Game For Love: Game On (Kindle Worlds Novella) (10 page)

A little voice crept into his head with one other option, but he didn’t feel like listening. Still, he couldn’t deny that one tiny part of him wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, Laurel had chosen to not sell the story.

Maybe he’d started out as a job and it had turned into something more
for her. Maybe she really had liked him—

And maybe the pigs on his grandfather’s ranch had started to fly since he’d been there last.

Shit
. She’d gotten under his skin so now he was almost willing to believe the best about her and forget she’d deceived to him.

Outside the airport
, Trent sat on a bench with his luggage waiting for one of the hired hands from the ranch to pick him up. As the late afternoon sun sunk lower in the sky, he pulled out his cell phone and checked the web one more time.

Nothing.

It had been hours since he’d kicked her out of his bungalow this morning. That fact had the tiny ember of hope inside him flaring to life. He squashed it down and stood as the truck he recognized pulled up to the curb.

The window rolled down and Clint leaned over from the driver’s seat. “Get in, city slicker.”

Trent tossed his bags into the back of the pick-up before climbing into the passenger seat. “This city slicker can kick your ass, so you better watch your mouth, old man.”

The man who’d been working for his grandfather since Trent had been a kid let out a snort. “Old man, huh? We’ll see who kicks whose ass come branding time.”

Trent cocked a brow. “Would you like to make a wager to that effect?”

“Sure. How about your annual salary against mine.” Clint’s gravel-throated laugh filled the truck as he pulled away from the curb.

Trent smiled. This trip home was exactly what he needed right now. Nice normal folks who didn’t give a crap about what anyone said or wrote about anyone else. Hell, the last thing Clint had read was probably the circa 1980s girly magazine that had been kicking around in the barn for as long as Trent could remember.

As country music from the radio filled the cab, along with the unmistakable odor that could only be manure—probably
on the bottom of Clint’s boots—Trent let out a sigh.

What the hell had he been thinking going to some resort to hide? This was where he needed to be to feel normal.

Trent itched to get out of his Florida clothes and into his cowboy boots and jeans as they sped past the familiar Texas scenery. “It’s good to be back.”

Clint shot Trent a sideways glance.
“We’ll see if you still feel that way after we finish fencing in those thousand acres your granddaddy just bought.”

Crazy as it seemed
Trent couldn’t help but smile. Even digging postholes seemed pretty damn good right about now.

“I guess we will.”
He’d also see how much backbreaking work and sweat it took to get Laurel out from under his skin. He had a feeling it would take fencing in at least a thousand acres, maybe more.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Dammit
, Trent. Where are you?” Laurel let out a breath filled with frustration and searched another site, looking for news of where he might be and finding none.

He could still be at Little Palm, but she didn’t dare go there.
For all she knew security could be on high alert watching for her return. Besides, it had been a week since Trent had flown from San Francisco to Miami. How long could a man stay at a resort that cost a thousand dollars a night?

A man who
made what Trent made could stay for quite a while.

Her gut told her he wasn’t still in Florida. She’d gotten to know him that one night—quite intimately, in fact—but what she knew of him told her he wouldn’t stick around.
He struck her as a man of action. He’d want to move. Go somewhere and get far away from the memories of what she’d done to him.

But where?

He was certainly off the grid. She had every search alert she could think of set up to tip her off to any news of his whereabouts but she’d barely had a ping. Apparently his adoring fans were only vigilant during football season.

She’d done
her research. Pre-season games didn’t start until August. There was no way in hell she was going to wait that long to try to explain to Trent. To get him to understand and hopefully forgive her.

She was obsessed and her work was suffering because of it. She’d gone to Miami to look for the fake Trent, as she’d promised Becky she would. She
’d put out some feelers, greased some palms, and come up empty.

In the past
she would have been like a pit bull with a bone, not letting go until she found the man. But when the local police told her that this guy had very likely moved on, if not to a different city, than most definitely to a different alias, she’d accepted it. She thanked them for their help, left them her card in case anything more came up and left.

Laurel had left a pregnant woman with no answers. For the first time since s
he started this business, she hadn’t completed her job. All because of Trent O’Shea.

And that’s why she was going to find him
, if for no other reason than so she could get back to normal. She would hunt him to the ends of the earth, sit him down and make him listen to her.

She
’d had good reason for tracking him down. Her doing so had proven his innocence and he should be grateful. He needed to know all that.

She even had a fairly decent excuse for not telling him the truth the moment she figured out he wasn’t the man who’
d misled Becky. Initially she’d been too distracted by their attraction to each other to think straight. And then later on, they’d just been too darn busy. She’d had no time and no inclination to talk then. The truth might have ended their evening together much too soon.

Even so, she was sorry for not telling him the truth right away, and she’d regret
forever the way he found out. Overhearing her on the phone must have been horrible for him. She couldn’t make him accept it but she would darn well make sure he at least heard her apology . . .
if
she could find him.

An
alert came through. Laurel refused get her hopes up. She’d rushed to open too many over the past week only to be disappointed. Drawing in a breath, she braced herself to be let down one more time as she clicked the email.

Texas Rodeo News – Tie Down Roping
Competitors . . . Trent O’Shea

Her eyes bounced along the text, skipping to the important words and
finally to the date of the event. It was this weekend. He was in Texas riding in a rodeo in a few days.

Surprise battled with all the other emotions warring inside her.
Anticipation. Trepidation. Icy cold fingers of fear that he’d reject her apology outright gripped her, even as she warmed at the thought of seeing him again. That didn’t matter. Whatever happened, she was going.

Her next se
arch online was for flights. Neither hell nor high water was going to keep her away from that rodeo.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“You do realize that if the owner of the Outlaws knew you were doing this, he’d have a heart attack, right?” Trent’s grandfather cocked up one snowy brow.

Trent lifted one shoulder. “At least I didn’t enter the bull riding.”

Jason, one of the younger guys who worked on the ranch, let out a snort. “You make sure to tell him that when you get hurt and can’t play and he fires you.”

“Nobody’s getting
hurt or fired.” Clint scowled. “If y’all remember correctly, I taught Trent to rope back when he first started to walk.”

“See, now the way I heard it, you taught him to rope
before
he learned to walk.” Jason grinned.

“Get a few drinks in him, and Clint’ll tell you he had Trent roping in the womb.” Grand
daddy laughed so hard at his own joke, he had to wipe the tears out of his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah
. Y’all joke but you’ll see who wins.”

Trent shot Clint an amused glance. “I thought I was a city slicker.”

Clint nodded. “You are, when it suits me. But now I think you’re going to win this thing, so don’t let me down, ya hear?”

Trent smiled. “Yes, sir.”

“Calf roping’s up next.” Trent’s grandfather tipped his chin toward the other end of the arena where the stock handlers were loading the calves. “Better get on up there, son.”

“And I expect to see a good time,” Clint called after Trent as he turned toward the horse.

A week back on the ranch after being away since last spring, and now Trent was supposed to win? He swung up into the saddle thinking they’d be lucky if he even completed the run. Yeah, he’d won his share of events, but that was a few years ago.

But Jezebel was as well trained as a
roping horse could be and Trent had ridden her before. Even if he was a bit rusty, she was still sharp and would make up for anything lacking in his performance. Maybe they wouldn’t win, but at least he knew he wouldn’t embarrass himself.

His turn
came all to soon. Before he knew it he had Jezebel in the box. He shoved the pigging string between his teeth and felt for the spare rope he’d stuck in the back of his jeans. With his other rope in his hands, he was as ready as he was going to get.

The calf
was released into the arena and as soon as it cleared the barrier, Trent kicked Jezebel into action, taking off after it. He swung the rope in a loop above his head and let it fly. It landed smoothly over the calf’s neck, bringing the animal to a halt. With the rope wrapped around the saddle horn, Trent jumped to the ground. He ran for the calf while Jezebel kept tension on the rope.

He flipped the two hundred pound calf ont
o its back in one motion and secured three of its feet with the pigging string. Done, he thrust both hands high for the judges to stop the clock.

“A clean run and eight point four seconds for local celebrity
, Trent O’Shea.”

The crowd went wild while Trent cringed at the annou
ncer’s amplified words. His time was good, but the rest about him being the local celebrity he could have done without. He coiled his rope and led Jezebel out the gate.

Jason met him there. “Hey, local celebrity! Good run.”

Trent rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

“Told ya he’d do good.” Clint was there
too ready to take credit for Trent’s performance.

“Jezebel did good. I
was just along for the ride.” Trent turned to watch the next competitor when a woman pushing her way toward him through the crowd caught his attention.

Like a punch to the gut, s
eeing Laurel sucked the wind right out of his lungs.

Somebody said something to him but he couldn’t listen. “Take care of the horse. I gotta see somebody.” Trent thrust the reins toward Jason, and he supposed he took them, but he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t wait around to find out.

When she saw he was moving toward her, Laurel stopped and waited for him to come to her.

Face to face again, h
is pulse sped as he asked, “What are you doing here?”

His tone should have left no doubt that she wasn’t welcome, but still she didn’t back down.
“I’m here to explain and you’re going to listen.”

“Oh, am I?
” He lifted one brow. “Why should I do that?”

“Because you owe me that much.”

“I owe you?” His voice rose in surprise at the nerve of this crazy woman. “That’s real funny, considering you lied to me.”

“Did I? When exactly did I tell you an outright lie?”

“I don’t know. Let’s find out. Is your name really Laurel McCann?”

“Yes. W
ell, kind of.”

He lifted his brows high. “Which is it?”

“My name was Laurel McCann until the year I turned sixteen. That’s when my mother’s new husband officially adopted me. After that I took his name, Burnett. That’s the name I go by now.”

He remembered that story she’d told about the last Christmas she’d had before her parents’ divorce.
That was an epic fumble on his part. He drew in a breath and regrouped. “You never told me you were a reporter.”

“First of all, I’m not a reporter. And second, not telli
ng you what I do for a living is not a lie. It’s an omission, much like how you never told me what your profession is.”

She had him there.
He was guilty of lies by omission himself. He had specifically not told her that bit of information or his last name, yet she had known anyway.

He
circled back to the important part of her admission. She wasn’t a reporter, which explained why the big story he’d been expecting to break never had. What it didn’t explain was why she’d been trying to find him in the first place or who she’d been reporting back to on the phone that morning.

“Are you ready to hear me out now or do I have to keep following you around the country?”
She planted her hands on her hips and—dammit—looked adorable. A little spitfire ready to take him on.