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His gaze fastened on the bull and rider, Johnny said, “Do you reckon I should’ve told him that bull can be hell for a cowboy on foot?”
“He’s going to find that out himself right about…now,” Trey said, grinning.
After two hard-jarring jumps out of the chute, the bull made a snaking twist to the left in midair that whipped Tank to the right. The successive clicks of a camera registering the action came from somewhere behind Trey’s left shoulder as Tank was slung sideways through the air.
When the white-faced bull swung back to look for him, a rodeo clown quickly put himself between the bull and the downed rider. Momentarily distracted from its original target, the bull gave chase while a second clown pulled Tank to his feet and gave him a directional push toward the fence without letting his attention stray from the bull.
Tank tossed a glance in the animal’s direction to verify its lack of interest in him before he limped toward the fence. His slower pace was a contrast to the darting swiftness of the clowns, and one that the bull was quick to spot.
“Look out, Tank!” Johnny shouted the warning at almost the same instant that Tank heard the approaching pounding of hooves.
The limp forgotten, Tank scrambled to reach the fence with the bull hot on his heels. Certain that his buddy wouldn’t be able to scale it in time on his own, Trey leaned down, grabbed Tank by the back of his belt, and hauled him across the toprail, dislodging the photographer who had occupied the spot. The fence shook when the bull sideswiped it before swinging back to the arena.
Immediately Tank started swearing a blue streak, proof in itself that he was no worse for the ride. In the edges of his vision, Trey registered the image of the photographer lying flat on the ground, the camera protectively raised. Something wasn’t the same, though, and it drew the fullness of his glance.
The billed cap had fallen off, exposing a tumble of sun-streaked brown hair. The skinny photographer was a female. Trey swung off the fence and moved to her side as she sat up, a sleek curtain of hair falling forward to conceal her face from him.
He caught hold of her arm, helping her roll to her feet. Not until she was fully upright did she allow the strap around her neck to take the full weight of the camera. Immediately she started brushing the dust from the back of her pants.
“Are you all righ
t, ma’am?” The question was prompted by an inexplicable need to see her face.
With a screening lift of her hand, she flipped her long hair aside and glanced up. Crazily, Trey wasn’t at all surprised to find himself face to face with the girl from the motel. The sight of those blue eyes looking back at him was like a clean wind sweeping through him, all heady and fine.
“I’m okay,” she said. Then recognition set in, and her lips curved slightly at the corners. “We meet again.”
“That’s my good luck.” And Trey knew he had never uttered a truer statement as he drank in the details that had escaped his notice before, like the thickly stroked arch of dark eyebrows, the soft jut of cheekbone, and the cleanly angled line of jaw. But he kept coming back to the frank boldness of her returning gaze. “I didn’t catch your name the first time.”
“I don’t recall throwing it at you.” Her laughing smile took any sting from her mocking rejoinder. “But it happens to be Sloan.”
“Just Sloan?” he questioned.
Her blue glance made a rapid and assessing sweep of his face, a note of caution surfacing in her eyes. “I think that’s enough,” she said and quickly began scanning the ground around her feet.
“Mine’s Trey,” he volunteered, then reached down and scooped up her ball cap. “Looking for this?”
“Thanks.” She took it from him, dusted it off against her leg, then slipped the bill between her teeth, and set about winding her hair atop her head to once more confine its length under the cap.
Although he’d been raised not to trespass on another man’s territory, it was her hesitancy to share more information about herself that prompted Trey to ask, “Do you belong to someone?”
“Yes,” she said, even though her fingers were bare of any rings. As she slipped the cap over the knot of hair, she slanted him a curious look. “Aren’t you going to ask who that might be?”
“Whatever you’d say, I wouldn’t like the answer.” His reply was a little curt—a reaction to the sudden twisting in his gut at the news she already had a man in her life.
“I never said it was a man,” she chided dryly.
A puzzled frown cut a thin crease in his forehead. “Then who?”
There was more than a little pride in the sudden lift of her chin. “I belong to myself.”
All the knots suddenly smoothed, and Trey was quick to take advantage of the green light she had just given him. “Are you going to the street dance when you leave here tonight?”
“Is that an invitation?” She tipped her head to one side, all the while making another careful study of him in an attempt to determine the degree of danger he might be to a woman alone.
“It is,” Trey confirmed.
After a slight pause, she made her decision about him. “Where should I meet you?”
