The first two cowboys out of the chute did pretty well.
The third readied to drop onto the steer and when he reached for the animal, it slowed to a stop and he sailed right on past it.
Two more went out, both of them doing only marginally well, and the sixth broke the barrier and had ten seconds added to his time.