buckles and millions in prize money. Nothing intimidated him. He’d been calm and cool sitting on top of that fifteen-hundred-pound bull. She was pretty sure his eight-second ride had knocked a year off her life. That had been the first and last time she’d gone to a rodeo.
Matt kept glancing toward the stable as if he were waiting for someone. Trace apparently preferred to stare at her. It made her nervous, and she pretended not to notice, but what annoyed her most was that she would’ve liked the chance to check him out.
He wasn’t dressed all that differently from when he came into the bar. If he owned more than one pair of pants that weren’t jeans she’d be shocked. And he seemed to like T-shirts. He wore them all the time, even in this chilly morning air. Twice he’d come into the Watering Hole wearing cool Western-cut shirts. But the other guys gave him so much crap about it she knew it wasn’t a normal thing. The cowboy boots and Stetson seemed to be daily requirements.
When the ATV engines had faded and they could be heard again, Matt spoke first. “Do you know if Wallace is awake?”
Nikki shrugged, feeling a bit defensive. No reason for it because Matt never criticized or pushed. He accepted her refusal to have anything to do with the man.
“How’s he doing?” Trace asked.
Matt shrugged. “Depressed. Not even interested in drinking, if you can believe that.”
“I believe it,” Trace murmured.
“Yeah.” Matt sighed. “Right.” He knew Trace understood because his own father had died of cancer years ago. And Nikki knew this only because Matt had told her.
It got quiet after that. She wondered if Trace was thinking about his father. The McAllisters were a close family, but she didn’t know anything about Trace’s relationship with the man. Or much about Trace, really.
The night Matt had gotten beaten up was the only time she’d spent alone with Trace. She’d had a bit too much to drink and he’d driven her home. He’d been a perfect gentleman, not even trying for a good-night kiss, though she knew he really wanted to.
She wasn’t used to guys like him. He’d kind of rattled her at the time. But when she thought about it, all he’d really done was show restraint. And only because she was Matt’s sister.
Trace’s mouth curved into a slow, sexy smile.
She blinked, her insides fluttering with the realization that she’d been staring at him as if he were a hot fudge sundae. And he was loving it.
“What are you doing here anyway?” she asked, wishing she could just disappear. “Don’t I see enough of you at the Watering Hole? You have to come sniffing around here?”
“Jesus, Nikki.” Matt frowned at her. “You need more sleep. I phoned Trace. He’s here to help me.”
She looked from her brother to Trace, who was still smiling.
“It’s true,” he said, touching the brim of his hat. “Though I’m always happy to see you, Nikki.”
“Oh.” She took another sip, sorry she’d gotten out of bed. “So I’m interrupting.”
“Nope.” Trace casually glanced over his shoulder. “We’re just waiting.”
“For who?”
“Petey,” Matt said. “He’s our best man, been here for over twenty years. You met him yet?”
“Is he the really big guy with the shaggy beard?” she asked, and when Matt nodded, she said, “I’ve seen him around but I haven’t actually met him. He always seems to be working with the horses.”
“That’s what a wrangler does, though we can count on Petey for just about anything.”
“Nowadays we use ATVs a lot,” Trace said. “Back when I was a kid, everything was done on horseback and the horses had to know how to work around the cattle. You needed a good wrangler so you didn’t spend half your time with your ass planted in the dirt.”
Matt nodded, grinning. “Now they even use helicopters for roundups and drives. The job’s gotten too cushy.”
“Hey, as soon as we start seeing profits again, we need to chip in, start a co-op and buy a chopper,” Trace said. He put his mug on the corral post, then flexed his shoulders as if trying to get the stiffness out. “We’ve already got ourselves a pilot. That’s half the battle, right?”
She knew he meant his brother Jesse, but she didn’t understand the remark about profits. According to Matt the Lone Wolf was doing great. The Sundance seemed to be doing well, too. But watching Trace arch his back and stretch his arms in that snug black T-shirt, she couldn’t concentrate on anything but his broad chest and muscular biceps. She’d never thought of him as the type to work out but he had to be lifting weights or something to account for the flat belly and ridges of muscle.
Trace straightened and let his arms fall to his sides, so she could finally relax. If he’d caught her staring she didn’t know it because her gaze never made it higher than his chest.
She forced herself to look toward the barn where someone was moving out bales of hay. “What’s that equipment called?”
They both looked, but Trace answered first. “It’s just a Toolcat,” he said. “Good for small jobs and tight places.” Nikki felt a little guilty when she caught Matt’s pleased expression. He thought she was finally showing interest in the place when all she really wanted was a distraction.
“Okay, here he comes.” Matt’s tone was all business, even his posture had changed as he peered toward the stable.
Trace turned his attention to Petey. He wasn’t alone. The big grizzly looking man was leading the brown horse—the mean one from yesterday—toward them. As big as the wrangler was he seemed to be having trouble holding on to the animal when it reared up.
“He’s a beauty,” Trace murmured, slowly bending to slip between the wood railings into the corral.
Nikki tried to grab his arm and missed. “What are you doing?”
“Hey.” Matt drew her back. “You have to be quiet.”
After a brief struggle, Petey got the horse through the open gate. She watched in horror as Trace approached them from the opposite side. The horse put its head down low, arched its back and leaped into the air. Both men stepped clear as the animal came down on stiff legs.
Trace reached for the lead. “I got him,” he said in a calm voice.
“God, Matt, don’t let him do this,” she whispered, her throat tight and raw. “Please.”
“Trace knows what he’s doing. Nobody’s better with mustangs. But he doesn’t need to be distracted. Understand?”
No, she didn’t. How could she comprehend any of it? The horse’s nostrils were flared and his eyes wild…He looked as if his mission was to kill Trace. She couldn’t watch. If she’d had it in her power to make Trace leave the corral she would have.
She backed up slowly, covering her mouth because she didn’t trust herself not
