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He gave her an easy smile. One front tooth was slightly crooked. The small imperfection lent his features a roguish look. Lexie willed herself to ignore the flip-flopping sensation in her chest. He was too smooth. Too confident.
“As I told you, I came to check out Whirlwind,” he said. “I’ll be watching him later this evening, but maybe you can tell me what to look for. How does he buck?”
“Why should I tell you anything? The more cowboys he can buck off—cowboys like you—the better his stats will be. If you’re in the stands when he comes out of that chute, you’ll see for yourself. I will tell you one thing. Whirlwind is just five years old. He’s only been on the PRCA circuit a year. But he’s not just strong. He’s as smart as a fox. He knows tricks that most buckers take half a lifetime to learn, if they ever do. Remember that if you ever climb on his back.”
She glanced at her watch, vaguely uneasy. Shane Tully had made it his mission to find her. But he had yet to tell her what he really wanted.
“Your time’s almost up,” she said. “If you’ve got anything else to say, you’d better say it fast.”
He nodded, his mouth compressed into a thin line. “Just one question,” he said. “Have you ever thought of selling Whirlwind? I’m in touch with an interested buyer. He says you can name your price.”
“What?” Lexie’s jaw dropped. Then the outrage boiled up in her, hot and seething. He’d played her, right into his hands. She battled the urge to punch the man hard enough to break bones in his smug, handsome face.
“Just listen,” he said. “You’ve told me your ranch is struggling. What you could get for this bull would solve a lot of your problems. Think about it, at least. Talk it over with your sister.” He fished a business card out of his pocket and thrust it toward her. “Here’s how you can reach me.”
Lexie snatched the card from his hand, ripped it, tossed it down, and stomped it into the dust. “I don’t need to think about it!” she snapped. “And I certainly don’t need to talk it over with Tess. Whirlwind is family! He’s our hope for the future.”
She gasped, almost choking, as a sudden thought struck her. “Who sent you?” she demanded. “Who’s making the offer? If it’s that snake in the grass, Brock Tolman, you can tell him that Whirlwind isn’t for sale. Not now, not ever, and not for any price, especially to him. I wouldn’t sell that man a mangy, three-legged dog!”
Lexie waited for a response to her question. When it didn’t come, she knew she’d been right. Rancher and stock contractor Brock Tolman had been a thorn in the side of the Champion family for years—ever since he’d snatched away a piece of valuable land from Lexie’s father, who’d been negotiating a bank loan to buy it. Brock Tolman might have his cash, his big ranch, and his herd of prime bucking bulls, but there was one thing he would never get his hands on: Whirlwind.
And now he had this slick-talking cowboy doing his dirty work.
She gave him a cold look. “Your time’s up, mister. But let me give you some friendly advice. Working for Tolman is like selling your soul. He’ll take everything from you and kick you out when he’s done.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Shane Tully’s voice was flat, his expression unreadable.
“You do that,” Lexie said. “Now get going. I don’t ever want to see you around our bulls again.”
He turned away, walked a few steps, then paused and glanced back over his shoulder. “Thank you for your time,” he said with a tip of his hat. Then, lengthening his loose, easy stride, he moved off down the line of holding pens.
The next time Lexie looked in that direction, Shane Tully was gone. At least he’d been polite, she told herself—in fact his manner had been downright winning. And he did have nice eyes. When he smiled, they almost sparkled.
But he’d taken advantage of her trusting nature, and she’d let him. When would she ever learn?
Ruben showed up a few minutes later. Short and square built, with the black eyes and sharp-boned features of his people, he’d been a bull rider himself in his youth, when the sport was far less glamourous than now. He still limped from injuries he’d suffered—broken bones badly set. But nobody knew more about cattle, especially bucking bulls, than Ruben Diego.
“I brought you some barbecue and fries.” He held out a grease-stained paper bag and a can of diet soda.
“Thanks.” Lexie still wasn’t hungry, but she knew better than to reject a kindness. She reached for the food, then had another thought. “If you don’t mind holding on to it a little longer, I could use a restroom before I eat. There’s one on the midway. I’ll be right back.”
Without waiting for a reply, she dashed off. The midway wasn’t far, and, as luck would have it, there was no line inside the women’s restroom. Lexie finished in the stall, washed her hands, and splashed her dusty face with water.
Drying her hands on her jeans, she stepped outside, then stopped as if she’d run into a wall. Her pulse slammed. Not a dozen feet away, half-screened by the passing crowd, she saw Shane, talking face-to-face with the drunk who’d tried to assault her.
Had they seen her? Thinking fast, she ducked around the corner of the building that housed the restrooms. Peering back the way she’d come, she could see the two men and catch most of their conversation.
As Lexie watched, Shane took several bills out of his wallet and handed them to the big man, who sported a fresh dressing on his nose.
“Count it if you want,” Shane said. “It’s all there, what we agreed on.”
“Well, it’s not enough,” the big man w
hined. “Breaking my damned nose wasn’t part of the plan. You were supposed to rescue the little bitch before I made a move.”
Shaking his head, Shane handed the man two more bills. “That should cover the damages. Now go and get lost. You never saw me, understand?”
As the two men separated and melted into the crowd, Lexie sagged against the brick wall. Her heart was pounding. Tears of fury blurred her vision. The drunk, Shane’s all-too-timely appearance, and their “friendly” conversation were all part of someone’s plan. She’d been set up and played like a twelve-string banjo—and she hated it.
