worried how her father would react if he found out about their tryst.
“Johnny’s not starting until Roger clears his things out in a couple of weeks.”
“That’s great.”
The motel door opened and C.J. stepped outside in a pair of black boxers and white tube socks. When he spotted her, he waved.
“Gotta go, Dad.”
“Good luck in California.”
The words weren’t heartfelt, but Shannon gave her father credit for saying them. “I love you” dangled on the tip of her tongue, but instead she said, “Call you soon.” She shoved the phone into her jeans pocket.
“Who you talkin’ to?” C.J. asked.
“Nobody.” As she stared at his muscular chest and bulging biceps, an image of Johnny’s leaner athletic build flashed before her eyes. If viewing a man’s naked chest was all it took to trigger the memory of her and Johnny’s lovemaking, then she was in big trouble, because cowboys were always changing their shirts behind the chutes.
She checked the time on her cell phone. Eight o’clock. “We’ve got to be at the fairgrounds in Glendale by one-thirty.” Glendale, California, was four and a half hours away. “I’m leaving in ten minutes with or without you.” She got into the truck and started it, then adjusted the air conditioner to cool down the cab.
With less than a minute to spare, C.J. stowed his gear in the backseat. She didn’t wait for him to put on his seat belt before peeling away like a bat out of hell.
“You pissed off about Veronica?”
The buckle bunny would be history soon enough, seeing how C.J. blew through women faster than a dust devil bounced across the desert.
When she remained quiet, he said, “I’m gonna try harder to keep my love life private.” He tugged on his boots. “Maybe we should ham it up more for the fans.”
The last thing she wanted to do in public was act like an idiot over the womanizing cowboy. “Our normal routine has worked fine so far. Why mess with it?” The most she and C.J. had done in front of the cameras was hug and exchange high fives.
“I bet the fans want to see us kiss.”
Fat chance. “They’ll have to settle for fantasizing about us kissing.”
“You’re a hard woman, Shannon.”
She’d learned from the best—her father. She jacked up the volume on the radio. C.J. leaned his head against the seat, tipped his hat over his face and fell asleep.
At one in the afternoon they pulled into the rodeo grounds west of Glendale. C.J. stretched. “You ready to go down, Douglas?”
The cowboy was about to find out hell hath no fury like a pissed off cowgirl. She pocketed the truck keys then walked off with her gear. Once she signed in for her event, she went to the livestock pens to check out her draw—Dead End.
The bull appeared docile, its tail twitching at the flies buzzing near its rump. The short, muscular bull lifted his head and a shiver raced down her spine. The animal was a machine whose only purpose was to hurt cowboys.
She left the stock pens and reported to the Dynasty Boots tent, which had been set up next to the bleachers. As usual, C.J. was nowhere in sight, leaving her with the responsibility of signing autographs and shaking hands.
“Will you sign this?”
“What’s your name?” Shannon asked the little girl who wore a pink cowboy hat.
“Lizzy.”
Shannon scribbled her name across the program. “Are you a real cowgirl?”
“Yes.”
“Hurry up, Lizzy.” An older man waited a few feet away.
“You gonna ride broncs or bulls when you grow up?” She handed the program to the girl.
“Daddy says ladies don’t rodeo, but I wanna ride bulls like you.”
“Do I look like a lady, Lizzy?”
The girl nodded.
“Do I ride bulls?”
Lizzy nodded again.
“Then I guess your daddy’s wrong. Ladies do ride bulls.” Shannon winked. As the little girl walked off, Shannon called after her, “Don’t ever let anyone tell you what you can or can’t be just because you’re a girl.”
An hour later, she left the booth to prepare for her meeting with Dead End.
“Where’ve you been?” C.J. asked when she arrived in the cowboy ready area.
“Signing autographs. Where’ve you been?”
His gaze drifted to the bleachers where a blond-haired buckle bunny watched them. C.J. tipped his hat and the woman blew him a kiss.
At least he’d kept his promise and made the bimbo wait in the stands.
“Get ready to lose,” Shannon said. “I drew a better bull.”
“It’s not about the bull, baby.” His smile taunted her. “It’s all about the cow...boy.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, hold tight to your hats as we kick off our bull riding event!”
Shannon donned her Kevlar vest then put on her face mask and riding glove. She rubbed resin on the leather as rodeo helpers loaded Dead End into the chute.
“Up first this afternoon is talented cowgirl Shannon Douglas.” The fans hooted and hollered and a few waved pink posters with Shannon’s name on them.
A group of cowboys nearby stared. Most of her competitors welcomed her in the male-dominated sport, but there were a few who felt threatened by her presence.
“Shannon Douglas from Stagecoach, Arizona, is about to battle Dead End, a bull from the Kindle Ranch in Las Cruces, New Mexico. This cowgirl’s gonna have her hands full!”
Before approaching the chute, Shannon closed her eyes and pictured herself riding the bull to the buzzer, and then she imagined her dismount—a solid landing before making a break for the rails. Her sponsor didn’t care if she won, but Shannon did. She never entered the chute without believing she’d make the buzzer.
Showtime. When she straddled Dead End, the bull balked and attempted to rear so she lifted off his back.
“Looks like Dead End wants nothing to do with Shannon,” the announcer said.
The JumboTron showed a close-up of her and the bull. When Dead End became feisty again, forcing her off a second time, a collective gasp rippled through the stands. C.J. grasped her shoulder and whispered, “Thought I’d act like a concerned boyfriend.”
“Back away, C.J. You’re not helping.”
