‘So why bull riding?’
She’s tapping her pen against her notepad in a subtle way that shouldn’t be so disconcerting. The problem is the notepad’s resting on her knee, and every time I so much as glance in that direction, my attention is drawn to something else about her. Something I really shouldn’t care about. Like how smooth her skin is, how her fingers are long and elegant, how her knees are pressed together in a way that just seems naturally graceful. What the heck do I know about grace?
It’s just that having her sitting there is distracting as all get-out.
‘Beau?’
‘Huh?’
‘Bull riding. Why?’
I turn to face her. ‘Why not?’
She looks at me like I’ve got ten screws loose. ‘Well, I mean, we could start with the fact there’s a chance you could die every time you go into the arena.’
I make a noise of disagreement.
‘Come on, it’s a high-risk sport.’
‘I don’t have a death wish. I know what I’m doing out there.’
‘That doesn’t change the fact that the rate of accidents is high.’
‘Accidents are a part of life.’ I know that more than most. My mother’s death wasn’t an accident so much as a tragedy. Unexpected and sudden, losing her out of the blue because of an aneurysm tore us apart. My father’s death, only a few years ago, was just as tragic, even though he died saving others from a fire. ‘There are no guarantees in anything.’
‘But you’re getting on an angry bull, night after night, week after week.’
‘Yep.’
She stares at me like I’m crazy.
‘Look, the tour does everything they can to make it safe—they don’t want us hurt—and we know how to land when we fall. Believe me when I tell you there’s nothing much more exhilarating than the feeling of conquering a rank-ass bull.’
‘I bet there is.’
I glance across at her, tempted to tell her that sex is as close as it comes, but don’t. It’d feel a bit like playing with fire and gasoline all at once. Instead, I quickly shift my focus back to the road, turning the car off the highway toward the hotel. I’ve beenin Fort Worth enough to know the streets well. ‘I’ve just always wanted to do this.’
‘Always?’
I drag a hand over my stubble-roughened jaw as I nod.
‘Since when? Be specific.’
I glance down at her notepad to see she’s half-filled a page. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I’ve got nothing to hide, but a tide of anxiety rips through me regardless. My life—my real life—isn’t something I put out there. Who’d be interested in it, anyway? But even if I was the most well known athlete in the world, there are some things a man has a right to keep to himself. Some things he can choose not to wear on his sleeve.
‘Beau?’ She clicks her fingers in the air between us. I try not to find her impatience hot, but I’m only human. I’ve always liked a woman who knows what she wants and speaks her mind.
‘Six.’ I frown slightly, trying to get the facts straight. ‘I reckon I was about six. I used to sit up late, watching Justin McBride. Man, I wanted to be just like him.’
‘Why? What was it about him, particularly?’
‘His style. His skill. His showmanship. He was just mesmerising, you know? I couldn’t take my eyes off him.’
‘What did your parents say, when you told them?’
Parents.The word lands hard against my chest, but I don’t show that. I keep my smile locked in place, my frame relaxed, even when that huge, aching void opens up right in my chest.
I don’t have any parents left. It’s just me, the boys, Mackenzie, Beth and Cassidy now. We’re what’s left of the Donovans. Butshe’s not asking about my parents today. I’ve got no doubt Bailey James has done her research and knows they’re not here anymore. She’s asking what they thought of my career when they were alive.
