Desert Heat Read Free

hubbub around him—big broad-backed bucking horses milling in their pens, massive Brahma bulls pawing the ground, bellowing and tossing up dirt. Western music—Willie Nelson warning mothers not to let their babies grow up to be cowboys—played in the background over the loudspeakers mounted on the announcer’s stand.
    “I don’t know how much you know about rodeo, Patience, but I can tell you one thing for sure—whatever time you spend with the Circle C, you ain’t gonna be bored—not for a minute.”
    A thrill shot through her. No, she wouldn’t be bored. Just standing behind the chutes as she had dreamed of doing, sent a shot of excitement through her. In college, her focus had been on western history, and though she lived in Boston, she knew everything there was to know about the West. She especially loved rodeo, but there was a second reason she had come.
    Along with Hope and her middle sister, Charity, Patience had made a pact—each of them had vowed to have one great adventure before she married or settled into her career. Last year, Charity had set off for the Yukon, her own personal dream. Not only had she had a fabulous adventure in the untamed Northwest, she had met McCall Hawkins and fallen madly in love. Charity was married now, starting to think of having a baby, and happier than Patience had ever seen her.
    “Come on, little lady, and I’ll introduce you around.” Charlie caught her hand and tugged her over to a cluster of cowboys all working to limber up. Some of them wore T-shirts and she was treated to an array of impressive biceps. Two of them had their boot heels propped on a section of pipe fencing, using it like a ballet bar to stretch out the muscles in their legs. These men were athletes, most of them in fantastic physical condition.
    “This here’s Wes McCauley. Wes is one of the best steer wrestlers in the business.”
    He was tall, at least six-foot-three, a big, beefy man in his early thirties with the kind of muscle it took to bring down a five-hundred-pound steer.
    Wes tipped his hat. “A pleasure, ma’am.”
    “This guy here is Cy Jennings. He’s a bullfighter—one of the best there is.” Charlie slapped the clown on the back. “Having a good man in the arena can make the difference between livin’ or dyin’ when a rider comes off his bull.”
    She couldn’t really tell what Cy Jennings looked like under all the bright-colored face paint, but his body was lean and wiry. He wore a pair of red tights beneath a short pair of red-fringed chaps, a bold, red and white striped shirt, and cleated running shoes.
    “Nice to meet you,” she said.
    “Same here.” Cy smiled but she could tell he was distracted, his mind on the upcoming show.
    “And this is my nephew, Dallas Kingman.” Charlie grinned, making no effort to hide the pride in his voice. “World Champion All-’Round Cowboy and the finest damned saddle bronc rider you’re ever gonna meet.”
    Her gaze swung to the third man in the group. When he lifted his head, she could see his face beneath the brim of his black felt hat and for an instant she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
    She knew the name, of course. She had been studying rodeo for months, reading anything and everything she could get her hands on and watching every telecast on TV. She should have recognized him, probably would have if he hadn’t been so darned rude. But who would have thought the top rodeo rider in the country would turn out to be the same arrogant, overbearing cowboy she had run into on her way to the arena.
    She stiffened, tried not to let her annoyance show. The cowboy’s gaze ran over her, skimmed her breasts, made a slow perusal of her hips and the length of her legs.
    A corner of his mouth edged up. “I’ve already had the pleasure.” He was handsome, even better-looking in person than he was on TV, with a lean, athletic build and shoulders that stretched the limits of the fabric in his pale blue western shirt. Dark