Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Zoe
I was alone for once, but I still could not rest the way Warrick wanted me to. Lying in a bed, in his house, I couldn’t help but feel surrounded by him.
So, what do I do? I pulled out my phone and googled Warrick Donovan’s Bull Ride.
At least fifteen new pages and about fifty videos came up with Google. Instead of reading it—I didn’t think I’d get the depth of what I needed to know about Warrick by reading it—I pulled up a video titled, RISING STAR BULL RIDER ALMOST FATAL ACCIDENT.
The first thing I saw was what looked like a metal stall, kind of like one that held the horses in the stables, but this was big. My gut lurched into my throat when I saw handlers dodging the horns and hooves of a brown bull banging around in the chute.
I paused when the stats came on the screen: Name: Diablo, Breed: American Spinning Bull, Brand: 127, Sex: Bull, Color: Brown, Weight: 1600 pounds (730 kg).
“Christ on the Cross,” I whispered.
Scared out of my wits, I googled Diablo and saw that he was one of the highest-scoring spinner bulls on the circuit. No one could stay on him for more than a second or two, not local champions or national riders.
Back to the video, I saw a young, beardless Warrick sitting on the fence—and once again, I paused. His bone structure could have made a statue crumble in shame. The strong slant of his cheekbones and the chiseled jut of his jaw made my stomach flip on its head.
I mentally compared Warrick then and Warrick now.
Did I prefer the smooth-shaved version or the rugged, mountain man, bearded Warrick? I didn’t know—both called to different parts of me.
Grimacing, I pressed play and watched as he latched his helmet on and slid himself onto the bull's back. I couldn’t see or hear Warrick, but his body language told me everything—he was off his game.
As soon as Warrick got in, the bull rocked around like crazy in the narrow chute, unable to move much. But as soon as the horn went off and the gate flew, he was a tornado. Warrick was knuckling the rope, but his body was not moving right.
One second.
With one buck, Warrick nearly slammed his chest on a ridged back. In a split second, the bull reared on his back legs, rising in the air in a gigantic buck.
Two seconds.
The bull spun, and with a leap, down the legs came like nails driving into the ground.
Three seconds.
Diablo kicked his back legs out, rocking his front legs once, twice, three times before he rose on his hind legs only long enough to replant his front ones to bring his back end up again.
Four seconds.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing; those hind legs rose higher and higher until he was almost vertical, and I was sure Warrick would fly over that massive head. His hand was slipping on the rope while his other arm waved to balance him out and stop him from touching the bull.
Five seconds.
The clock above the ring was running, and every time the bull came down, I could see Warrick was slipping, balance screwed to shit. I wished I didn’t know what was going to happen…I wished I could close my eyes and wish it all away—but it was inevitable.
The bull gave a vicious sideways twist and spun into this buck; it moved so fast he was a brown blur, except for the deadly gray spikes of his horns—and Warrick went flying. He narrowly missed a hoof to the head as he landed on his shoulder, but his left leg bowed under him. I didn’t need to look to know that the bone had snapped.
The buzzer went off at seven seconds, but the crowd was in shock. The panorama showed slack jaws and shocked faces, hands pressed to mouths, and some people started to cry. Medics were on the scene and soon had Warrick on a stretcher, strapped down, and moving off to an ambulance.
I dropped the phone and sucked in a breath.
I hadn’t even been in that arena, but it still hit me like a sucker punch to the gut.
A knock on my door had me looking up, and Connie’s wide blond hair poked in. “Do you want to come down for dinner or eat up here?”
“I’ll come.” I swung my legs out of the covers, got my shoes on, and then stood to ensure I wasn’t wobbly. I felt more than saw her curious look, then gave her a weak smile. “I went riding today and got?—”
“Numb,” she laughed, “Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt and sold it three hundred times. It creeps on you without knowing it. It’s mostly a posture thing. When I started riding, I was told to sit up straight, open from the hip, pull my shoulders back, distribute my weight evenly across the saddle, and remember to breathe.”
“I’ll try to remember that next time,” I said while following her down the corridor and down the steps.
Even before I got to the patio, the food smelled incredible, and the scent of deliciousness had my mouth filling with saliva.
Connie slid open a wide door leading to a patio, and I saw a long, scrubbed wooden table and rows of mismatched chairs. The different chairs, some hard plastic, some wooden uprights, folding chairs, and even an old office chair—only made me feel how genuine and unpretentious this place was.
The table groaned. Foil platters of roast chicken and roast beef, ham, grilled fish, side dishes of plain rice or Spanish rice, mashed sweet potatoes, and roasted vegetables were in an even line down the middle of the table.
Three cowboys were already there, washed up, in clean T-shirts and bottoms—jeans for two and cargo shorts for Isaac—so I asked, “Where is Santos?”
“Oh, that peacock is back in the barracks primping,” Frankie laughed, “Gel in the hair, cologne spritzed everywhere, his best Sunday clothes on.”
I frowned. “Why?”
They burst out laughing.
“You,” Isaac snorted, “You’re the reason. That man is smitten by any pretty face he comes across. It was the thrill of the chase for him, though. He’s not quite a one and done type, but once the novelty wears off, he is on to the next.”
I could feel them looking for judgment on my part. Casually, I reached for a glass of water. “I’ve met a few of those. Hell, a couple of my boyfriends were some of those. So, there is no judgment here. Some people are made free spirits.”
“Santos is freer than others,” Frankie laughed.
“Are we jumping on the Santos is a man-whore train?” Warrick said while settling into the old office chair and stretching out a leg.
His jeans hugged his hips, and the soft cotton of his T-shirt clung to his chest and shoulders, showcasing plenty of muscle on his frame. My head snapped around in case someone caught me staring.
There I went again. This time, my blush burned all the way to my toes.
Focus, Zoe. Focus.
Warrick had washed his hair, and the dark strands curled at his collars. He brushed a wet lock from across his forehead and angled his head. The tendons in his neck stood out when he did, and something inside me tightened at the sight.
My attention was drawn when hard boots landed on the patio, and we all looked up to see Santos tugging out a seat, then stopping. His tan skin glimmered under the black silk shirt as his eyes narrowed.
He cast a suspicious look around the table. “You fuckers told her about me, didn’t you?”
Connie popped a beer. “Right in one, cowboy.”
He flopped into a seat and sulked. “All of you are dead to me.”
“Even me, darlin'?” Marie asked while setting a platter on the table. “Even after I took hours to make your favorite succotash?”
Santos eyed her. “Maybe not you.” Pouring a glass of lemonade, Santos asked, “So now that I have no chance with you, Zara, tell me, what brings you to our lonely neck of the woods? From what I heard, you were in New York first.”
“I was,” I said, keeping my tone even while hedging on what to say or not say. Sipping my drink, I said, “Same thing for a lot of people. I wanted a fresh start, you know. There came a point where working a laundry list of dead-end jobs got to you and you wanted more. And in my case, fresh air.”
“Is the city that bad?” Isaac asked, his nose wrinkling.
“Some of it,” I said, “The pizza gets worse every year, and you can get what you want in like two walking blocks, but it’s all go, go, go every day, all day. And the apartments are like the size of a shoebox for three times the money. It’s easy to get burnt out. Why? Do you want to go there someday?”
“I’d love to, yeah,” Isaac said, “I’m born and bred country folk, so I would like to see a bit of the city one day.”
“I know some people who can help you out,” I said. “Just give me a heads up.”
His face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Really? Thanks!”
“Enough of that,” Warrick said, “Let’s eat.”
We shared the platters around, and I filled my plate, dug into my food with gusto, and listened to the chatter going around. Everything spelled comfort and warmth, especially around the beautiful sunset, the swaths of vivid orange, red, and burnt gold blazing across the sky before indigo ate at it and twilight set in.
The humidity dipped, and the leaves rustled as a chorus of birds began their nightly serenade from the trees. Soon enough, a crescent moon glimmered in the dark sky, surrounded by a splattering of sparkling stars.
“So, are you planning to stick around for a while?” Lucas asked while wiping his mouth. “We need a little more pretty people around here.”
“I think so,” I replied. “Just don’t ask me to clean up any poop.”
“Noted,” Warrick replied, reaching for his water. “I’ll ask you to oversee then.”
“I’m handing in my two weeks’ notice tomorrow,” I replied calmly.
He narrowed his eyes and tipped back on his chair. “Well, looky, looky. Did someone forget to put Goose back in his rather lavish barn doghouse?”
All three men turned to look as the big dog lumbered up the steps and came around to Warrick’s side to rest his muzzle on his knee. Reaching down, Warrick rubbed his ears. “You should be sleeping, buddy.”
Lucas stretched. “Speaking of sleeping, after that meal, I will be snoozing like the dead.”
“You surely made a feast of all feasts, Marie,” Connie replied, standing too. “I’ll be tinkering with one of my ATVs before I crash.”
“I’m going to town,” Santos said, “Wanna ride with me, Isaac?”
“Don’t corrupt him,” Warrick warned.
“Good luck with that,” Lucas said his good night and headed off while the rest faded into the night as well.
I offered to help clean up the table and hauled the plates and platters back to the kitchen. “Leave them here,” Marie replied. “I’ll take care of it between tonight and tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I nodded, “Good night.”
Returning to the patio, I found it was only me, Warrick, and Goose there. Seated, I crossed my legs and dared to look over to the two. “You two know each other?”
“I rescued him as a puppy,” Warrick replied. “Well, relative puppy. When I got him, the vet said he was about one year old, but he was as big as a horse’s foal. He’s been by my side ever since.”
“I’ve never been able to hold onto a pet,” I replied. “I had two goldfish and one hamster as a kid. Both fish gave up the ghost and I woke up one day to see the hamster’s cage open. I am sure he made a break for it.”
Another rusty chuckle from him made me smile, “So, from boyfriend to hamster, you have an abysmal record of holding onto a man.”
“I guess—” I shot him a look. “—but what about you? Any crazy exes I need to be worried about?”
“Hardly,” he scoffed.
Sitting forward, I hated doing this, but I had to. Slipping the phone from my pocket, I got back to the video, and I crossed over to him. Resting my back on the edge of the table, I asked. “I don’t want to open a can of worms, but have you ever seen the video of your accident since it happened?”
His brows lowered and his eyes sharpened, dipping to the phone and back to me. “Is that it?”
I pressed play and handed it to him. He took it, his fingertips brushing mine while he watched, his face stoic. I saw his jaw tighten the moment I suspected he’d fallen, but he only gave it back to me when it was over.
“Now you know the worst night of my life,” he said, “I left after that for months of surgery and rehab. They asked me to come back but I couldn’t—I couldn’t do it anymore. It felt alien to me and besides, my parents had passed, and I had to come and take over the ranch.”
“How bad was it?” I asked tenderly.
In response, he drew up the leg of his left pant and tapped at a place in his shin. “I have plates here and here, and I had to reconstruct my knee with metal and plastic prostheses.
A part of my muscle was shriveled and had to be grafted with parts of my tendons and human donors. That was my fifth surgery, and it took me out for almost eight months. Overall, I was down for over a year and a half.”
“Jesus,” I whispered.
His lips thinned. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Pity,” he said tersely, “I hate that more than anything else.”
“I’m not looking at you with pity,” I resisted while rolling my eyes, “To me, you’re nothing but a survivor. Why do you think you are anything else?”
“Because as the days go by, I don’t feel like one,” he sighed. “It’s hard to see your dreams slip by and know you’ll never be able to regain them.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Tell me about it.”
He didn’t call me on that, but I knew he had heard it and had filed it away to bring it up later. Shaking my head, I reached out and rested my hand atop his free one. “You survived something that few people do. You should be beyond proud.”
Warrick didn’t reply for a moment but looked at my hand. After a long, exaggerated moment, he turned his hand up and touched mine palm-to-palm. “What is the lowest point in your life that you didn’t think you came away from?”
“If I told you, you’d never believe me,” I whispered.
“You know, some of the guys here think that you would like to have a different relationship with me than we already have,” he murmured.
“What do you mean? Like when you are being a grumpy, surly, one-word answering caveman,” I asked. “Well, I could do with less of the caveman routine and more of an open-minded?—”
His hand grabbed my wrist and pulled me onto his lap; the second hand went around the back of my neck, and his lips met mine. I felt the texture of his lips, hard yet velvety, and it made me feel swoony. Overcome by giddy desire, I instinctively let him in when he licked the seam of my mouth.
He made a muffled sound, his arms closing around me like iron bands, and our kiss caught fire, the new sensations incinerating my capacity for thought. All I could do was fall into the experience: the heat melding our mouths, the powerful sweep of his tongue.
My heart raced, and the kiss turned slow and lazy and scorching, all heavy breath and bodies pressing together. I wrapped my arms around his neck, wanting—needing—more. And it didn’t seem like I was the only one.
He pulled the tie out of my hair and sunk his fingers into the chaos in my hair, slanting his lips over mine. My breasts pressed against his chest, and my hips notched right on top of his. It was perfection, pure, utter perfection.
I didn’t want it to end.
Warrick changed the kiss from rough and intense to slow, deep. And it went on and on until I was sure it would never end. The way he commanded my mouth told me he certainly never wanted it to end.
I couldn’t leave; he wouldn’t let me even if I wanted to because he was kissing me like a drowning man begging for air. Speaking of air, my lungs were burning, and reluctantly, I broke the kiss off first, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I slugged in air while I ignored his moan of protest.
His eyes were dark pools, while my lips were swollen, and while I had no words to say, he had some. “I’ve told myself time after time that this was a bad idea, that crossing lines over from employee to…”
“…something else?”
“Something else.”