Last of the Red-Hot Riders (24 page)

“Shitfire,” Saint said. There was no way out of this. The whole thing was messed up six ways from Sunday. His heart was bleeding, broken in his chest, a dying thing. And his friend Declan, who was supposed to have his back, had him stalled in here.

Knowing full well Saint would do everything he could to stop Cameron from leaving him—but not from leaving her dream. He'd never meant for that to happen. Yet he could see now that he had been reluctant to give Cameron the tools and support she needed to make it. The self-analysis didn't feel good, especially not coming courtesy of people he'd always assumed were his best friends.

Damn it.

“So when you're ready, you can come out,” Steel said.

Saint kissed Lucky, the only loyal thing in his life at the moment.
Ready or not, here I come.
“Yeah, well. Steel hid a cigar he was smoking in his office, and Judy's deal was a scary health issue. If you haul Ivy in here, she'll squeal like a stuck pig, and you'll both know everything you want to know.” He slid onto the wood bench and kissed Lucky's head, hearing a few gasps from Judy with great satisfaction.

There was no trust in Hell. And apparently, no loyalty, either.

So many cats were out of bags that Saint wasn't entirely surprised that he was kept long after the sheriff left with the mayor. He'd always known getting caught between the sheriff and the mayor was the proverbial rock and hard place to get one's nuts jammed between, but when he heard the jailhouse door open at two o'clock in the morning, Saint sat up. Lucky's ears pointed as he waited to see who their early-hours visitor was.

It was Declan.

“Morning, asshole,” Saint said, his tone congenial.

“Likewise.” Declan bent down to scratch Lucky's nose through the bars. “You really are getting to be a big ol' boy. No wonder you've won Judy's heart.”

“Why are you here?” Saint demanded, noticing that Declan had the sheriff's keys to the cells. “Where's Steel?”

“Apparently he and Judy are having something of a renaissance in their love life.” Declan grinned. “There was sweeping off the feet mentioned, and something about loving a woman's elbows just as much as her breasts. I shut the rest out, but I got that there's an early Saturday Night Special happening.”

“Thanks for the update.” Saint glared at his buddy. “Why are you here?”

“Judy asked me to spring you. Said if it were up to her, she'd leave you in here all night to stew in your juices. Then she remembered about Lucky, and said the poor little thing probably needed to find a patch of grass.”

“Glad to hear she's worried about my dog's bladder,” Saint said sourly.

“Anyway, I only needed you pinned down for a few hours.” Declan's grin turned serious. “Steel said to move you out.”

“Why? It's beginning to feel quite cozy in here.” He was lying, of course, itching to get out. He had places to be—fast.

“Did you leave your cooler in the back of your truck?” Declan asked.

“I didn't unpack anything. I was in a hurry to get to Mom's, then I was in a hurry to get to the barn before I headed out of town to make a deposit in Mom's account. Why?”

“Eli must have found your cooler. He's passed out in your truck bed, sleeping off a bender. Frick and Frack found about ten empty beer cans scattered around him.”

“Holy shit.” Saint felt awful. “I never even considered Eli might help himself.”

Declan shrugged. “This is Hell. Anything can happen.”

“Tell me about it.” He needed out of this cell immediately.

“So Frick and Frack are going to move Eli in here to sleep things off safely,” Declan said, fitting the key into the lock. “Now, before I open this door, I want to remind you of one thing.”

“Go on.” Saint's eyes narrowed.

“You and I are both SEALs. We're both deserving of our reputations for certain talents and skills that we honed to a fine art.”

“In other words, don't kill you when you open the door.”

“In other words,” Declan said with a grin, “if you're going to hit me, you'd better make damn sure you hit me hard enough to knock me out cold, because I'm not exactly feeling sorry for you right now. You're not the only man in town whose heart got a little banged up.”

He jingled the keys. “Remember, we're both trained to kill.”

He swung the door open.

Saint took a second to look at his friend on the other side of the bars. They'd been in many bad places together, had each other's back when bullets and mortars were something they were on familiar terms with. Had stalked through mountains and jungles, always assaulting forward.

Saint stepped forward. Put Lucky in Declan's arms.

“Here's your new good luck charm until I get back. He's working on becoming an ace gun dog. Do not teach him to beg.”

He hauled ass as fast as he could, heading for the jail exit.

Thought he heard Declan say something to Lucky like, “It's not you learning to beg that's the problem. It's your human.”

Saint grinned as he jumped into his truck. Okay, he wasn't going to beg, but he sure as hell was going to ask nicely.

Saint watched Cameron as she got on the back of a bull under Shorty's tutelage. He was spying on her, testing his gut so he wouldn't make any further mistakes. On the drive to Colorado—after he'd made his mother's bank deposit for her, which she claimed probably wasn't really deposited because banks and the government could never be trusted—he'd had a lot of time to think.

Hard as it was to swallow, his friends were right: He hadn't trained Cameron as hard as she'd wanted to be trained. Hadn't trained her as hard as he'd trained Ava. She'd gotten discouraged, not able to see the finish line, and when Judy had departed, forgetting to fund the team, Cameron had hit rock bottom. As she'd said, if the town hadn't bought her new tires, she wouldn't have been able to replace them—certainly not so quickly. Then Anna had shown up, and Cameron had seen her own frustrations and her own dream dying, just as Anna did.

The logical thing to do was to return to Houston and enter the police academy.

Except that Declan had poked his nose into Saint's business and offered to get Cameron up to Colorado to Shorty. Cameron had leaped at the chance. And now, seeing the woman he loved getting on the back of a big-ass, dun-colored bull, Saint felt sweat break out over various parts of his body. His teeth were grinding to nubs. His heart was palpitating like a nervous rabbit's.

You could see a lot of bad things in the world, but when you watched the woman you loved put herself in danger, it really required biting down. He didn't move, made himself stay completely hidden. The bull flailed out of the gate, determined to get the thing off his back, throwing his hips first one way and then the other as he thrashed. Cameron held on three seconds, before seeming like she flew a mile, Saint's heart along with her. She landed on the ground hard, and bullfighters ran to help her up and steer the bull away.

He thought he might be sick on the spot.

Cameron slowly walked to a seat while Shorty spoke in low tones to her. Saint got it: She had to know what cowboys faced, what exactly they were up against, in order to understand how to protect them.

But it was the hardest thing he'd forced himself to watch in a long, long time.

He watched her take off the helmet, her cinnamon-colored hair spraying out in a wild pouf. His breath caught as she grasped one of her ankles, shaking her head as Shorty felt the bone. Cameron laughed at something Shorty said, clearly not upset about the slight injury. Not one bit daunted or discouraged.

Saint couldn't take it any longer.

He turned and walked away.

A few weeks later, when Harper and Michael returned to Hell, Saint noticed a very strange thing about Declan as they sat in the training center office watching riding tapes on a large TV: Declan kept glancing at the doorway. The fans stirred the air overhead, horses munched hay in their stalls, and Lucky gnawed a bone at their feet with great contentment. Declan was unaware of everything but the doorway.

“You looking for the Easter Bunny?” Saint asked. “Santa Claus bringing you something?”

“No.” Declan slunk down in his seat. “Just keeping my eye on things.”

Saint glanced at the text he'd received from Steel:
Harper and Michael just came back to town. Harper's talking to Judy right now.

Of course, Declan didn't know that he'd gotten a text from Steel, as no doubt Declan had, too, since he was watching the door like a hungry jackal eying dinner. “We should really be focusing on these tapes, buddy.”

“I am.” Declan tore his gaze from the door. “I just—” He broke off, shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Just hoping a little blonde gal is going to stop by and say hello?”

“No!” Declan glared at him. “You mind your love life, I'll mind mine.”

“Nothing to mind about mine.” It was true. He'd hear bits and pieces about Cameron through the Hell grapevine—Judy and Steel—and from everything he heard, Cameron was turning out to be the top bullfighter Judy'd always known she could be.

“How come you didn't talk to Cameron when you went up to Colorado? I know you got there, so don't say you didn't go. Some of Shorty's hands saw you skulking around the place.”

“They didn't tell Cameron, did they?”

“No way. Shorty said ex-boyfriends were bad juju for training.”

“I'm not an ex-boyfriend.” In rodeo world, gossip was paramount and flowed freely. He should have guessed no one could keep their pieholes closed.

“Well, whatever.” Declan shrugged. “You're an ex-something, or you wouldn't have driven up there.”

“You're an ex-something, too, or you wouldn't be planted at the doorway hoping Harper and Michael will drop by.”

Declan shook his head, looking quite miserable. “Actually, I can't even be classified as an ex-anything. I never even kissed her.”

Saint stared at his friend. “You've been suffering like this over a woman you never got up the nerve to kiss?”

“It wasn't about nerve. It was about respect.” Declan's face turned more miserable still. “She has a little boy, Saint. Jeez. You don't just hop into bed with a woman like Harper. She needs time to make up her mind about what she wants where men are concerned.”

“So you got friend-zoned.” Saint nodded. “And now you're glad she's back for a second chance.”

“I hope she's back and not just passing through. Although I heard a rumor that Judy's not going to put the team back together, that she's focusing on her health right now.”

Judy was doing great, but the health scare had made her appreciate Steel all the more. They spent a lot more time together, closed off from the world. Even the cabin out at the creek wasn't safe from their romance. Much to their chagrin, the Outlaws discovered their private retreat had become Judy and Steel's second home.

Things were pretty peaceful between the couple at the moment, with Judy and Steel deciding that maybe Saturday night wasn't the only night that was special.

“If there's not going to be a team, why is Harper in Hell?” Saint wondered.

“That's what I'd give three inches off my—”

“No you wouldn't,” Saint interrupted.

“Hair, fool,” Declan said. “I was going to say three inches of my hair.”

They sat and watched the tapes in silence, each of them glancing
surreptitiously
toward the door in between practically every lead change. Saint thought his buddy might melt into a puddle if Harper didn't stop by to say hello and put him out of his misery.

But it wasn't Harper who walked through the door of the training center office an hour later.

It was Cameron.

Saint hopped to his feet, and Lucky dropped his bone to greet her. “Cameron!”

“Hi, Saint. Declan. Lucky boy,” she said, bending down to give the dog his due, which he clearly appreciated, judging by his tail, which had turned into a furry propeller at the attention; Saint thought it was a wonder the dog didn't take flight. Cameron straightened, met Saint's gaze. He felt as if he couldn't move, not even his mouth to say something, anything that would be suave. Friendly. No-big-deal.

It was
such
a big deal.

She looked different: leaner, stronger. Happier.

He hadn't been able to do that for her.

“Saint, do you have a minute?” Cameron asked.

Declan jumped up. “Lucky and I are going to go chase down some trouble at Redfeather's. Good to see you, Cameron.”

“You too, Declan.”

He left, closing the door behind him. Saint was about to open it, embarrassed that his buddy would hint so boldly that they wanted to be alone—but Cameron walked into his arms. Kissed him, reminding him why he'd been so destroyed when she'd left. Her body was still soft in all the important places, her hair still smelled like strawberries, and most important, she was kissing him like she'd had him on her mind a little bit.

“God, I missed you,” Saint said on a groan, before kissing her back, the way he'd dreamed of kissing her for weeks. But then he remembered she probably wasn't going to stay in Hell, she was likely just passing through, and pulled himself away with an effort.

He felt pretty much like ripping off the best part of his body, but no matter how much he wanted to hold her, he had to get a grip on himself. “Sorry. I don't have many sexy redheads walking into my office and laying one on me. I appreciate it, though.”

She looked at him, those blue eyes charging his heart with adrenaline, like they always did. “I missed you, too.”

He waited. Wasn't sure what to say.

Figured he might start with the basics.

“Why are you in Hell?”

“To see you,” she said softly.

That stunned him. “Why?”

“To see if kissing you was as good as I remembered it. Or if I was just holding on to something that wasn't there.”

He didn't know what to say. So he stood there, pinned to the floor, drinking her in. She nodded after a few seconds, pressed one more light kiss against his lips, and walked out the door.

That got him moving. He hurried after her, meeting her at her truck door. “Well, is it?”

“Is what?”

“How you remembered it?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Not at all.”

She climbed in her truck as his heart hammered inside him, making him go mad. It was certainly the same for him. He even had a stiffy—which wasn't surprising, given the fact that he woke up every morning with one from the dreams he had of her at night.

“Where are you off to?” he asked, not sure what to say to a woman who claimed that kissing him wasn't the way it had been before. How hard did he want his heart broken? He couldn't bear to think she no longer felt anything for him.

“Harper and I have decided to put Judy's team back together. It'll have a different focus, but what Judy can't do right now, we can.”

He felt his soul take flight. “You mean you're coming back to Hell?”

She nodded. “Harper has a great vision of some things we can do going forward. I said I'd love to help her. We think we can get a lot accomplished with the Hell's Belles if we pool our efforts. More than what Judy could do alone. Even Ava wants in on it.” She looked at him. “Did you know Ava and Trace are expecting a baby?”

Damn it, did no one tell him anything anymore? Dumbfounded, he shook his head.

“She just got the results from the doctor. I'm surprised she hasn't sent out a mass text. Maybe things have changed in Hell.”

He hadn't changed. God, he hadn't. He was still madly in love with her, still wanted to crawl into the nearest bed with her and make love to her for hours. Forever.

“Where are you staying?”

“At the Honeysuckle Bungalow. Judy says we can stay there until we get some things sorted out. Then Harper and I will probably rent a house. She wants a place with a backyard for Michael so he can have someplace to play.”

It didn't sound like Harper had come back to Hell with Declan in mind. He was a little worried about his buddy.

Then again, he was worried about himself. What did it mean when a gorgeous woman walked into your life after being gone for a few months and laid one on you? Something? Nothing?

He couldn't tell. “Well, thanks for stopping by.”

She started her engine. “Good to see you, Saint.”

And then she drove away. Saint stared after her, wondering what the hell had just happened.

Well, what had happened was his life was all screwed up. Everybody seemed to know it but him—but the moment Cameron had kissed him, Saint knew he was lost. And probably wasn't going to find himself. Not without Cameron in his life, anyway.

Because Cameron was pretty much the thing that made him a better man. A stronger man. Someone who wasn't just surviving day to day, going with the flow, letting life happen as he floated from buoy to current and back again.

Surely she knew they belonged together, Hell's Belles or no, bullfighting or no.

If she didn't know, it was up to him to convince her.

He just didn't have a clue how to do it.

Yet.

Two weeks later, Steel strolled into Saint's office, wearing a grin the size of Texas—one might even have called it a shit-eating grin. Saint raised a brow. “Evening, Sheriff.”

Steel grinned. “We're having a birthday party at the Rolling Thunder for little Michael. Do you want to come?”

He looked up from the stack of papers he'd been going over concerning plans for stall improvements. “How do I not know about this?”

“You would have, if you'd been to Redfeather's once in the last two weeks. What are you surviving on? TV dinners?” Steel laughed, settling himself in the chair across from Saint, big and weathered and hearty in his boots and denim shirt. Clearly all was going very well in Steel's world, with Judy back to rustle up trouble.

Saint shrugged. “I eat.”

“Don't want to face Cameron?” Steel nodded. “Believe me, I understand. But you might want to strike while the iron is hot, son. Or at least warm, because you've definitely been letting your branding iron cool off.”

Saint didn't care to think about irons, cool, hot, or otherwise. “I'm getting to it. I haven't figured out the plan of attack.”

Steel shook his head. “You just have to be willing to commit.”

Saint's eyes pinched tightly closed for a split second. “I don't want to talk about this.” He ruffled his papers to look like he was too busy to discuss women.

The thing was, Cameron had said kissing him wasn't what she remembered. And a man would have to be an idiot to march into battle without a strategy. Right now, his strategy was to give her as much space as possible, not crowd her while she was trying to fit back into Hell.

Nobody liked being crowded.

Especially Cameron. Last time he'd crowded her, she'd disappeared for months.