Wound Tight: A Rough Riders/Blacktop Cowboys Crossover Read online

  “At least if you barf it’ll be in your own truck.”

  Deke snorted and climbed in the passenger side.

  Justin had his hand on the door handle when he heard, “Justin. Wait.”

  Turning, he watched Callie hustle across the parking lot. Goddamn she was something. Legs, tits, eyes, hair—every inch of her screamed hot sex.

  Fuck, he wanted some of that.

  Bad.

  “Hey. Sorry I didn’t get back to you in there.”

  He shrugged like it hadn’t been a big deal.

  And she called him on it. “Don’t do that.”

  “What?”

  “Dismiss me.”

  “Sweetness, you don’t owe me nothin’ and vice versa. It was nice meetin’ you and passing the time.”

  Her full pink lips parted—not quite a jaw drop, but close. “Seriously? That’s what you think I was doing? Passing the time?”

  “Weren’t you?” Then he pushed her just a little more. “You admitted you were supposed to interact with the customers. Helps increase your tips, don’t it?”

  “Except you didn’t tip me, cheapskate.”

  Do not be an ass and ask if that’s why she chased you down.

  But she seemed to read his mind anyway.

  Her eyes flared with anger and then her expression changed to pure deviousness.

  Ah, fuck. He was in for it now.

  “And you didn’t get this either,” she said huskily as she slipped her fingers under the strap of her camisole, over the swell of her left breast and into the cup of her bra.

  Justin hoped anger would cause her to root around recklessly and her nipple would pop out. Please, be angry for just one more moment. Holding his breath, his eyes locked onto every tug and ripple of fabric…it seemed to be taking her a long time to find whatever she’d shoved in there.

  A soft moan drifted to him.

  Christ, was she stroking herself? Right in front of him?

  He managed to tear his gaze away and meet her eyes. “Not nice.”

  “Neither were you.”

  “I can play very nice.” He started toward her. “In fact, I’ll help you find whatever you lost in your cleavage.”

  She backed up. “That’s downright hospitable of you, cowboy hottie.”

  Justin grinned and kept up with her retreat, step by step. “Why you tryin’ to get away from me?”

  “Because we both know how this is gonna end.”

  “You don’t want that?”

  Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “I shouldn’t.”

  “But you do.”

  That’s when she stopped moving, allowing him to catch her.

  “So do I. Jesus, I want a taste of you like you wouldn’t fucking believe.”

  Placing his left hand in the center of her chest, he slowly moved it up until his thumb could feather across the spot in her throat where her pulse raced.

  Her breathing was hard and fast, yet she stayed perfectly still.

  Content to let him lead? Another plus in her favor. Then he cupped the back of her neck, holding her in place as he brought his lips to hers.

  Heat, lust, and her sweet scent swamped him.

  Justin wanted to devour her.

  And he ached to savor her.

  Callie angled her head, familiar enough with kissing a cowboy to maneuver around his hat. She parted her lips beneath his, her tongue licking the underside of his teeth in a surprisingly erotic way.

  When he groaned his appreciation, she thrust her tongue into his mouth and kissed the hell out of him.

  Why had he deluded himself that she’d just hand him the reins?

  The woman knew what she wanted and she took it.

  Christ, that was hot.

  She fisted her hand in his shirt and held on.

  Justin clamped his other hand on her ass and shifted them a quarter turn, so anyone coming out of the bar wouldn’t see Calamity in a lip-lock with him. This kiss was nobody’s business but theirs.

  He could’ve stayed right there, all night, just kissing her.

  But someone—that drunken ass Deke probably—laid on the horn, and she broke the kiss.

  Staring at him, she fought for breath. Then she said, “I knew you’d kiss like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like every kiss would be different with you, every time. But you’d know exactly what kind of kiss I’d need.”

  Justin didn’t even know what the hell to say to that.

  Callie pulled a folded piece of paper out of her bra and held it up.

  “What’s that?”

  “My number.” She sauntered forward and tucked the paper into the front right pocket of his jeans, casually letting her fingertips brush his shaft. “And you didn’t even have to beg,” she whispered against his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip before she retreated. “See you later, cowboy hottie.”

  Chapter Three

  Callie dragged herself into arena one the next morning, taking her seat next to Lana as stealthily as possible, ignoring her friend pointedly tapping on her watch.

  Yeah, yeah, she was ten minutes late. Didn’t appear that she’d missed much.

  Chuck and Berlin Gradsky, hands-on owners of Grade A Rodeo Academy, stood on the arena floor in the dirt in front of the twenty-plus staff members.

  The hierarchy of employees was reflected in the seating assignments. The rodeo school instructors were parked in the front row. Behind them were the stock handlers. The third row was filled with kitchen staff. And the last row—Callie’s row—were the groundskeepers and maintenance crew.

  The stock handlers usually sent one guy to represent them. Not today. Today six black-hatted heads were present. But with all the guys wearing the required uniform of black cowboy hats and white shirts, Callie wasn’t sure which one might be Justin. Maybe as the newest hire, also known as the lowest man on the totem pole, this meeting wasn’t mandatory for him.

  She could hope. She had no idea what she’d even say to him now.

  “Students start arriving late next week,” Berlin Gradsky continued. “We’ll have a welcome banquet to kick things off the first night.”

  Members of the kitchen staff asked questions about the menu, which annoyed everyone else. So Callie tuned out.

  God. She was tired. Napville beckoned—four hours of sleep wasn’t nearly enough. She’d started to drift off when Lana elbowed her.

  Berlin was still talking. “This is a young class and several parents will be staying over to serve as chaperones.”

  Dickie asked, “The bunk houses will be full. Where’s everyone stayin’?”

  Another question that had nothing to do with her.

  Her stomach growled and she and Lana both giggled.

  Berlin’s gaze scanned the group until it landed on her. “Just a heads up, Callie, that you won’t be tending bar much over the next nine weeks.”

  A head whipped around so fast the hat on top of it nearly flew off.

  Well, at least now she knew where Justin was sitting.

  She kept her focus on Berlin, and her voice steady. “You’ll give me a list of the students who can have a toddy or two?”

  Berlin smiled. “You got it.”

  Callie finally allowed her eyes to meet Justin’s.

  Poor man had a shit poker face.

  Anger warred with disbelief and his scowl indicated anger was winning.

  She fluttered her fingers at him in a friendly wave.

  Her attempt at levity didn’t soften the hard line of his jaw.

  At all.

  Lana knocked her knee into Callie’s and whispered, “OMG. That’s the new ranch hand?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Okay, so he is all that, but he also looks a little mean.”

  “He’s pissed off at me.”

  “Why?”

  “We…interacted last night at The Sly Fox and I didn’t mention that I worked here. Then again, he was too busy staring at my tits to share his job title either, so I f
igure we’re even.”

  “Interacted?” She lowered her voice. “Did you do it with him?”

  Do it. Callie snickered at virgin Lana’s phrasing. “No, but we kissed the hell out of each other.”

  Lana had no response for that.

  Chuck Gradsky took the microphone from his wife. “As most of you know, we rotate instructors at the rodeo school. But this session, with one exception, we’ve gotten the same poor suckers to sign on again we had last session.”

  Laughter.

  “Melissa Grant is teaching cutting horse and penning classes.”

  Melissa waved her hand.

  “Jerry O’Dell, two-time world CRA champ in saddle bronc, is back on board.”

  He waved his hat above his head.

  “Sharla Hodges, the owner of eight—count ’em eight—CRA world championships in barrel racing, is in charge of that program.”

  Sharla lifted a metal crutch up in acknowledgment.

  “On the bareback side of things, we’ve got Ryan Desanto, who’s competed in the CRA world finals three times. He’ll be here next week.”

  “Team ropin’ will be taught by Cres and Wyn Grant. No world championships, but they’ve been ranching and ropin’ together their whole lives and know the meaning of teamwork.”

  Callie leaned in to whisper to Lana, “Why is Chuck telling us about the Grant brothers' qualifications? We already know this.”

  “Maybe it’s for the benefit of the new ranch hands? Or maybe he’s practicing the introductions since he has to do it again with the students next week.”

  That made sense.

  “Breck Christianson, three-time winner of the All-Around title in the CRA, has taken on the responsibilities of teaching bulldoggin’ and tie-down ropin’. Usually Breck also teaches bull riding, but this session, we’re thrilled that he’s got an assistant coach. Please welcome the newest member to the Grade A Rodeo school, Breck’s fellow South Dakotan and professional bull rider and world champ, Justin Donohue.”

  Callie froze.

  What the actual fuck?

  Justin…her Justin…was a Professional Bull Riders champion?

  Didn’t see that one coming, did you?

  Seemed she wasn’t the only one who’d left out a few pertinent details last night.

  But she’d followed the PBR for years and his name wasn’t one she remembered. Which meant he was a lot older than he looked.

  When Justin tried to get away with just waving his hat, Chuck said, “Newcomers have to stand up.”

  Justin stood, smiled, and waved.

  None of his friendliness was directed at her.

  Lana murmured, “I thought he was just a ranch hand?”

  “Me too.”

  She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and typed JUSTIN DONOHUE in the Google search engine. She zoomed over to the Wiki page and in less than thirty seconds had answers to her questions.

  Name: Justin David Donohue

  Hometown: Faulkton, South Dakota

  Age: 40

  Holy shit. She’d been sucking face with a forty-year-old guy?

  That’s why he was so damn good at kissing. And flirting. A guy that age, who looked like him, probably fucked like a dream too.

  Giving a mental shrug, she kept reading.

  Marital status: Single.

  Children: None.

  Championships: Two world, two iron cowboy competitions, twenty-seven individual events.

  It listed a span of two years where he hadn’t competed. Due to an injury? He’d staged his comeback with a vengeance because after the break was when he’d started winning.

  So Justin had competed in the PBR for twelve years and retired from the sport five years ago. There wasn’t any mention of what he’d been doing in his retirement. Why resurface now to take a position as an assistant instructor and a lowly ranch hand?

  Because he’s just another cowboy, riding the coattails of his former rodeo glory, with nothing to show for his years on the blacktop except a couple of championship belt buckles, a battered body, and a beat-to-shit pickup. Now he’s relegated to flitting from place to place doing odd jobs, living off the generosity of his friends and former colleagues.

  Sounds cynical, Calliope Jane Morgan.

  No, that sounded like her dad.

  Her dad had retired after a serious rodeo injury. Then, because he couldn’t stand living a normal life with his wife and three daughters, he went back on the road to reclaim his glory, and went beyond being just dead broke—to just plain dead.

  Nope, she wasn’t bitter about that at all.

  “And last, but not least,” Chuck Gradsky said, interrupting her brooding, “this here is Deke. Our newest hired hand. Stand up, son.”

  Deke stood and doffed his hat, bowing as deeply as a dandy in a Shakespearean play.

  Lana gasped and blurted out “Dibs” so loud that Deke heard her.

  He grinned, winked at her, and bowed again.

  “Now I believe you about that lust at first sight thing,” Lana said dreamily.

  “Mess around with him, but don’t fall for him,” Callie warned. “Transient guys like him will leave your heart broken and your bank account empty when they skip town.”

  Lana blinked at her. “But…”

  “Trust me on this, okay?”

  “Okay.” Lana continued to stare at her.

  “What?”

  “Will you be taking your own advice with the bull rider?”

  There was a loaded question.

  “Any other questions?” Chuck asked them pointedly.

  Callie saw Annie raising her hand.

  Lana and Callie exchanged a “here we go again” look.

  “Yes, Annie?”

  “As head chef, I’ll need to visit with the new employees privately about their dietary restrictions.”

  “Think Wantscock will share her dietary restrictions of being a maneater with the new stock handlers?” Lana said snarkily.

  Callie pretended to knuckle away a tear. “I’m proud you’re bringing out the claws to fight for your new man crush.”

  Lana blushed.

  After Chuck dismissed them, Callie was the first one out of her seat.

  She barely made it outside the arena before she felt a strong hand on her shoulder.

  Then she was face-to-face with one annoyed cowboy.

  Maybe not…face-to-face since he towered over her by eight inches.

  Damn, the man was gorgeous even when he was annoyed.

  “Is there a reason you’re running away from me, Calamity?”

  Despite the rapid fire of her pulse, she managed to act unaffected. “Ego much, champ? Or maybe I should say, ego much, Mr. Two Time PBR World Champ?”

  Justin’s lips flattened. “Answer the question.”

  “I’m not running from you. Staff meetings eat up time and I’ve got a shit ton to do today before I go to my other job.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me last night that you worked here?”

  “Same question back atcha,” she retorted. “When you said I started a new job you could’ve mentioned where you were literally hanging your cowboy hat, but you didn’t. If you had….” She shrugged.

  He had no response for that.

  “Look. Let’s just do our jobs and we can talk later.”

  “I’ve got time. We’ll talk now.”

  “I’m blaming you if Chuck or Berlin trot over here and chew my ass for fucking around on company time.”

  “How did you know that I’ve won two world championships? Chuck only mentioned one.”

  Callie rolled her eyes. Then she held up her phone. “A little thing called Google. Ever heard of it?”

  He actually growled at her.

  Man, she was hard up. That growl and scowl combo did it for her in a bad way.

  “I know all sorts of things about you, courtesy of the internet.”

  “Don’t believe everything you read. I guarantee most of that shit is dead wrong.”

&nb
sp; “Yeah?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You retired five years ago. Whatcha been doin’ all that time? You build yourself a nice house on a big acreage in South Dakota?”

  “No.”

  “Have you been running your own bull riding academy? Or coaching high school rodeo teams? Or working the circuit as a rough stock judge?”

  “No.”

  “Huh.” She cocked her head. “Your bio indicated that you’re not populating the world with little Donohues, so you haven’t become a devoted family man. And I doubt you’ve become a man of God, preaching about the evils of fornication because I know firsthand how good you are with that dirty-talking mouth of yours.”

  “Are you always this blunt?”

  “Pretty much. So let’s cut to the chase.”

  “By all means.”

  “I liked you enough last night to give you my phone number.”

  “And?”

  “And…I still like you despite all the stuff I figured out from the internet.”

  “Despite? I told you—”

  “Ah-ah-ah. I’m talking.” Callie dropped her arms, shuffling close enough to get a whiff of the starch in his shirt. “I like you despite the fact that everything you own fits in the back of your pickup, which means you’re here for a good time, a short time and then you’re gone.” She set her hand on his chest. “Here’s the truth. Guys like you are the perfect storm for me.”

  She laughed at his disbelieving look.

  “I sound too good to be true, don’t I? You’re here, I’m here, we’ve got a wicked chemistry, why not hang out and see what happens? I promise I won’t get dick-whipped—”

  “Dick-whipped?” he repeated with confusion.

  “Where I become obsessed with your cock.”

  “Sweet Jesus.”

  Callie laughed again. “Lighten up. This could be fun, Justin.”

  “Callie—”

  She put her finger over his mouth. “Sexy fun times. No strings. And I promise I won’t tie myself to the bumper of your truck when you leave. Just think about it, okay?”

  Chapter Four

  Justin suspected watching that sassy ass as she walked away might be the high point of his day.

  Scratch that. Callie giving him the green light for no-strings-attached sex…might be the highlight of his damn year.