Chapter Eleven
I n Drew’s truck on their way back from Smith Rock State Park, despite her best efforts, Peyton couldn’t stop thinking about the look in Drew Neisson’s light blue eyes. Let alone the feel of his hot, muscular body as she’d slid down it, feeling every hard inch of him.
Her plan had been to get his heart pounding, but hers still beat like a farrier’s hammer in her chest.
The walk back to his truck had been a blur, her awareness firmly focused on the man shadowing her. And once inside his truck, with him seated so close, close enough to touch, she found her throat too tight to speak and her palms damp.
She expected him to try to delay her return to the rodeo grounds, but he drove them straight back with hardly a word. Did he regret the way he’d looked at her? Like he’d wanted to kiss her more than he wanted his next breath?
Or had he correctly guessed that she would have let him?
Maybe it was worse still, that he considered her a patient, of sorts, and she’d made him uncomfortable with her lame flirtation?
Her face heated with the possibility.
Drew pulled into his space next to the sports medicine clinic trailer and turned to look at her. Ready to bolt, Peyton released her seat belt and grabbed the door handle.
Drew’s deep voice stopped her. “It’s my turn to thank you for today. I had fun. Plus, I’d forgotten how beautiful Smith Rock is. Thank you for suggesting we go there.”
At least part of her embarrassment left her in a cooling rush. He didn’t regret spending the day with her. Which maybe meant he didn’t consider her his patient. She smiled. “You’re welcome. Thank you for taking me. And for catching me.”
The same intensity darkened his eyes again. “You’re welcome. That’s why I’m here.”
The reminder that he had been tasked with keeping her safe definitely ruined the mood. Whatever that mood was, exactly.
She gave him a curt nod and hopped out of his truck.
“Peyton,” he called after her.
She paused in the act of shutting the passenger door. “Yeah?”
“I’ll see you later.”
Not if I see you first. “Okay.” She swung the door shut and hurried on her way.
Maybe it was time for her to focus on fulfilling her contract with Buckin’ TV . The best way to do that would be find the girls and see if anyone would be willing to trade their rides with her for this evening. She didn’t trust the Neisson boys not to switch one of their duds again for the bronc she’d drawn out of the hat this morning before she’d snagged muffins and fritters. With the ladies’ rides for exhibition purposes only, which bronc they rode really didn’t matter. Except to the ladies themselves. As she’d told Drew, they were competitors, after all. But fortunately for Peyton, not all the girls liked an over-the-top wild bucking ride and were willing to trade.
She was heading toward the large RV Nat had rented for the crew when she thought she heard her name being called.
“Peyton! Over here!” Sammie beckoned her from where the women and the crew were congregated near the pens that held rough stock before they were funneled into the arena.
Peyton changed direction and hurried over to Sammie and the other girls.
Climbing up onto the pen fencing next to Sammie and hooking her arms over the top rail, she asked, “What’s going on?”
“Generating content, baby.” Sammie shoulder-bumped her and pointed into the pen, currently filled with very big, very wooly sheep that were used in place of anything larger and more dangerous for the kids to ride during the junior portion of the rodeo. Beth was climbing down into the pen while Nat had the guys filming and recording her.
Still confused, Peyton asked, “What is she doing?”
“She’s going to try to ride a sheep.”
Peyton laughed. “No way. She’s too tall.” Beth was almost as tall as Sammie.
“Doesn’t mean she isn’t going to try.”
Sure enough, Beth grabbed tufts of wool of the nearest sheep and swung her leg over the poor thing’s back. Peyton shouldn’t have felt sorry for the sheep because it took all of two seconds to send Beth flying with a leap and buck that would make any bronc proud.
The other women hanging on the fence whooped and clapped as Beth stood, brushing off her backside and signaling she was unhurt.
Knowing she was far better suited for riding a sheep, Peyton said, “I’m getting in on that action.”
“Yes! Go, girl!” Sammie cheered her on as Peyton climbed through the pen fencing and started working her way toward the clustered sheep slowly so as not to spook them any more than they already were. Her grandfather didn’t raise sheep on the family ranch, but rough stock was rough stock as far as Peyton was concerned. She just needed to keep her approach slow and calm.
“Easy, babies,” she cooed as she eased her way toward a likely subject. The sheep watched her with what she assumed was suspicion with its big, wet, dark eyes. “That’s right. Don’t worry about little ol’ me. I’m just gonna take a quick sit down on one of you sweeties.”
Peyton sidled up to the sheep she’d chosen, pausing for a moment to reassure the animal. The tactic seemed to work because the sheep turned its head away from her. Seizing the opportunity, Peyton grabbed handfuls of wool near the sheep’s shoulders and swung a leg over its back just as the animal bolted into motion. Instead of leaping and bucking as the sheep Beth had tried to ride had done, this sheep just broke into a run around the perimeter of the pen.
Peyton stayed as low as she could and gripped with her legs, but even as short as they were, they still dragged on the ground. The resistance didn’t slow the sheep any, and when it veered close to the fence, her shoulder hit violently enough to knock her off. She landed hard on her back, but the pain blazing through her shoulder and down her arm eclipsed everything else. She grabbed at the point of impact with her free hand.
Though she was pretty sure she was lying in sheep shit, she needed a minute to breathe her way through the pain. Something she’d become very good at as a kid.
Though her eyes were squeezed shut, she sensed something looming over her. God help her if it was the back end of a sheep.
“Peyton. Peyton, look at me.” It was Drew. Using what she guessed to be his doctor voice.
Great. She opened one eye. Drew was on one knee in the sheep doo next to her, his hat pushed high on his forehead. Dang, he was cute.
He grazed his fingertips along her temples. “Did you hit your head as well as your shoulder?”
She released her injured shoulder and slid her hand onto her chest. The last thing she needed was him calling her dad and telling him she was hurt. “I didn’t hit my shoulder. Or my head.” At least half of that was true. To try to prove she was in better condition than she felt, she sat up and had to bite back a groan.
“I saw that sheep try to scrape you off on the fence. I know you hit your shoulder. At the very least.” He reached across her and gently touched her shoulder, probing the joint. She pressed her lips tight to keep from hissing.
“Can you move that arm?”
Though it sent a blaze of pain through her, she lifted her arm and rotated it fully as much for herself as for Drew. Thankfully, she had full range of motion.
Nat leaned down next to them. “Is she hurt?”
Peyton said, “No.”
At the same time, Drew said, “I don’t think so.”
Peyton shot him a glance. She’d totally expected him to say that she was injured. At least enough to keep her from riding later.
Nat straightened. “Excellent. We got some great footage. You just made up for being M.I.A. for the majority of today and yesterday, Peyton.” She turned and picked her way back out of the sheep pen, her arms held high as if manure could levitate.
Drew rose up off his knee and offered Peyton a hand.
She slipped her hand into his, the connection instantly familiar. Holding his hand as they’d walked along the trail, their fingers intertwined, had been…nice. This time, as he wrapped his big, warm hand around hers and hoisted her carefully out of the poop, that nice feeling changed to very, very nice. Especially when he was reacting so calmly to her hurting herself riding a sheep, of all things.
He retained her hand after she was on her feet, but once again tested her other arm and shoulder with his free hand. “I think you probably just got a stinger.”
“A stinger?”
“Basically, an angry nerve. The pain should fade. Especially after being iced.”
Fading would be good. She really wanted the fading part, and soon.
His gaze shifted to something behind them, and she turned to see Natalie motioning for her crew to enter the pen and move closer to Peyton and Drew. He released her hand, but not abruptly. He trailed his fingers along hers in a way that made her completely forget about her shoulder. And the fact that he was a doctor.
Stepping away from her, Drew bent and picked up her hat that had been knocked from her head when she landed.
Maybe she had hit her head. Which would explain the warm fuzzies Drew was stirring in her.
Brushing dirt and other unpleasantness from her hat, he handed it to her, then stepped close enough to run his hands over her head. Her brain recognized that he was examining her for any bumps or tender spots, clearly not willing to take her word for having not hit her head. Her body, on the other hand, processed his touch as a very pleasurable, if not downright erotic, caress. Despite her best efforts, she found herself closing her eyes and tilting her head back as she soaked up the sensations.
His hands dropped away, and she opened her eyes to find him stepping back and adjusting his own hat on his head. He checked the progress of Nat, Dan, and Phil, who were struggling to get the big camera either through or over the pen fencing, then looked back at her. “You know, my siblings and I used to ride these fluffy demons every chance we got at the junior rodeo. Crazy, but a ton of fun.”
Bemused, Peyton smiled at him. Now she had her explanation as to why he wasn’t spitting mad at her. Which would undoubtedly change if he knew how badly her shoulder was hurting her at the moment. She’d been around rodeo and ranching enough to know if she’d done serious damage to her shoulder or arm, like dislocation, separation, or a break, there would be no way she could move it as much as she could. So, she didn’t feel stupid for hiding the throbbing agony. And blessedly, it was her non-dominate hand. She’d be good to ride tonight. She hoped.
She started to return her hat to her head when Drew stopped her.
“Uhm, you have… sheep in your hair.”
“Which you were just touching!” She shuddered.
“Which is why I know it’s there.”
“Eww.” She shuddered again and turned toward the pen fence. “I’m going to take a shower. And you need to wash your hands!”
She heard him laughing behind her. “Good idea on both counts.”
Nat yelled, “Hey, where are you going? I want to get footage of him examining you.”
The memory of Drew’s fingers in her hair and the very sexual response she’d had to it made Peyton’s face flame with embarrassment. Without turning, she responded, “I have sheep shit in my hair. I’m going to shower.” With a wave, she climbed through the pen fencing to the cheers of her fellow Buckin’ Babes.
And the minute she was done showering, or maybe before, she was going to ice her shoulder so Drew wouldn’t know that she was pretty sure she hadn’t just given herself a stinger and risk him calling her family.
*
Drew pulled in a decidedly sheep-scented breath and tried to return his pulse to normal. The feminine shouts had redirected him from heading to the arena where he’d intended on looking for his boss to ask again if there was any way he could find someone else to play nanny to their benefactor’s wild child. Because Drew had almost kissed her. A fact he’d keep to himself for so, so many reasons, but couldn’t be ignored.
His gut had told him if he didn’t go see what the women he’d correctly suspected to be a part of the exhibition bronc riding group were up to, he’d regret it.
And he’d been right.
He’d barely approached the pen holding sheep to be used for the junior rodeo later in the day when he heard shouts of go, Peyton , and ride it like you stole it . He didn’t have to have firsthand knowledge of rodeo shenanigans to figure out what Peyton’s fellow riders were cheering her to do.
He’d broke into a run and reached the pen fencing in time to see Peyton snag and mount a sheep, which in turn took her for a wild ride around the edge of the pen. As a kid, he’d clung to similar sheep in mad dashes across the arena, only to end up sprawled in the dirt as adults cheered raucously from the stands.
Peyton at first appeared to be faring better than most kids, the natural riding abilities she’d claimed to possess in obvious display. But then the sheep had veered toward the pen fencing, either out of panic or in an attempt to scrap her off, and she’d hit a glancing blow to her shoulder on a metal fence post. The impact had reverberated through the tube railing he’d been gripping as he watched. It had to have hurt and had knocked her off the sheep’s back.
Drew had had the same exact thing happen to him when he’d been about ten. Only he’d been on the back of one of his grandfather’s yearling bulls that he’d been dared to ride by Liam. The young bull had definitely tried to scrap him off its back by hitting the paddock fence as it ran. Drew’s arm had gone momentarily numb from the blow, resulting in what his oldest brother Ian had called a stinger. It sucked for a hot minute, but then went away without any real damage or lasting effect.
After seeing the same thing happen to Peyton, Drew’s heart had remained in his throat, though, until Peyton moved her shoulder in a full circle, and he’d reassured himself that her head hadn’t bounced off the ground when she fell.
He’d been disturbingly loathed to release her hand once he had a hold of it. He’d been assigned to keep her safe, but after only a few days in her presence, he found himself wanting to keep her safe in more ways than just from injury.
It seemed he was failing, miserably, at his attempt to keep things clinical, not personal.
*
Peyton groaned long and loud as she settled into the bed in her little trailer, holding an ice pack against her upper arm and shoulder. She’d hoped a couple of over-the-counter anti-inflammatories and a hot shower would ease the throbbing pain from where she’d hit the pen fencing, but they hadn’t. At least not enough. And when Sammie and Nat had checked on her not long after she’d emerged from the shower and found Peyton free of sheep poo but still in pain, Nat had declared that Peyton could take the night off from the ladies’ exhibition ride. She’d earned it by providing great content with her mostly successful sheep ride.
Peyton still hadn’t decided how she felt about missing her chance to ride. While she hated to let anything, especially a physical ailment, get the better of her, she also didn’t want to get bucked off a bronc because she wasn’t at her best. But what Dr. Drew had declared a stinger was turning out to be a nasty lump despite constant icing and was already turning all sorts of interesting colors. She continued to be able to move it, though, which gave her hope.
Dressed in light flannel, gray and blue checked lounge pants and a dark blue cotton T-shirt, she tried to get as comfortable as she could propped up by pillows in bed. She settled her computer on her lap with the intention of watching a movie, but the roar of the crowd attending the night’s rodeo kept distracting her. If only she could make out what the announcer was saying over the PA. She’d be able to close her eyes and envision the action, thus not feel as though she was missing out.
But she couldn’t discern what the announcer was saying. She couldn’t envision what was happening and thus feel a part of the action. She felt the sharp bite of missed opportunities.
She didn’t fear missing out. She hated it.
Lurching up on her bed, she yanked the curtains of the small window over the bed closed and turned the volume on her computer up.
It didn’t help.
Maybe she should just get dressed and go to the arena. If the girls were still riding, she could at least help. And if they were done, then she could make Nat happy by hanging on the fence with the rest of the ladies oohing and ahhing over the guys competing in the main rodeo.
But would she be able to be right there, at the chutes, and not take her opportunity to ride? Probably not. And if she was thrown because she wasn’t operating at one hundred percent, then wouldn’t she be validating her family’s concerns? Absolutely. She couldn’t prove their point that she wasn’t physically up to experiencing life the way she wanted to by being dumb. Far better to miss one night of competing than miss everything.
Peyton resettled the ice pack on her shoulder and her computer on her lap, then scrolled through her downloads for another movie to watch.
A firm knock sounded on the trailer door.
Assuming it was Sammie or Nat checking on her again, Peyton set the ice pack and computer aside and padded barefoot to the door. She turned the lock and opened the door.
And found Drew standing nearly eye to eye with her, his white hat held in his hands and unquestionable concern darkening his blue eyes. His dark blond hair looked like his fingers had been pulled through it more than once.
“Drew,” she said inanely.
“You weren’t at the chutes for your ride,” he answered just as inanely.
Obviously, she wasn’t at the chutes because she was standing in her trailer wearing pajamas. “Did you and your brother have another deadly mount picked out for me? As in, silent but deadly?”
His gaze dropped to his boots, and he worried his hat brim between his hands. Busted.
He blew out a breath and lifted his eyes to her. “Are you okay?”
She shifted, turning her bruised and swollen arm away from him. “Of course. I’m fine.”
His gaze flicked from her high ponytail to her bare feet. Assessing.
He was a doctor, but she still found herself wishing she’d pulled on a sweatshirt over her thin T-shirt. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her respond in all sorts of embarrassingly obvious ways. And while he might be her babysitter, he wasn’t her doctor.
Drew took a step forward. “Can I come in?”
“Why?”
“I need to make sure you’re okay.”
“You’re not my doctor, Drew.” She had to say the words. To remind them both.
“But I am a doctor. Contracted by the rodeo and hired by your—”
“All right, all right.” She huffed and moved away from the door so he could enter her trailer.
She plopped down on the bench and pulled her sleeve up so he could easily see where she’d hit the fence pole.
Drew stepped inside and closed the door behind him with a soft click. Placing his hat down on the dinette table, he sat down next to her. Only a slight frown betrayed his concern as he ran gentle fingers over the bruised lump on her upper arm.
“That’s quite a hematoma you have brewing. Do you have pain?”
Uh, yeah.
She lied, “Not much. It looks a lot worse than it is.”
A blond eyebrow twitched up.
She smiled to sell the lie.
He touched the bruised area again, his fingers featherlight. “Your skin is cold. You icing?”
Her breath caught in her throat, and she would have sworn her skin was on fire, instead of being cold. “Yes.”
He nodded. “Good.” He lifted her arm again, raising his gaze to hers as if watching for pain.
“Drew?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not my doctor, right?” She couldn’t help how breathless she sounded.
He didn’t answer for what seemed forever, then finally said, “Not if you don’t want me to be.”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth of its own volition. “No offense, but I’d rather you weren’t.”
His lips parted in a sensuous smile. “No offense taken, Peyton.”
Then he kissed her.