Kyle sighed. “Look. I need a damn beer, but the thought of heading back into the bar turns my stomach.”
“Yeah. Me too. There’s a package store around the corner.”
Five minutes later, laden with a six-pack, Hank climbed into his truck next to Kyle. He set the brown bag on the center seat, tempted to crack a bottle—to hell with the open-container law. He needed a damn drink now.
The lights of Lamar zoomed past the truck windows. Hank had half a mind to whip a U-turn and drive out to the rodeo grounds. At least if they were getting drunk with a group of rowdy cowboys, they wouldn’t be commiserating about having the hots for the same sexy-assed sports med tech.
“You thinking about her?” Kyle asked.
“Yeah. Are you?”
“Always.”
Great. Hank knew Lainie starred in plenty of sexual fantasies of cowboys on the CRA circuit. He’d never expected she’d been part of his friend’s sexual reality.
“How long have you been seein’ her, Hank?”
“Roughly six months.” As much as Hank didn’t want to ask, he did. “How about you?”
“Two months.”
Hank couldn’t stop the smug feeling over having been with Lainie longer than Kyle.
Yeah? If you’re in with her so damn good, then why’d she go looking for another man to knock boots with?
Damn.
“What’d she treat you for?” Kyle asked.
“Pulled my Achilles.”
It’d pissed him off too, pulling a muscle during a performance. Instead of the usual gruff med tech, Lainie stepped up. Hank had scoffed at the little slip of a woman. How was she supposed to fix him if she could barely assist him onto the exam table? But as Hank half listened to her questions, he watched her. Her hair color was odd—somewhere between dark brown and rich red, a shade that reminded him of his quarter horse’s glossy coat. Hank kept that observation to himself; few women found humor or flattery within workhorse comparisons.
Lainie had stretched him out on the padded exam table and dug her fingers into his sore calf. The strength and skill of her hands surprised him almost as much as the color of her eyes—the hue of burnished copper.
And so began his obsession with Lainie Capshaw.
At an event the next week, Hank popped into the medical aid station, only to discover that Lainie worked every other week with the EBS circuit. In the interim, he’d stumbled across information about Lainie’s heritage that’d shocked him. The curly-haired cutie with the sparkling eyes and magical hands was the daughter of world-famous bull rider Jason Capshaw. An icon, a legend, a man who’d died way too young, way too publicly, gored by a bull in an arena filled with thousands of adoring fans. A man who’d left behind a young widow and a five-year-old daughter. A little girl christened Melanie—who’d been nicknamed Lainie by her adoring father.
When she’d checked out Hank’s sprained pinkie the following week, Hank asked her about her famous father. Lainie’s sunny disposition vanished as fast as a Wyoming rainstorm. Yes, she was Jason Capshaw’s daughter. No, she didn’t want to talk about him. So Hank seized the opportunity to steer the conversation in the direction he’d wanted all along: He’d asked her out.
Lainie’s response? A vehement no. She absolutely did not date rodeo cowboys. Ever. Period. End of discussion.
Normally, he’d move on. Yet, something about her called to him. Hank didn’t push, but he let her know he wasn’t giving up on her either.
His luck turned the night of a sponsors’ dinner. The wine had relaxed her and he swooped her onto the dance floor during a sexy, suggestive Dierks Bentley tune.
Lust exploded between them the instant he hauled her into his arms. Hank’d had his share of sexual conquests in his years as a bullfighter and a cowboy. But nothing in his experience was as potent as slow dancing with Lainie Capshaw fully clothed.
They’d managed to keep their relationship platonic for another twenty minutes. Sex between them rocked his world. He’d believed Lainie felt the same. So Hank hadn’t demanded exclusivity, fearing it’d spook her, given her “no dating cowboys” rule. Now he wished he had.
“Hank? Buddy, you okay?” Kyle asked, breaking him out of his reverie. “You’re awful damn quiet.”
Hank sighed. “I don’t know. Guess I’m more shocked than anything. Aren’t you?”
Kyle shrugged as Hank parked at the far back of the motel lot. He hopped out and lowered the tailgate with a loud clank while Hank snagged the six-pack.
They sat on the tailgate, gazing at the sky. The stars were bright, despite the light pollution from the town. He passed Kyle a bottle. A pop-hiss sounded, followed by a metallic ping as he flicked the cap into the truck bed behind them.
Kyle spoke first. “You asked me if I was shocked. I’m not. She ain’t the type to play games, but I suspected she was seein’ someone else. I figured it’d be a guy who lived in her area.”
“Lainie don’t exactly seem like the ‘what happens on the road, stays on the road’ type, with a different fella in every town.”
“Exactly. I figured her deal with the other guy couldn’t be that serious if she was with me every so often.” Kyle sent him a sidelong glance. “Am I right?”
“She and I never made promises to each other. It’s been pretty casual.” Hank knew it wouldn’t help the situation if he admitted he’d wanted those promises from Lainie and had been prepared to offer them in return. Tonight, in fact.