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nbsp; Her facial muscles tightened. “You bet I do.”
Chad let out a breathy chortle. “Good joke.”
“No joke, Chad,” Sam said. “She’s pretty good, actually. But she’s never ridden a bull as big as Diablo. She’s tamed some pretty nasty studs in Montana, though never during competition.”
“I hate to tell you this, Gold Dust, but this rodeo doesn’t allow female bull riding.”
“I’ll just have to get them to change their minds then,” Dusty said.
“Good luck with that,” Chad said. “In fact, can I go with you? I think the whole affair might be funny.”
“Fine, come along then. Who do I speak to?”
“Honey, why don’t you stick to female riding? I’m sure the WPRA will be happy to hear your pleas. But this here’s a man’s rodeo.”
Dusty’s nostrils flared as anger seethed in her chest. “I’m as good a bull rider as any man. Tell him, Sam.”
“I already told him you’re good.”
“But tell him what they call me back home.”
“Dust—”
“Tell him, or I will!”
“They call her the Bull Whisperer. She’s good, I tell you.”
“Bull Whisperer?” Chad scoffed. “So you’re the Cesar Millan of cattle, huh? Ain’t no whisper gonna calm Diablo. Even Zach hasn’t been able to ride him, and he’s the best.”
“Yeah, well, he hasn’t seen me yet.” Dusty stood with her hands on her hips, wishing her presence were more imposing. Both her brother and Chad were nearly a foot taller than she was. “I’m going to ride that bull and win that purse!”
“Seriously, Dusty,” Chad said, “I was teasing you. But you can’t try to ride Diablo. He’ll kill you. Trust me, I know. He damn near killed me. I was out all last season recovering from injuries I got from him.”
“I have a way with animals,” Dusty said.
“So do I, honey.”
Sam rolled his eyes, laughing. “Whatever you say, McCray.”
“Hey, dogs love me,” Chad said.
“I’m not surprised,” Dusty said, smiling sardonically. “I’m sure you make a nice tall fire hydrant. Now tell me, who do I need to talk to about riding the bull?”
“You need to talk to me, darlin’.”
Dusty shuddered at the sexy western drawl, the hot whisper of breath against the back of her neck.
“And there ain’t a woman alive who can ride that bull.”
Chapter Two
Dusty turned to face the man behind her, and her breath caught. Tall, though not as tall as Sam or Chad—six-feet-two, maybe, in his boots. Long black hair fell to his collar in silky waves. Broad shoulders clad in a black western shirt, and lean hips hugged by snug fitting jeans. The face of a god, chiseled and perfect with a strong jawline and straight Grecian nose. Full dusky lips. Wow. Then she noticed his eyes. One dark brown, one light blue. Those creepy eyes. Funny, they didn’t seem so bad anymore. They worked with his movie star looks. They gave him a mysterious quality, like he could see into her soul.
He was magnificent.
“Zach McCray,” she said in a breathless rasp.
“I hardly recognized you, Gold Dust,” he drawled, eyeing her from top to bottom.
