Page 7 of A Baby for the Texas Cowboy
“Won’t take long,” she said tightly, her gaze not leaving his for the full ten seconds it took him to engage his brain. “Alone,” she added, looking at each of his friends who flanked him.
“Darlin’, you can say what you need to say here.”
“Cut thedarlin’. I’m not looking to dance.”
He heard a few snickers.
“We’ll catch up to you later, Anders,” Kane, the only civilized rider and friend he apparently had, said.
“Whiskey,” Anders began cautiously, wishing himself miles away. Public confrontation had never been part of their deal. Resentment flitted down his spine and settled in his churning gut.
“Alone,” she repeated, and that gauntlet drew out a few whistles. Anders felt someone rock his shoulder and another hip-checked him.
What was up with that? He stared at her nearly uncomprehendingly. She was the one who had wanted to keep their hookups private. He never shared details like that with anyone, and he could see why she wouldn’t want tour staff and other riders to know the two of them had burned up the sheets more than a few times.
She already had men stumbling over each other to get to her. If it got out that she’d hooked up, they’d only be more determined.
He got it. He’d agreed. He’d played it cool. So why was she breaking the rules now?
“You can talk to me here or call me later. I’m heading home. Long drive. My brothers are expecting me.”
Screw the shower. He’d get in his truck now. His appetite was long gone.
“Whiskey!” One of the riders who looked like he’d started celebrating early sauntered up holding a bottle of Jack. “Do your thing. You know, waving the bottle in the air and spinning it around and pouring a shot on your…”
“What the hell is wrong with you, Jason?” Anders lunged forward and clapped his hand over the bull rider’s mouth.
Whiskey’s famous move had been a one-off, a dare that had been memorialized on YouTube to hundreds of thousands of views. He knew. He’d been the cowboy who’d been on the receiving end of that shot. It had been good, sexy fun at the time, but not the brand of his long-term reputation.
He tried to signal to Whiskey that she should go. They could talk later. Never was even better. She looked so hot in her leathers and the cropped, rust-colored biker jacket, he salivated.
“Sure.” She seized the bottle from Jason’s fingers, flipped it around and around a few times like she was a gunslinger, tossed it up, caught it and rolled it across her upper body.
“Who wants a shot?” she asked.
Anders looked around for cell phones.
“We played that game out, sweetheart.”
“You don’t want to talk in private, fine. Listen,” she hissed, her dark, honey-colored eyes the hue of her namesake liquor sparked yellow fury.
Dread washed through him with the same fierce intensity it did when the chute would spring open and the bull would lurch out and Anders immediately knew he was in trouble.
She eased the stopper and tilted the bottle over his head.
“What the hell?” He jumped away but not quick enough to avoid a dousing.
“I’m pregnant.”
He stood there, dripping, reeking of booze, and stared at her.
“Just thought you should know, but I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.” Her furious gaze raked his face. “Don’t worry. I’m not asking for a damn thing. I don’tneedyour money.” She sneered the word. “And I don’twantyou. Just thought it was the mature thing to let you know that, biologically at least, you’re going to be a father. Congrats.”
*
Tinsley barely rememberedwalking out of the arena to her bike. Impotent tears burned her eyes like fire.
“Don’t you dare cry,” she hissed at herself in a voice eerily reminiscent of her mother’s when she was angry at Tinsley’s behavior.
