Prologue
The Bad Boy Cowboy
A knock on the door was quickly followed by the sound of a familiar voice.
“Sam? You decent? Can I come in?”
Some devil of mischief made her stay put as she spoke.
“Sure! Come on in, the door’s unlocked.”
HW came in and stopped dead, his gaze scanning her before he dropped to his knees beside the couch.
“Are you okay? Do you need a doctor? I can call—”
She punched his arm. “Stop. I just need a bag of ice. Would you be really sweet and grab it for me from the freezer?”
“Are you sure that’s all you need? How about some painkillers, or—”
“Shh . . .” She reached out to wrap an arm around his neck. “Stop worrying. How about you kiss it better?”
“What about the ice?”
His words disappeared into her mouth as she kissed him, and he succumbed with a groan, kissing her back and gathering her gently into his arms. He really was the best kisser in the world . . . way better than any drug and far more addicting. His hands roamed over her, shaping her, learning her, and she arched into each caress. It was so long since she’d been held like this, so long . . .
Chapter 1
Las Vegas
HW Morgan eased his weight from one booted foot to the other to counteract the grinding pain in his right knee from his recent fall and stared out over the now empty arena. The smell of over two thousand tons of dirt, horse, and sweat lingered, along with spilled popcorn and beer. Sanitation crews were sweeping out the mountains of trash left by the fans, while another team dismantled the bucking chutes and metal panels. It was amazing how fast the trappings of the National Finals Rodeo came down, turning the Thomas & Mack Center back into a basketball arena. Only the overhead Jumbotron that could have flashed his victory score instead of his defeat remained.
“HW. Why are you still here?”
HW turned as his best friend on the rodeo circuit. “Rio” Martinez came up and slapped him on the back. He was a bull rider by trade but had come to cheer on his companions.
“I’m just thinking about what might have been.” HW sighed. “I keep running that last saddle bronc ride through my head, wondering what I could’ve done differently.”
“Hey, you came second overall, my friend. You should be proud.” Rio gave him another friendly punch in the arm. “Next year you’ll win it outright.”
HW straightened up. “Nah. I think I’m done.”
Rio stared at him as if he was nuts. “Come on. You’re just sore and—”
“Nope, I just don’t want it anymore.”
It killed him to admit it, and it would piss off his sponsors if he decided to turn his back on the money and fame, but the desire to be the best had deserted him. He’d recently lost another longtime rodeo friend, kicked by a horse in the head. He had a terrible sense that if he didn’t stop now, he’d never stop, and would end up dead or with nothing.
“Don’t make any hasty decisions, my friend,” Rio advised. “Get your knee fixed, take some time off, and then reassess, okay?”
“Easy for you to say when you’re the next big thing and I’m on my way out,” HW grumbled. “I’m too tall, too old, and my back’s about to give out.”
Rio had the nerve to laugh. “You’re blond, beautiful, and all-American. The sponsors love you, women throw themselves at your feet, and you give great interviews. No one wants you to retire.”
“Except me.” HW gave the arena one last lingering glance—almost as if he was saying good-bye—and then threw an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “I suppose I should go to the party or our new champion’s sponsor will be accusing me of sour grapes. Give an old man a hand, won’t you?”
Rio was still grinning when they reached the sponsor’s suites. They both endured the backslapping and congratulations of a multitude of fans, businesspeople, and other competitors. When Rio went to get them an officially sponsored beer, HW was surrounded by a group of women, all eager to engage his attention in some way or another. There were some beautiful and smart women in his world, along with a few buckle bunnies, but none of them did it for him anymore. But he did his job: signed autographs, T-shirts, and one woman’s left boob and smiled like he was delighted to be there.
Dan Post, the rep of his main sponsor, came by to shake his hand, his round face gleaming with perspiration. “Better luck next year, okay?” He leaned in closer. “My boss wants to talk to you about renegotiating your current deal, so call your agent.”
“Will do. Paul’s here somewhere if you want to speak to him yourself,” HW agreed with a smile.
“I’d rather run it by you first—you know what he’s like.” Dan shuddered. “He was over by the bar a moment ago. I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”
“Thanks.”
Out of the corner of his eye, HW saw the new champion come in and watched with wry amusement as he was swarmed by almost the entire party. The guy was six years younger than HW, and so dazzlingly talented that he’d likely be on top for years. Unless he was injured, and HW wouldn’t wish that on his worst enemy, he would prove hard to beat.
“Here’s your beer. Cheers.” Rio handed him a frosted bottle. “Feel like celebrating with some ladies tonight?”
“No, thanks. I have to ice my knee.” HW grinned. “See? I am getting old, and you won’t want to be buddies with me for much longer.”
Rio clinked his bottle against HW’s, his expression suddenly serious. “I’ll always be your friend. You and your twin were the only people who made an effort to understand my garbled attempts at English all those years ago. You taught me a lot and I’ll never forget it.”
“That was probably Ry. He’s always had a soft heart.”
“How’s he doing? Regretting leaving the circuit yet?”
“Nope. He’s in love and happy as a pig in shit being the deputy ranch manager at my family home.”
“Yeah?” Rio chuckled. “I can just picture him there. His heart was never really devoted to this game like ours. You miss him, yes?”
HW grimaced. “Like my right arm.”
“Do you have that twin thing going for you? Like you know when he is hurt?”
“Sure do.” HW rubbed his nose. “He got kicked in the face by a calf a couple of weeks ago and I was the one who got the black eye.”
Rio’s shout of laughter ended abruptly as someone came up behind HW. All the humor drained from his face. “Your agent’s here. I’ll catch up with you in a while.”
“Hey.”
HW turned to Paul White. His snake of an agent had something of a reputation and had fallen out with Rio over a year ago. Neither man would tell HW what the problem was, so HW had reluctantly stayed with Paul, who’d been in the middle of contract negotiations for him.
Paul nudged him in the ribs. He wore cowboy gear but always looked more comfortable in a suit. “Still hanging around with that jerk loser?”
HW didn’t smile. “What’s up, Paul?”
“Oh, just congratulating my favorite client. I’ve got an opportunity for you to tour Brazil during the off-season. It’ll be worth it. I told them you’d do it.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Come on, HW! You’ll make thousands of bucks. All you have to do is appear in a few exhibition rides and look pretty. You’re a natural.”
“I’m not doing it, Paul.”
The smile disappeared from Paul’s face to reveal the shark beneath. “But it’s almost a done deal.”
“Not my problem. I’m taking a few weeks off.” HW shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll find someone else.”
“How much cash do you want to go?”
“I don’t care about the money. I need some time to myself, okay?”
Paul shook his head and tutted in a way that set HW’s teeth on edge. “See, that’s why you’re not the champion. That’s why I have to fight and struggle all the time to get you to pay attention to me.” His face darkened. “You’d better not be off doing something I don’t know about. I deserve my share of your earnings. I got you everything you have—all those sponsorship deals, all that airtime, all that magazine space.”
HW set his jaw. Sometimes putting up with the best agent in the business had its downside. Hopefully he wouldn’t be dealing with this shit for much longer. “And I’m grateful for that, but I’m still taking time off.”
“Why? If you don’t get out there and promote yourself like hell as the man most likely to win next year, you’re going to be considered passé. A loser, just like your brother who couldn’t hack it.”
HW offered his agent his warmest smile. “Stop with the charm offensive. I’m not doing it. That’s final. I’m going home to work on the family ranch.”
“The family you called a bunch of murdering losers on TV? I bet they’re going to be pleased to see you.”
“I damn well hope so. I’ll talk to you when I get back.”
HW turned away, but Paul grabbed his arm. “You call me once a week. You’ll get bored with playing cowboy and be desperate to get back to the real world.”
HW gently removed Paul’s hand from his elbow. “I don’t think so.”
“If you don’t keep in touch, don’t expect to have an easy time of it when you get back.”
“Not a problem.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Paul demanded.
HW tipped his hat. “I’m sure you’ll work it out. ’Night, Paul. See you in a couple of months.”
Maybe.
He wasn’t going to get into anything specific with his agent right there and now. Rio’s advice was on target. He needed to walk away for a while, like Ry had, and work out whether he wanted to come back to this life of endless hard work, disappointment, sacrifice, and pure heroics. At the moment, he loved and loathed it equally. The thrill of competing and hearing the crowd roar just for him against the injuries, the constant travel.
The loneliness . . .
It hadn’t been the same since Ry had walked out on him. HW finished his beer and went to congratulate the new champion in person. He’d go back to the ranch where he’d been born, reconnect with his brothers and newly discovered sister. Once he’d settled down he’d make some decisions the way he met all the challenges in his life—with a smile.
Spice:
