Page 26 of Rogue Cowboy (Montana’s Rodeo Cowboys #3)

T hey walked along the parade route, hugging the buildings and holding hands.

It would have been easier to cut down another street, but Riley wanted to keep an eye on Petal and Arlo.

The next block the two girls stood up again, did low jump splits, landing flawlessly, then they turned to the side, grabbed the horn on the specialized trick-riding saddles and kicked into handstands, toes pointed before doing the splits again before dropping down to straddle the saddle again.

The applause was thunderous, and Riley could feel the girls’ energy and confidence soar.

“They’re feeding off the crowd,” Cole commented.

“I know what that feels like,” Riley said. “I may need to jump in. I told them not to dismount on the parade route—yeah it’s showy, but asphalt is more unforgiving than an arena, and I don’t want two horses without riders on a parade route.”

“Okay. Tell me how I can help.”

Just like that. He trusted her judgment and was prepared to plunge into a large, captivated crowd just to help her protect the girls from their own enthusiasm.

Courage. Confidence.

He had them both. She did too. She just needed to remember that. Riley angled into the parade, Cole following as both Arlo and Petal executed a shoulder stand. They kicked into standing on their horses’ rumps, did a front walkover before executing a showy turn synchronously.

“Won’t lie,” Cole commented. “Part of me wants to clap; the other wants to hurl.”

Riley laughed, relief coursing through her.

She felt that whatever that electrified moment had been where the two girls had been synchronized and swept up in their performance, and temptation had nibbled, had now faded, and they seated again without trying the tail drag or suicide drag or a flip dismount.

Her heart settled.

Her father rode closer to her and tipped his hat, but her mother, smiling like the champion barrel racer and rodeo queen she’d been, never took her gaze from Petal or Arlo.

“You okay to head back to the rodeo grounds to meet them? The route is a few blocks more, and they’ve settled back into their routine. They have one last move.”

He nodded and Riley cut over a couple of blocks to get to the river path to save time. She moved fast, and he kept pace.

“You’re easy to be with,” she told him.

“Not sure if that’s good or bad.”

“It’s good.” She flashed a smile. He was so serious. She’d forgotten how still he’d been. Watchful. Deferential. Agreeable when she’d met him in LA. His somber tone had felt like a personal mission to her—to make him smile and have a good time.

He’d told her she brought the light. No one had ever made her feel that important before.

Riley pushed her way through the aspen, birch and ponderosa pines lining the Marietta riverbank.

“We in a race?” He kept pace.

“No,” Riley said. “I just do everything fast.” She smiled and jumped just as she felt a sharp pain near her nipple. And then another. And another.

“Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.” She hoped around pulling on her shirt and wiggling out of it blindly. “Get it out. Get it out. Get it out,” she shrieked tossing off her shirt.

Cole’s hands were on her skin under her bra there, even as she felt a fourth or was it a fifth sting. He unhooked her bra and tucked it in his back pocket to examine her tender flesh.

It hurt too badly to be embarrassed.

“Wasp.” He flicked the offender off her tender flesh and crushed it under his boot. He examined her skin, and it took Riley a moment to realize she was totally exposed. His hand gently cupped her breast, his thumb soothed over her.

“I saw baking soda in your trailer. I can make a paste.”

“I can.” She tried to see the damage, which hurt far more than it should. “The baking soda’s old. It’s been years since I’ve been stung.”

“It got you good,” Cole agreed, picking up her blouse and smoothing it back into place.

Riley saw the stray dog sitting on the path near them, head cocked, watching them. He looked sympathetic.

“No treats,” she said to the dog. “But I have some in the trailer.” She always kept dog treats on hand as many rodeo cowboys and cowgirls and stock handlers traveled with their canine sidekicks.

Her brother’s friend and business partner, Calhoun Miller, never went anywhere without his dog Kai.

“I need to see to the girls first,” she said, clenching her teeth together so she wouldn’t whine like a baby. Her breast really throbbed.

“Let’s treat the bites first.”

Once Cole made up his mind, Riley figured she might as well go along.

They walked quickly through the makeshift campground, and he took her key from her pocket to unlock the trailer. He lifted her inside.

“Keep the door open,” she said quickly. The pain was bad enough. No need to trigger a panic attack.

Cole grabbed the box of baking soda and made a quick poultice.

“Let me see,” he said, stepping closer and lifting her up on the fold-out table. He eased half of her shirt up.

“I can do it,” she said.

He opened the square wrap of antiseptic and brushed it over the pink area, which was turning red and swelling. Fabulous. He finally saw her naked—sort of—and she looked like a red-pink pincushion. Cole gently smoothed the poultice over her left breast.

Something must be wrong with her that she found that weirdly arousing.

“You still have my bra, right?”

“Back pocket.”

“Give it.” She snapped her fingers, embarrassed. “It’s not a souvenir.”

“It could be.”

She stared, surprised by his playfulness and fascinated as his lips curved in a fleeting smile.

“I bet you’ve collected a lot of bras in your time, cowboy.”

His navy blues bored into her eyes, and she had the sensation of both falling and landing.

“What happened before we met is part of who we are but doesn’t always need to walk beside us.”

Had he been so strong and sexy and appealing when she’d been nineteen? How had she been so confident to do more than stammer and look at her boots then?

“I’m onto your tricks.” She knew he wanted her to talk openly about what had happened in LA. It was her decision, her family to protect. She wouldn’t be pressured, even by Cole.

“Are you now?” With a finger he traced the angle of her jaw that was currently jutting out in what her dad called her ‘mulish look.’

“What tricks do I have?”

“I don’t have time to list them,” she said primly. “I need to go to work. Give me my bra.” She held out her hand.

He took a step back so that he stood outside on the top step of the trailer. He smiled, and she caught her breath at the moment of light in his usually shuttered face.

“Come get it,” he invited.

“Cole.” She popped to her feet, blouse still unbuttoned, shocked but game. Just as she took a step, his expression changed to shock.

“Hey,” he uttered and spun around.

Riley peeked over his shoulder. It was that rascally dog again. He sat about ten feet away with her fuchsia lacy bra dangling out of his mouth.

“Oh, no,” she whispered. The bra was new, along with the blouse.

“I’ll get it,” Cole said.

“No, you’ll scare him. I’ve given him food a couple of times,” she said quickly buttoning her shirt. She grabbed a dog biscuit from the box and sidled her body around Cole’s larger one. “He’ll trust me.”

The dog looked like he was grinning—daring them to get her bra. Ugh, just what she needed—every cowboy in the county and beyond to know she had a lacy fuchsia bra. She’d never hear the end of it from Boone.

“Hey, cutie,” she said in a low voice, holding out the dog biscuit. She approached. The dog danced back. Tossed the bra in the air and snagged it again, danced a bit farther back.

“C’mon, cutie,” she encouraged. “You little rascal. Do you like that name? It suits. Here, Rascal. Here’s a bisckie.” She got lower to the ground, biscuit extended farther.

Rascal looked at her. Then Cole. Then the biscuit.

“That’s right,” she encouraged, gaining confidence. She could get her new, pretty little bra back before those sharp canines damaged it.

The little thief spun around and took off at a dead run toward the livestock buildings where all the cowboys and stock contractors would be.

Riley stared in dismay, biscuit in her hand, ignored. “That’s not going to be awkward at all.”

*

Rodeo attendees filed into the grounds, eagerly climbing up into the grandstands and spreading out blankets to save a few seats.

Others lingered a moment, buying snacks, looking at the bronze-copper statue of a cowboy on a buckin’ bronc that local artist Sky Wilder had made to celebrate the reopening of the rodeo grounds after a fire had damaged the grandstands and several buildings years ago.

And still more shopped in the arts and crafts booths lining the path toward the grandstand.

Riley had always loved to peruse the offerings and sometimes make early Christmas purchases, but not today.

“If you see my bra, don’t make a thing about it,” she said. “I don’t want people to think we were…you know…”

“Were what?” His expression was beyond innocent.

She inwardly cringed, picturing the dog racing around the rodeo grounds with the brightly colored lacy bra dangling.

Her burst of confidence was gone, crushed by the fear that soon everyone from Marietta to Livingston and Cowboy Point would be speculating about what Riley Telford was doing with the tall Texan that resulted in her bra being displayed by a rogue canine stray.

She’d be the butt of jokes and shock her parents.

She spotted Petal and Arlo posing for pictures with Cinnamon and Spice. One young fan skedaddled between them, looking shy but hopeful while her mother took a picture.

“Did you see us?” Arlo greeted after a couple more photos with other kids. “It was…” She made an exploding sound and did high jazz hands.