Cowboy Blues Page 4

  "Like shit. Tired."

  "Do you want me to go so you can sleep?"

  Spencer hesitated for a moment before whispering, “Yes.” He didn't necessarily want Becca to leave, but he wanted to be alone.

  "Oh. Okay.” She sounded disappointed, but she rose from the bed anyway. “I should probably go home and shower. And my dad has left a zillion messages on my cell phone. Everybody's going to want to know you're all right."

  Spencer wondered if maybe he should apologize, but he didn't have the words. Or the energy. He did force his eye open so he could look at her again before she left. But he only caught her back, and the fall of her dark hair down her shoulders. It was the only bright thing in the room.

  Rebecca hadn't known what she'd expected when he woke up. Dr. Allan had warned her about the disorientation, and she'd talked to a few of the nurses throughout the night about head injuries, but when he'd opened his eye—and just the one, God, it was a good thing he didn't have a mirror—and she'd had to tell him about the prognosis, the desolation she'd seen there had nearly ripped her heart out. She knew what bull riding meant to him. It was all he had. She didn't need to be a mind reader to know what losing it felt like.

  But she kept her chin up, and went about going home, cleaning up, calling everybody who'd be worried about Spence. When she talked to her dad, she carefully left out the part where she'd volunteered to be responsible for his short-term care. She was twenty-three years old. She didn't need to get approval about what she did with her own time, especially since the small house she called home belonged to her. Granny Bert had made ownership very plain in her will when she'd died. Rebecca was her only grandchild; she had wanted Rebecca to have a measure of independence.

  She wasn't hungry, but she grabbed a cold piece of chicken from the fridge anyway. On a whim, she packed up some chocolate cake, too. A concussion didn't mean Spencer couldn't eat. This just might bring a smile to his face. Anything to make his stay there better.

  The nurse on duty was the same as the one from when they'd brought him in the night before. Flashing a smile, Rebecca asked, “Can I see him?"

  "He's asleep. But you're welcome to wait in his room until visiting hours are over, if you like. His surgery isn't until the morning."

  Grateful, Rebecca gave her a little wave before heading down the hall. She hoped Spencer woke up, even for a few minutes. She wouldn't get to see him at all in the hours after his operation.

  The door threatened to creak when she pushed it open, but Rebecca slid in quickly, catching the knob to keep from letting it slam behind her. Against the stark white sheets, Spencer was a menage of color, tan and bruise purple and pink where his skin stretched over the swelling. It didn't seem natural to see him so motionless. Spencer Cole was one of the most vibrant people she had ever known. In and out of the ring.

  He began to stir about thirty minutes after she settled beside the bed. The index finger on his left hand twitched first, and then his eyes fluttered beneath his lids. She recognized the movement. He tried to pry his eyes open, but of course, the swelling wouldn't allow that.

  "What?” A mere croak of breath.

  She stood in a heartbeat. “Hey, Spence,” she said softly. She risked touching his arm, letting him know where she was. “You want some water?"

  Spencer began to nod, but immediately caught his breath and froze as fresh pain etched across his face.

  "Yes."

  Rebecca poured a little water from the pitcher sitting on the table, and gently cradled his head, lifting it from the bed. A soft moan escaped his throat, but he opened his lips eagerly for the water. She gently wiped away the drops dribbling down his chin before settling his head back on the pillow.

  "Can't see,” he whispered, clearly distressed.

  "That's just temporary,” she assured him. “Rusty walloped you pretty good, but the swelling should be down in a day or two, the doc says."

  "Where ‘m I?"

  Her heart stopped. They'd already had this conversation.

  "The hospital in Park City. Remember? You went in the well last night."

  "No. I don't...don't remember. Tell me."

  Haltingly, Rebecca sketched the details of the ride, the visit from Dr. Allan earlier that day. Spencer never said a word, but she watched him intently, reading every response, every flicker of his eyelashes.

  "The nurse said your first surgery on your shoulder is tomorrow morning,” she finished. “But Dr. Allan will probably come in later and fill you in on everything tonight some time, I'll bet."

  "I don't want to stay here."

  "I know.” Rebecca stroked his arm. It was still so strong. It gave her hope he'd pull through this faster than the doctor said, and maybe even the doctor would be wrong about his never riding again. “But it won't be for too long. Then you're going to come stay with me while you recover."

  Spence didn't reply immediately, and for a moment, she thought he had fallen asleep. A part of her hoped he had. Maybe when he woke up again, he would remember everything. But Rebecca soon saw he wasn't asleep. He was just thinking.

  "Not going to ride again, am I?"

  "The doctors don't think so, no.” Telling him the truth wouldn't get any easier, no matter how many times she had to say it.

  "I hoped I dreamed that part. But it's real?"

  "Yeah. Is there anything I can do for you now, though? Anything you want me to bring in to make things easier for you here?"

  "No. I...where's my truck?"

  Rebecca panicked. Where was his truck? She'd been so worried about Spencer she hadn't given a second thought to anything else.

  "Max took care of it,” she lied. “You want me to have him take it out to my place until you're up to driving again?"

  "Yeah. My dog...Jake...is in my trailer."

  A dog. She'd never taken care of a dog. She had grown up with cats. What did she know about taking care of a dog?

  About as much as she knew about taking care of a broken bull rider. And she hadn't hesitated to shoulder that responsibility.

  "Don't worry about Jake.” She made a mental note to call Max as soon as she got out of the hospital. She would have to run and get some food for Jake, too. Dogs probably didn't like chocolate cake. “When did you get him?"

  "Um...” She almost regretted asking when she saw how much effort it took to speak. But then the edge of his mouth lifted. “March. He had a...cut paw. Almost got trampled."

  She resolved to give the dog every ounce of affection she had to spare.

  "I'm going to go let the nurses know you're awake. Just in case there's something they need to do."

  "Becca...don't go yet. Please."

  She immediately stopped, her heart pounding at the need in his voice. “Okay. Whatever you want.” She smiled, though he couldn't see it. “I just didn't want to outstay my welcome."

  "No. You're not. You're...taking care of me? I'm...imposing."

  "Never. I'll be glad of the company.” Sliding her hand down his arm, she laced her fingers through the back of his. “And hey, when you're all better, you can finally teach me how to do body shots the right way. No fears of being busted this time."

  Spence tried to smile again. “You were pretty good at it. How long...until we're drinking again?"

  "Probably a few weeks, at least. Not until they're done with the surgeries on your shoulder, and I've got you home. Otherwise, I'll be the one who gets busted this time."

  Spencer licked his lips. “Thirsty again."

  Rebecca went through the same process as before. He drank more water than before, the column of his throat working as he swallowed. She thought he looked better. His face wasn't so twisted. Maybe it was just hopeful thinking.

  "Oh,” he rasped, after she wiped the water from his skin, “I bet you'd look cute in cuffs."

  Her cheeks warmed. This was the Spence she knew, the one who'd charmed her off her feet every year since she'd first been lucky enough to meet him. Nobody made her feel quite so good about
herself as he did; having him around for the next few months was definitely not going to be a bad thing.

  "I might be able to conveniently borrow a pair of Bruce's as soon as you're up to it.” Her thumb caressed the heel of his hand. She couldn't allow more contact, even if she wanted to stretch out beside him. “Any other requests I can take for you?"

  "Yeah.” He cracked one bright eye open. “If that doctor...says I can't ride again...you tell him. You tell him to shove it."

  Her gut twisted, but she gave him her best smile. “You betcha."

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  CHAPTER 4

  Four Years Earlier

  Spencer ducked behind the paddocks and doubled over, emptying his stomach of its watery contents. After six years of riding bulls professionally and nearly a decade of riding anything that would try to buck him off and trample him, he knew he should be over the urge to puke. But it never went away. After every ride, no matter how successful, his stomach rolled and twisted, forcing him to hide until it passed. It seemed shameful to him.

  As soon as his stomach calmed, he rinsed out his mouth with the bottle of water he carried for that purpose and made his way back to the arena. He didn't want anybody to notice him. Of course, every person he passed noticed him, clapped him on the back, and told him he just had the “best damned ride I ever saw."

  Spencer couldn't even be modest about it. It probably was the best damned ride they ever saw. He'd already seen two replays of it, and he couldn't quite believe he was watching himself on the back of Cat Daddy. He couldn't believe he had a score of 94.75. He couldn't believe he had won the purse of twenty thousand dollars, plus a five thousand bonus... One eight second ride netted him a prize of twenty-five thousand dollars. And people called him crazy. Did anybody else make this sort of money for eight seconds of work?

  And the ride qualified him for the Extreme Bulls. Bigger purses, more events, and a chance to qualify for the PBR tour. Just thirty minutes and eight seconds ago, he had been another face on the circuit, and now he was practically a star. With all the additional pressure. One bad ride...getting on a bad roll...a bad run of luck...

  Spencer shook his head. Not going to happen. He didn't even have room in his body for negative thoughts. He was in the Zone—the mythical place where everything always went a cowboy's way, from the fit of his boots to the dues to the rides itself. He had hit the Zone the previous month, he sat there comfortably, and he'd be damned if one good right—one fucking fantastic ride—would push him out.

  "Hey, Cole! You be sure to celebrate tonight!” Ricky called, pulling him from his thoughts. The lanky blond cowboy carried his gear over his shoulder and offered a friendly grin. “Because it's never gonna happen again."

  "All skill, Ricky. I hope you were taking notes."

  "You got lucky."

  "This is my third purse in as many weeks. How lucky does that sound?” Spencer asked easily, not at all perturbed by Ricky's dismissal. The other man was jealous. They were all jealous, to one degree or another. He didn't blame them. How many weeks, months even, had he gone barely scraping together enough for his dues and gas? Once, he almost had to drop out of the circuit.

  But those days were behind him now.

  Even so, he intended to celebrate. And he knew exactly who he planned to celebrate with. If he found her.

  A picture of himself on top of Jumpin’ Jack was clipped to the sun visor in his truck. It was perfect. The bull had all four feet off the ground, and Spencer's spine was ramrod straight, his arm straight in the air. The lens had a tight zoom, and the spectators behind him were nothing but a gray blur. This picture wasn't amateur. It was professional quality work.

  To think it came from the camera of an eighteen-year-old girl stunned him.

  He hadn't been able to forget about said girl. He knew a lot of women. He didn't have one in every town, of course, but he never had a chance to be lonely. But a girl who should have known better than to go back to his trailer with him stayed lodged in his mind. Spencer knew she might not even be there. Hell, she didn't seem thrilled with how things stood in her one-horse town; she probably packed up and made dust as soon as she had somewhere to go. But if Rebecca Rankin still called Oakley home, he'd find her.

  Spencer emerged from the bleachers to the picnic area and stopped short. Maybe he wouldn't have to look too hard. She was exactly the way he remembered her—long dark hair swept away from her face, a wide, friendly smile, and curves that made his mouth water. Her breasts, her hips, her ass just made him want to sink his teeth into her. He hadn't asked when they met, but she looked like a girl who had been raised on a farm, a girl built for work and play. When he had learned her age, he was just relieved she wasn't younger. Contributing to the delinquency of a minor wouldn't have been an easy rap to beat, but getting caught fucking a minor was about a thousand times worse, and he didn't intend to keep his hands off her this year.

  Spencer approached her from behind while she talked to a handful of girls. They noticed him, but she didn't until he tapped her shoulder. “Excuse me, ma'am?"

  All their giggles were immediately hushed as she turned around. Her blue eyes widened in surprise, followed immediately by the brilliant smile that had prompted his initial invitation the previous year. “Hey. Congratulations. You were amazing tonight."

  Spencer didn't brush off the compliment. Putting up the best score of the year meant he didn't have any room for false modesty. “Thanks. I was pretty amazing.” He nodded politely at the four girls who were still staring at him. “Ladies. Rebecca promised to give me a tour of the town last year, and we never got the chance."

  Her friends whipped their heads around to stare at Rebecca, whose cheeks had turned the most delicious pink. She didn't back down from his suggestion, though.

  "And here I thought I'd have to play cards again.” She moved to his side and looked back at the girls. “I'll catch you later, guys."

  "I was a little worried I wouldn't be able to find you this year,” Spencer said as her friends reluctantly drifted away.

  "I can't believe you even remember me. Well, except as the girl who almost got you busted."

  He grinned at her. “Are you kidding? That was the most fun I've had with both feet on the ground in well, a long time.” He began walking, but not toward the trailers. “But I figured this year we'd leave the tequila out of it. And go somewhere your cousin can't find us."

  She fell into step beside him. “No worries about Lonnie. He's in Salt Lake City with my dad.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her bite back her smile. “I found out what night you were going in the arena and found a convention they absolutely, positively had to go to. The last thing I wanted was a repeat of last year."

  Spencer slipped his fingers through hers, thrilled she had been looking forward to seeing him like he had been looking forward to see her. He just wanted to find a quiet corner and get her alone, finally. “Well, if they're out of town, and I remember to lock the door, then my trailer should be safe."

  Her hand tightened in his, and as they walked, she edged closer to him until their arms were touching. “You mean, you really don't want that tour? And here I was all excited about showing you some of my favorite spots."

  "Is one of your favorite spots private and dark?"

  This time, Rebecca looked him in the eye. The twinkle he saw there shot straight to his groin. “I'm a photographer. All my favorite spots are private and dark."

  "Then on second thought, I'd love a full tour."

  She fell silent while he shifted their path toward his truck. Even up close, her age startled him. Nineteen now. Granted, he only had five years on her, but Spencer had been sure when he'd met her the previous year they were about the same age. Maybe because of her height, or maybe because she was very obviously built like a woman. But it was most likely the fact that Rebecca didn't act like other teenage girls he met. She didn't play games or get all coy. She didn't need to.

  "There's a lake outside of
town,” she said as they approached his truck. “It's not very big, but the way it sits, if there's any kind of moon, it always catches it.” She tilted her head back, gazing up into the darkening sky. Her long hair trailed down her back, curling at the ends where it hit her ass, and Spencer had to force himself to look away from the soft, inviting flesh. “I thought we'd start there. Everybody's going to be in town celebrating, so the lake'll be deserted. We'll have it all to ourselves."

  Spencer yanked the passenger door opened and touched the brim of his hat. “Your chariot."

  He had unhitched his trailer before the event—something he never did—hoping Rebecca would be willing to leave the grounds with him. He double-checked to make sure there were blankets in the back of the truck. With anybody else, he would have grabbed a cooler of beer, but he didn't want to risk involving alcohol again.

  She was staring at the sun visor when he slid behind the wheel. “This is one of my pictures. I wasn't even sure you got them, let alone thought you'd actually keep them."

  "Yeah, they caught up with me in Sacramento,” Spencer said, starting the engine. “I thought they were all great, but that one's my favorite. You didn't happen to get any shots of tonight's ride, did you?"

  The corner of her mouth lifted. “Miss out on shooting my favorite rider? Not on your life. I stowed my gear in Bridgette's car after your event so I didn't have to lug it around for the rest of the night.” Her gaze strayed back to the visor. “I can get you copies of them, too, if you want."

  "Great.” Spencer carefully navigated through the rows of trucks. “Just send ‘em like you did before. They'll find me again.” He lapsed into silence until he made it to the road, leaving the field behind them. He hoped the lake wasn't too far. His hand snuck across the narrow space between them to rest on her knee. “What else do you plan to do with them? Sell them?"

  Rebecca glanced down at his hand and shifted toward him. “If there's any my dad likes, he's going to use them in the Sunday write-up on the rodeo.” She pointed at the upcoming stop sign. “Turn right up there. That road will take us out to the lake. It's about five miles out of town."