The boys shook their heads, and she gave a little smile. “I wanted it to be you three. I’ve been rallying for you for months, fighting with the organizers and investors, convincing them the top three bulls deserve the treatment that the riders get, and you do. You always have.”
Two Shots chewed his lip and stared at a napkin he was ripping up in his hands. “You did this?”
“Yes. I went through a tragedy, but it bought me some power in this game. Who wants to tell me no on something noble? Who wants that attention?”
“I wouldn’t,” Dead muttered. “You cry, and it scares me.”
“The organizers don’t like that stuff either. So…there is a bright side to what I’ve been through. I’m going to make changes for you.”
“Hotels and food, and all we have to do is behave in interviews?” Dead asked, arching his eyebrow.
“You can misbehave a little. The humans still like to see a little of the shit-show. We’re gonna work on your manners and charm, though.”
Dead of Winter scrunched up his face. “Don’t need no manners.”
“You want the good whiskey? You learn some manners.”
Dead of Winter told her, “I need some time to think on this.”
“Sure. Think on it from your room.” She slid a keycard to him. “Your room is 1212.”
Dead tapped the keycard on the table. “Does it have a minibar?”
“Nope. I had them take it out.”
Dead pouted and muttered, “Fine.” He stood and made his way out the door. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”
She pushed another keycard toward Quickdraw. He looked at it for a few seconds before he signed the last page of the contract and stood, collected his keycard, tipped his hat, and made his way out the door without another word.
Two Shots stayed. He watched her. Studied her, maybe.
She gestured to his phone where all the gossip stories were probably still popping up. “We have ourselves in a pickle.”
“Yeah, I never figured that saying out. We have ourselves in a pickle?” He shook his head. “Whatever it means, I’ll get us out of it.”
“How are you going to do that?”
He took the last keycard from in front of her and gave her a slight smile that nearly stopped her heart. “I have a plan. My reputation is screwed. I’ll be damned if I taint yours, too.” He made to leave but paused at the end of the table. “Hey, Cheyenne?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re a good woman. You care about people. Even people who don’t deserve to be cared about. Whatever happens with all this, don’t lose that part of you.” He knocked lightly on the table and then left her sitting there with her heart in her throat and a fluttering in her stomach.
Chapter Six
Bang, bang, bang, bang!
Cheyenne sat up in the dark and, for a moment, she forgot where she was.
Bang, bang, bang!
Hotel room, right outside of Guthrie, Oklahoma, still dark outside, so who in the H-E-double hockey sticks was banging on her door?
“Coming!” she called out, stumbling for the light switch on the wall. The illumination from the floor lamp made her wince and blink hard. Still half asleep, she bounced down the small hallway toward the door like a little pinball, bumping the walls twice. She looked out the peep hole but all she saw was hair.
She yanked open the door. “Dead of Winter, what in tarnation is so important that—”
“Two Shots Down has a girl in his room.”
Whatever she’d expected him to say, it hadn’t been that. Her heart fell to her toes. “W-what?”
“The look on your face is awesome. You loooooove hiiiiiim,” he sang. “Also, you aren’t wearing pants.”
He pointed to her crotch, and sure enough, she had kicked off her pajama pants in her sleep. She yelped and put her hands over her nethers.
“Are those Wonder Woman panties?” he asked.
“You wanna get smacked straight across the face, just keep staring, asshole!” She slammed the door. Or she tried to, but Dead of Winter pushed it open and barged in behind her.
“My space, my room, get out.”
“Aw, but we’re bonded now, Cheyenne. You’re my boss.” He grinned and held up the contract. “The second I saw Two Shots on the news dragging in that ho-bag barrel racer—”
“Which one?”
“Noni Pickett.”
“Son of a bit—”
“Language,” Dead of Winter interrupted her. He turned to the middle of his packet. “Rule number fourteen, less cussing.”
“Son of a biscuit eater,” she growled, yanking on her oversize gray sweatpants. They were three sizes too big, had a hole on the left thigh, and a wing sauce stain from two nights ago. “Noni Pickett? Really?” she growled. “Typical.”
“What’s so typical about it?” he asked.
Why was he smiling like that? She wanted to slap the grin right off his face. She stomped past him. “Everyone in the circuit’s had her!”
“In her defense,” Dead said, following her right out the door, “everyone’s had all the barrel racers. You used to be one yourself. You know how easy your kind is.”
“That is so like a man to make a stereotype judgement on a girl like that,” she hissed out. Blood boiling, she turned and swiped her claws at him because he was following too dang close behind her. He ducked out of the way easily, and now he was smiling even bigger.
She poked the elevator button and waited impatiently for the doors to open, all the while murmuring under her breath a string of colorful curse words her granddaddy used when he was fixing tractors.
“Did you just call the elevator a ‘dunderheaded titty-roost’?” Dead asked, getting right in the elevator with her.
“No! I’m calling you that. Stay on your own side.”
Dead leaned against the wall on the other side of the elevator and just stared and grinned at her.
“What?” she demanded.
“This is just way more fun that I thought it would be.”
“What’s the news look like?” she demanded. “What footage do they have?”
“Him pulling Noni by the hand through the front doors of the lobby and them disappearing into the elevator. They made googly eyes at each other twice.” He held up two fingers. “That means two times.” And that awful hairy man batted his eyelashes at her.
She was probably going to commit murder tonight. She could imagine it. Noni with her perfect waist and perfect long legs, probably wore a real diamond belt buckle because she’d been winning a lot of money lately. Her perfectly fake eyelashes and her perfect lipstick and, oh dear goodness, what was she doing with her life?
Ding.
The elevator doors opened, and she descended on the hallway of floor twelve like a witch on a broomstick. She was damn-near floating.
“Stop. Laughing!” she belted over her shoulder at Dead’s annoying cackle.
And then she bang, bang, banged on the hotel door so hard her knuckles ached. “Quickdraw opened the door with the grumpiest frown she’d ever seen. Shit.
“Wrong. Room!” she shouted in his face.