see him.
He gave her a fierce look before his face settled back into something that looked almost disappointed. “Yeah, you’re welcome.”
She should at least thank him. Why couldn’t she? She didn’t know. “Ian, I don’t need your help. I wish you’d listen to me.”
“No? So what was that all about? You can’t tell me you wanted that slime bag to be touching you. He was going to kiss you, Evans. More, knowing him.”
Evans? It felt weird to be called that. “Yes, and when he did, I was going to knee him in the groin and then punch him.” She turned back to her trailer. She had to get her bulls out and she’d be damned if she accepted any more help from one Ian Tall Chief. She couldn’t be beholden to him. “The situation was under control. I didn’t ask for a guardian angel.” Never mind that she might need one. “I can handle myself.”
“Yeah? What if Salzberg hadn’t taken kindly to getting his nuts crushed? Or what if Slim had showed up? You collect an awful lot of enemies, Evans.”
She gave him a pointed look. “It must be my sunny nature.”
That got her a smile—a full-on smile that took the remaining adrenaline still pumping through her body and drove it down deeper, where an unfamiliar warmth started to spread up her back.
Jerome Salzberg might have been pretty, but Ian Tall Chief was something else entirely—broad and muscled and completely unafraid of anyone or anything. And for some reason, he’d decided to keep an eye on her.
She couldn’t be his type. Hell, she wasn’t anyone’s type.
Something in Ian’s eyes deepened. Good lord, was she blushing? No. Not allowed. She would not let her body betray her like that. She turned back to the trailer and the stubborn bulls that wouldn’t get the hell out of it.
“Tell me you at least have a gun.” His voice was so serious that she was forced to turn around and look at him again.
“In the glove box.”
He scoffed. “Fat lot of good it’s going to do you there. Can you use it?”
She jammed her hands on her hips and tried to glare him to death. “What do you think? I’ve competed in mounted shooting events, thank you very much. Won a few, too.”
If Ian was insulted by her attitude, he didn’t show it. If anything, he looked relieved. “Good. You should be wearing it. The next time someone gives you crap, shoot them in the knee.”
She looked at him. It appeared, whether she wanted one or not, she had a guardian angel. This realization made that warm sensation that had spread up her back burn hotter, until she was afraid she was going to start sweating. “Why are you helping me?”
He tilted his head from side to side, as if he was debating how to respond. “I have my reasons. And they have nothing to do with getting you into bed,” he added before she could snap off another insult. “Now, do you want help with your bulls or not?”
She knew she should say yes and let it drop. But she couldn’t. She kept pushing what little luck she had and the only reason she could even remotely come up with was that it felt safe to push Ian. “Is that why you’re here a day early? Because of the bulls?”
Ian gave her a little smile, one that somehow made him look innocent and yet not innocent at the same time. “I wanted to make sure I didn’t owe you money for that one bull. What was his name?”
“Rattler.” She stared at him a moment longer. She didn’t buy that he was here to check on Rattler but she didn’t not buy it when he said he wasn’t trying to get her into bed.
And honestly? She could use a hand, at least for right now.
Up to this point, Ian hadn’t done the best job following the simple directions to leave her alone. But he’d stood up for her—twice now. It was more than anyone else had done for her in the long months since her parents had died. What’s more than that, he looked her in the eyes when he talked to her.
But you touched him, a small voice piped up from the back of her mind. She’d put her hands on his massive chest and felt his muscles and he’d halted in his charge on Slim. And at no point had he suggested that contact between them “meant” that Lacy wanted him or anything other than what it was—she’d asked him to stop and he had.
That had to count for something.
“This doesn’t mean I owe you a thing.”
He smirked. “Are you always this stubborn, Evans?”
“I’m not stubborn.” Another lie. She ignored the incredulous look on his face and turned back to the trailer. “And my name’s Lacy.”
* * *
LACY. OF COURSE she was Lacy. Underneath that pricklier-than-hell exterior, she was probably soft and gentle.
There might be a part of her that was quiet and sweet—as there was a part of her that wanted his help—but it wasn’t a part she was all that excited to share with him, and it’d be best if he didn’t allow his thoughts to wander off in that direction. Even if she didn’t have a pistol on her, she had a gun and she knew how to use it—and he’d basically told her to shoot him if he did anything underhanded.
Lacy Evans might not realize it, but he’d given her his word and he intended to keep it. This wasn’t about getting her into the sack.
Of course, that didn’t exactly explain what it was about.
That wasn’t entirely true, either. It was about that spark she had. When she tore into him, her body language was completely different than what it had been when she’d been confronted by Slim or when Ian had come around the corner and seen her pinned against the trailer by Jerome.
She’d been physically shaking, pale and panicked—and then Jerome had touched her. And that had been all Ian had seen before the world narrowed to Jerome. That asshole would not touch Lacy like that. Not while Ian was breathing.
“Why are you alone?” he asked as the first bull emerged from the trailer. “This isn’t a one-man job.”
“You really don’t think I can do this, do you?” she snapped before adding, “Get up, Wreck.”
“I’m not questioning your skills. I’m saying you have three bulls and you’re by yourself. You were by yourself last week, too. You should have a traveling partner.”
“I—” Oh, hell—he heard her voice catch. She dropped her head and put her hands on her hips. “I had a partner. He died.”
“I’m sorry.” Ian had the urge to put his arm around her shoulder and hold her. He didn’t do it, of course—he wasn’t particularly in the mood to have his nuts crushed up into his stomach. But the urge alone was troubling. It was obvious that she’d loved the guy. Ian could only hope he’d treated her well.
“All I’m saying,” he went on, pointedly not looking at her, “is that I’m only ever in the arena with one bull at a time and I’ve got a partner. And here you’re traveling with three bulls. Don’t you have any hired hands or something?”
