He wished he could wrap his emotions as tight as he was wrapping his wrists. Since seeing Libby last night, he felt like he’d been rubbed raw by Wyoming limestone. He should have never sauntered over to her table, but once he spotted her, he’d been drawn to her like a bee to a flower, the pull strong and elemental.
And for his troubles she’d poleaxed him with the news she was getting married—only wanting to assure their divorce was clean—and could care less about him. Hell.
Too bad he hadn’t reconsidered that kiss.
He shouldn’t have done it. He’d been fooled by her sweet smile and those welcoming, delectable lips of hers. Fooled that maybe she still had feelings for him. Fooled there might still be something between them, could be something between them.
He’d let her tears get to him. He wished he could say he was immune to such feminine wiles, but he wasn’t. Even though his mother cried enough when she was on a bender, it hadn’t dulled the fierce protectiveness he felt when faced with any woman’s tears, much less Libby’s.
But her declaration she was getting engaged had brought him to his senses with a jolt. Chance shook his head at his own stupidity.
His lawyer said it would be prudent to sign the affidavit since Chance had no desire or incentive to protest the divorce decree. So be it.
He needed to put last night’s drama out of his mind and focus on his task at hand—riding his bronc to the eight-second finish. Eight seconds may not seem like a whole lot of time, but when seated on a whirling dervish, it was seven seconds too long. Once he rode today, he’d head out and not look back. He shouldn’t have come to Cheyenne—and he wouldn’t make that mistake again. They said you couldn’t come home again, and last night proved it.
“Lonnie, cut this tape for me,” Chance asked the slim-hipped cowboy next to him and held up his wrapped wrist.
He’d been friends with Lonnie Kasin since high school, and Lonnie was as good a traveling partner as he was ever likely to find, with a quiet focus on winning that Chance admired as well as a streak of mischief that kept the miles interesting. Lonnie finished buckling the last leg strap of his fringed leather chaps and grabbed the scissors from his bag that sat open on the floor.
“I expect to be paid in lots of beers tonight for my services—after you win your event,” the blond-haired cowboy said as he snipped the tape and pressed the end to Chance’s wrist.
“You’ll be buying beers for me more likely, given that bull you drew.” Lonnie was a skilled bull rider, and he’d drawn It’s Nasty out of Prescott Rodeo Company stock, a bull that had yet to be ridden for a score by any cowboy. So if Lonnie stayed on, he’d be guaranteed a high mark.
Lonnie gave a snort. “I’ve got to make it eight seconds.”
“Focus and you’ll do it.” Chance had taken up meditation at the urging of another bronc rider, and it had done wonders for his concentration. Lonnie wasn’t yet a believer.
“I’m focusing,” Lonnie said. “Trouble is, so is the bull.”
Chance set to wrapping his other wrist.
“Saw JT before,” Lonnie continued. “He said you introduced him to your wife. You see Libby last night?”
They’d covered thousands of miles together in the last five years, leaving lots of opportunity for conversation. Though Chance wasn’t one to discuss his private life with most people, Lonnie wasn’t most people. Lonnie had been a year ahead of Chance in high school, had known about Libby, the marriage, and the aftermath. Lonnie had been the one to push Chance toward the rodeo, which had literally saved his life. He could tell Lonnie anything. Only today he didn’t feel like talking about last night, and certainly not minutes before his event.
“She was at the Cattleman’s Club. We said hello—and good-bye. That’s all there was to it.”
Lonnie had looked up an old girlfriend and presumably spent the night at her place given he hadn’t come back to the hotel room, so he hadn’t accompanied Chance to the Cattleman’s Club.
“And you introduced her as your wife because…”
“Maybe I wanted to get JT’s goat.” Chance held out his other hand for Lonnie to cut the tape.
“I thought maybe you wanted to get Libby’s,” Lonnie said as he used the scissors.
“Don’t. Think, that is.” Chance patted down the tape and slapped on his black hat. “Focus. On that bull and not my love life.”
“Right now my bull is more interesting than your love life has been, up until now, that is. I’m just wondering why that is,” Lonnie said, chuckling as he walked away. “I’ll see you behind the chutes.”
Chance watched his friend leave. He needed to heed his own advice and focus on the horse he was going to ride and forget about his love life, or lack thereof.
*