Rodeo Riders Read Free

lane?”
    “’Fraid so. Fortunately, it’s nothing I can’t live with.”
    “Maybe.”
    When he relaxed his grip, she told herself he’d done his good deed for the traumatized barrel racer with the pinned-together leg bones. That was before he wrapped his arms around her back and brought her against his chest, before her own arms found their way around him.
    He smelled of the cowboy way of life. He might not be in rodeo regalia, but the impact was there. This was a man who made his living much as those who’d settled this land had. He was in tune with the environment and understood the vital role horses and other livestock had once played. His ancestors had hunted with bows and arrows and fought their enemies with knives and spears. They’d prayed to the sun, moon, rivers, bears and eagles.
    And tonight a great, great grandson of those proud and resourceful people was holding her.
    “Do you want me to leave?” His breath heated the top of her head.
    “No.”
    “Because if I stay…”
    Just like that. No fumbling, no awkward discussion of her limits.
    “I want you to,” she whispered.
    He leaned back, putting space between their upper bodies but keeping the pelvis-to-pelvis contact. “I’d like to see your leg.”
    Taken aback, she could only stare. She’d been so sure sex was on his mind—just like it was with her. “It, ah, isn’t the most beautiful thing in the world. The scars are going to fade some more, but I’m afraid my days as a runway model are over.”
    Instead of responding to her lame attempt at humor, he unfastened the snap on her jeans, then stopped with his fingers on her zipper as if he had every right in the world to do so. “Not many people have seen this, have they?”
    Trying not to tremble, she shook her head.
    “Any men?”
    None of your damn business! “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “Look, my life is none of your—”
    “Yes, it is. An animal I own altered that life. I need to see the full extent of that alteration.”
    Oh. Well, in that case… “Maybe I should have sent you the bill.”
    “I tried to pay it but was told your insurance covered everything.”
    In other words, he’d been willing to assume financial responsibility for something that wasn’t his fault because it had been determined the boards Rampage had shattered weren’t securely nailed.
    His fingers still rested over her navel, warm life seeping through denim to heat her flesh. “I, ah, I just shaved my legs.”
    Apparently taking her lame comment as approval, he pulled down on the zipper tab. The jeans were snug, and they remained in place, but he’d exposed her practical panties. Truth was, she loved the feel of a hip-hugging bikini, but hours in the saddle or behind the wheel weren’t compatible with tight underwear, not that she’d ever tell him that.
    His mood unreadable, he tugged on her jeans until they clung to her thighs, then told her to sit down.
    She pushed aside the curtain and slumped onto the end of her bed. Then while he finished the disrobing, she stared at the creases around her waist. Only when he placed the jeans on the floor did she realize he didn’t have to strip her in order to see her leg.
    Kneeling before her, he placed her foot on his thigh and began running his hands over her leg. Her tibia had been shattered in two places and tendons torn. Surgical pins now anchored the compromised bone, the pins’ positions identified by small round scars. His fingers lingered there.
    “Are you still doing physical therapy?”
    “No. Thank goodness that’s behind me. By the end of a day, it sometimes aches, but much of the time, I don’t think about it.”
    He ran his knuckle over her shin, prompting her to grind her buttocks into the bed. “About the break, at least.”
    What do you mean by that? “Are you satisfied?” It took all she had to remain sitting instead of collapsing onto the bed. The instant the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. Satisfied couldn’t be