Page 3 of Cowboy Under Siege

Jaren gave a little jolt at the sound of her voice. It didn’t possess the country twang he expected. In fact, it was more cultured. Refined.

So she was nervous. Not from around here. And what? Hiding out? Running from something? Maybe a bad ex. Every pretty girl had one of them in her life.

“Luck of the draw,” Zach drawled out in return. With a smile, he skirted past her to hang with some guys.

So they weren’t a couple. And if Jaren’s interpretation of body language said anything, probably not even lovers.

Which left the door wide open for him.

“Caseyyy Clayton!” The announcer’s voice boomed through the arena, and he focused on his buddy seated on the back of his bronc. The rope was twisted around his hand, locking it down hard just the way Casey showed Jaren when he practiced.

He was beginning to regret his choice not to compete. Hell, he couldn’t do worse than that last rider, and mounting a bucking horse in front of a whole arena full of people didn’t compare to some of the crap he pulled. Of the five Abel brothers, he was responsible for the most white hairs on his momma’s head.

He let out a loud whoop as Casey hit the eight-second mark. When the buzzer sounded, he jumped off and ran several paces away from the horse that was still bucking for the crowd.

Sticking his fingers in his mouth, Jaren let out a shrill whistle to cheer for his friend.

It also caught the brunette’s attention.

Her gaze swept over his face. He threw her a smile and thumbed the brim of his white Stetson that set him apart as WEST Protection in this town. Though she wouldn’t know that since she wasn’t from these parts.

Her stare lingered on his smile for a long beat, leaving him absolutelynodoubt that he could blow her mind in bed. He caught her eyes again.

Quickly, she wrenched her stare free of his. But the small smile teasing the edges of her full lips hit him like a bolt of lightning.

So did an idea.

He strode straight up to the guy running the show. “Where do I sign up?”

The roughened old-timer peered at him, one eye squinted as if trying to make out if he was drunk or just plain stupid. “Awful late, son. There’s only one event to go.”

“I know. Sign me up.”

“You ever ridden a bull before?”

“Yup.” He was lying, but how hard could it be? He’d seated every bronc Casey threw his way. A bull couldn’t be that different.

“You sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

Jaren gave a single hard nod. “That last bronc rider was as dumb as a rock and he held on.”

Even if Casey would never know about his insult, Jaren would buy him a shot of whiskey later to make it up to him.

The old-timer grunted. “The smart ones don’t get on bulls, son. But I’ll let you in. Idiots are my bread and butter, and you look like you can get the crowd on their feet.”

Jaren snorted at the backhanded remark.

He led Jaren to a table and had him sign a few release forms that Jaren didn’t bother to read. He scrawled his name at the bottom, paid his entry fee, and received a number placard to stick on his shirt.

When he swaggered back to the gate again, the brunette’s stare hit his chest. With a shake of her head, she laughed.

He smiled in return. At least he’d earned a laugh, and that sweet sound rippled through him. She probably didn’t have a clue that he was maybe doing the stupidest thing in his life to earn another look from her.

He moved to the cluster of bull riders and got in on some dull conversation. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that several guys on the WEST Protection team were on their feet and jabbing fingers toward him.

Judd, his oldest brother, sent him a glare that he felt all the way across the arena.

Jaren only lifted his chin in acknowledgement and went back to shooting the breeze with the other bull riders.

---