and damned himself for being such a sucker for the opposite sex. Blondes, in particular.
He’d fallen hard and fast years back the first moment he’d set eyes on Tami Elder’s Malibu Barbie. Tami had taken riding lessons at the ranch where Billy and his two older brothers had grown up. They’d been taken in by rodeo star Pete Gunner after their crook of a father had died in a house fire. Since Billy’s mother had passed years before that and the Gunner spread was an all-male domain—home to the infamous Lost Boys, a crackerjack group of young riders trained and honed by pro bull rider Pete Gunner himself—the only female Billy had ever kept company with had been a paint horse by the name of Lula Bell.
Until Tami had started coming out to the ranch every Sunday. He’d done his best, like any ten-year-old boy when faced with a cootie-carrying girl, to make her life a living hell. He’d shot spit wads while she’d rubbed down her horse and fired his water gun at her while she’d trotted around the corral.
He’d hated her, and she’d hated him, and all had been right with his male-dominated world. Then one hot summer afternoon, everything had changed. That had been the summer he’d turned eleven and spied his oldest brother, Jesse, kissing Susie Alexander, the local rodeo queen.
Kissing, of all things.
Billy had been hurt, then he’d been mad, and then he’d glimpsed an actual tongue and he’d been damned interested. For a little while. Then he’d been mad again and he’d raced off to gather some chinaberries for his slingshot. To see how many shots it took to get his brother away from Miss Travis County.
He’d been up in a nearby tree counting his berries when Tami had finished her riding lesson. She’d slid off the horse and wandered over to the tree, her doll case in hand, to play until her dad finished talking to the riding instructor. He’d meant to shoot off a few practice shots at her, but then her dad had called her over. He’d climbed down and had been about to stomp the daylights out of her Barbie when he’d realized that it wasn’t just any old Barbie.
It was a naked one.
Just like that, his belief system had done a complete one-eighty. One glance at all those interesting curves and that long blond hair and those deep blue eyes, and he’d started to wonder at the possibilities when it came to the real thing.
Yep, he loved blondes.
The trouble was, the pretty little thing standing near the bar was a brunette.
His gaze swept from her long, wavy brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail to the shiny tips of her black stilettos, and back up again. She looked nothing like the other buckle bunnies crowding the dance floor. No itty-bitty tank tops or scandalous Daisy Duke shorts. Instead, she wore a black skirt that accented her tiny waist and a sleeveless black blouse that fell softly against a modest pair of breasts. There was nothing voluptuous about her. Nothing outright sexy.
Ah, but there was something about the way she stood there, her back so stiff and straight, her lips parted slightly as she sipped from a red plastic cup, that made his adrenaline pump that much faster.
She was a yuppie through and through. Out of her element, given the three-inch heels and what he would be willing to bet was wine in her glass. Probably a big-city reporter who’d gotten stuck covering the local rodeo.
He would have figured her for one of the big-time reporters who’d been in attendance to cover the “Where Are They Now?” episode of Famous Texas Outlaws, a documentary that had featured his father and the crime that had brought a wave of notoriety crashing down on the small town of Lost Gun, Texas. The original episode had aired just six years after his father’s death, and the “Where Are They Now?” follow-up just two short weeks ago.
But most of the press had all cleared out, making way for the influx of rodeo riders and fans who’d come from all over the state for the best little rodeo in Texas.
Still, she had that big-city look about her.
She didn’t belong here, and damned if that didn’t pique his curiosity. A man could only drink black coffee so many mornings before he started hankering for something different. Maybe a few packets of sugar to sweeten things up. Or one of those fancy lattes with all the whipped cream.
A vision hit him, of her naked beneath him, whipped cream covering the really interesting parts, and his groin throbbed. He shifted, eager to give himself a few precious inches of breathing room. No such luck. He’d been training for weeks, straddling the celibacy horse in order to maintain his focus. Tomorrow was his chance. His first shot at riding his way straight into the champion’s seat. His brother Jesse, the current PBR champ, had just announced his intention to marry the love of his life and start a business breeding his own bucking bulls. After sweeping the preliminaries with perfect scores just a few days before, he’d decided to pull out of the local rodeo. He was ready to step down from professional bull riding completely and turn his attention to something more long-term. Which meant every bull rider from here to kingdom come was gunning for that top spot.
But the winner’s seat belonged to Billy.
He’d waited too long for this shot, worked too hard. He wasn’t letting anything mess it up and he wasn’t letting anyone beat him.
All the more reason to turn and get while the getting was good. Billy had come out tonight to have a few beers and relax. To lose the nerves.
He’d had a shitty training session today and all because he was wound tighter than a rattlesnake about to strike. He’d gone four days without a decent night’s sleep. Four days of tossing and turning and visualizing the semifinals coming up in eight days. He needed a good strong ride to push him into the finals. And he needed great to actually win.
And he had to win.
Because even more than the title, Billy had several sponsorships riding on this next win. Big money all looking to back the next superstar since they were losing Jesse. And if there was one thing Billy liked, it was money. Before Pete had taken him in, Billy and his brothers had grown up dirt-poor without a pot to piss in. Their dad had spent his time drinking himself into a stupor and looking for the next big score instead of taking care of his three boys. That had meant cheese sandwiches for dinner every night.
When they’d had dinner, that is.
There’d been too many times when they’d had nothing at all. No food on the table. No shoes on their feet. No decent clothes on their backs. No bed to lay their heads. He and his brothers had spent more than one night in the backseat of their dad’s broken-down Chevy because the old man had gone on a drinking binge, thanks to some moneymaking heist gone wrong.
Billy had been young at the time, only eight when Silas Chisholm had died in that fire after the biggest score of his life had earned him two minutes of fame and a feature spot in the hour-long Famous Texas Outlaws.
More like Stupid Texas Outlaws. The old man had been celebrating with a case of white lightning that had made him more than a little careless with a lit cigarette. He’d set himself on fire and taken the money with him.
At least that’s what everyone thought.
Billy ignored the mess of questions swimming in his head. Questions that had just started to surface, thanks to a surge of new interest sparked by the anniversary of the documentary and his oldest brother’s crazy intuition.
Jesse had dropped the bomb just a few days ago that he felt certain the money was still out there and that Silas had had a partner in the heist. His
