Roped In Page 5

  headed into the pasture for the next couple of hours and bad hair days were why God had invented hats.

  As she wandered down the hallway, she expected to hear the TV or maybe music, but the house remained quiet. She turned the corner into the kitchen and saw bags of groceries strewn across the quartz countertops. Whoa. That was a lot of food.

  Sutton slammed the cupboard door and spun around. He seemed startled to see her. “Oh. There you are. That was fast.”

  She shrugged. “I travel light. And I’m not much of a primper anyway.” Which is probably part of the reason her ex upgraded to a more feminine model. “What’s all this food for? You having a party? Feeding an army?”

  He ran his hand over the top of his head in a nervous gesture. “The food is for you, actually.”

  “All of it? Do I look like I eat like a fucking Broncos linebacker or something?” she asked sharply.

  “No. Jesus.” Bracing his hands on the counter, he hung his head. “Look. I suck at this kinda stuff, okay? I never have anyone stay with me, say nothin’ of a woman. I figured I oughta stock up on girl food—yogurt, salad, fruit, diet soda, double-stuff Oreos—but I reached the checkout and realized I’d bought nothin’ for me. Then I worried maybe you didn’t like the stuff I’d picked so I ended up buying more. Now I’m staring at it, embarrassed as hell, knowing you’ll see all this food and think I’m some kind of freak for assuming we’ll eat together at all.”

  Oh yeah. The man really was shy and unsure. And very, very sweet, worrying how she’d take his thoughtfulness in providing food for her. Impulsively, she ducked under his arm and set her hands on his chest. “Sutton Grant. You are a saint and a total sweetheart, and forgive me for acting like a thankless dick.”

  “You’re not upset?”

  “Only that you’d assume I eat girl food. Dude, I’m meat and potatoes all the way.” His heart thumped beneath her palm but he didn’t touch her. “Then again, I eat salad and other healthy stuff so I can eat Oreos.”

  “I also bought cookies and cream ice cream.”

  She licked her lips. “Another fave of mine. I always say I’ll have a little taste, but it never works out that way. I end up wanting more.”

  “I know how that goes,” he murmured.

  His gaze seemed stuck on her mouth.

  As much as she wanted him to kiss her, she knew he wouldn’t. Not without a clear sign from her. “How about I help you put these groceries away?”

  He retreated. “I’d appreciate it.”

  “Then I’ll head out and catch Dial and see where we’re at.”

  Chapter Five

  Dial proved to be his usual dickish self to London.

  Which was a relief. Sutton half expected the gelding would make him look like a fool by being compliant.

  London suggested Sutton stay on the outside of the corral that way Dial knew she was in charge.

  It took her thirty minutes to catch him and put a halter on him. Dial didn’t fight the saddle, but he needed the riding crop to get him moving.

  For the next hour, he watched, mesmerized as London worked Dial over with a combination of firmness and a loving touch. He’d expected her to reward the horse with oats after she unsaddled him, removed the training bit and bridle, and thoroughly brushed him down. But she merely looked into his eyes and stroked his head as she spoke to him.

  For once, Dial stood still.

  Yeah, Sutton wouldn’t move either if London had her hands all over him as she murmured in his ear.

  Since the moment she’d driven up, her interest in him still apparent after he’d given her some time to think it over, he realized that pretending they were crazy about each other wouldn’t be a problem.

  London bounded across the corral, her dark ponytail swinging behind her. She was long and lean—it looked like a strong wind could knock her over, so it was hard to imagine her forcing her will on animals five times her size. He’d watched as she’d approached Dial, and her presence exceeded the size of her body.

  She exited through the gate and he walked over to meet her halfway. “You all right?”

  “Sore.”

  “Where?” he asked, alarmed.

  “Don’t worry. Just my arms and neck, nothing serious. Dial gets it in his head to resist and he pulls like a damn draft horse.”

  “You’re welcome to use my hot tub if you think it’ll help loosen your muscles.”

  London tipped her head back and squinted at him, raising her hand to block the sun. “You being a nice guy ain’t an act, is it?”

  “You run into guys like that? Where it’s an act?”

  “Guys who are assholes beneath the slicked up public persona? Yep. That’s how most of them are.”

  Sutton started walking toward the house. “I didn’t see the point in maintaining a public and a private face. If it wasn’t for sponsor’s requirements, I wouldn’t have any public presence in the world of rodeo.”

  “So the perfect day at the rodeo for you?”

  “Do my runs. Take my turn as a hazer. Collect my check and visit with the rodeo officials and coordinators. Hop in my truck and haul my horse home. Then have a beer on my back patio and reflect on my performance—whether I win or lose.” He shot London a sideways glance. “Pretty boring, huh?”

  “Not at all.” When she looped her arm through his, he managed to keep his feet moving instead of stumbling over them. “Attitudes of entitlement among the rodeo participants is why I rarely take jobs with them. They want me to fix a horse in a day, when the problem’s usually been years in the making. They’ve watched ‘The Horse Whisperer’ way too many times and they believe that shit is real.”

  “You mean that one session with Dial didn’t cure him?”

  “Not. Even. Close.”

  “Dammit. Way to dash my hopes. You’re fired.”

  London hip-checked him.

  They fell silent on the rest of the short walk, but London didn’t pull away until they reached the patio. “This is such a great space. No neighbors, no traffic noises, no cattle. I could sit out here for hours and just enjoy the solitude.”

  “Hang tight. I’ll grab us a couple of beers.”

  “Sounds good.”

  When Sutton returned, he saw that London had ditched her hat and her boots. With her face aimed toward the sky, her dark hair swaying in the breeze, a slight smile on those full lips and the sexy way she spread her toes out in the patch of sunshine, he was absolutely poleaxed. Not only by lust, but by the premonition this would be the first of many times they’d be together like this.

  You wish.

  When she opened her eyes and smiled at him, lust muscled aside any feelings of destiny. He ached to see her mouth wrapped around his cock. He wanted to see the diamond pattern from the metal table imbedded in her skin after he pinned her to it and fucked her hard.

  “Sutton? You okay?”

  “Yep.” He handed her a Bud Light.

  “This is perfect. Thank you.”

  He sipped and asked the question that’d been weighing on him. “So what’s the deal with Dial?”

  She expelled a long sigh. “He’s got deep-seated anxiety about his ability to perform, not only to the level he’s reached, but on any level at all. He feels he’s being punished for a mistake that clearly wasn’t his fault. And in horse years, that punishment seems like years instead of months. So he’s resentful of you and the only way he can show that resentment is by not doing what you ask or demand of him.”

  Sutton’s jaw dropped. “Are you freakin’ kidding me?”

  London laughed. “Of course I’m bullshitting you, bulldogger. Sheesh. That kinda psychobabble about a horse’s psyche is a bunch of horseshit—pardon the pun. Dial hasn’t been worked with for months. He’s rusty. He’s ornery. Does he miss being a workhorse and doin’ what he was trained to do? No idea. Alls I can do is hope the training we both did over the years kicks in at some point.” She swigged her beer. “It ain’t a one day fix. But hell, maybe he’ll sn
ap back to it and he’ll be ready to hit the dirt in a week.”

  There was his nightmare scenario.

  She leaned forward and pulled a folded piece of paper out of her back pocket and dropped it in front of him. “Take a look at those numbers.”

  “What’s this?”

  “My rates.”

  He unfolded the paper. Stopped himself from whistling when he saw the amount. London Gradsky commanded a pretty penny for working with pretty ponies.

  “Of course, I wrote that out yesterday before you offered me room and board.”

  “So do you need a pen so you can refigure the amount?” he teased.

  “Nice try, but no. The dollar amount stays the same, but I’ll double the amount of time I work with Dial until there are results.”

  “Sounds fair.” He offered his hand and she shook it.

  A meadowlark trilled and she smiled. “Your house is centrally located to how far I have to drive to my clients. I will be so glad not to have to leave my camper at a campsite.”

  “I’ll be a snoopy bastard and ask why you’ve distanced yourself from Grade A Farms. Your folks know about you living in your camper, parking at different campsites every night?”

  “No. And please don’t tell them.” She paused. “My parents are great people. No complaints on the familial relationship. But their business goals are different than mine. They breed horses and sell them. They’re shrewd in that they demand stud and genetic shares from those sales, but refuse to get into the sperm collecting and artificial insemination portion of the business. For a while they were trying to fit each high-end horse to the specific rodeo discipline. I was all for that.”

  “They don’t do that anymore?”

  “Nope.”

  “What happened?”

  “My big shot lawyer brother stuck his nose in. He created a spreadsheet that showed how much money they lost in a five-year period by doing it that way and cross referenced it with the number of national champions who were using Grade A livestock to compete. They were losing capital for a few lousy bragging rights. They revamped their policies, which is why they had no issue selling Dial to you.”

  “So you weren’t really pissed off at me for suggesting they castrate Dial?”

  “Oh, I was plenty pissed off at you about that. I’d had my sights set on breeding him with a gorgeous paint. She was sturdy, sweet-tempered, and would’ve done fine with the beast mounting her. Anyway, that was when I knew I had to fully strike out on my own. While some aspects of what I do are still the same, I’m not in the same place, day in, day out. My clients are varied, not just monied rodeo stars. Plus, I’ve tried other training disciplines, not just the ones my dad used.” London nudged his knee with her foot. “You played a part in me making that decision.”

  “Then I think I deserve a deeper discount on your services.”

  She laughed. “Don’t push your luck.”

  Sutton stood and held out his hand. “Time to earn your keep, whip cracker.”

  London took his hand without hesitation. “Which is what?”

  “Helping me get supper on the table.”

  * * * *

  Later that night they sat side by side on the swing on the patio, watching the flames crackle in the fire pit.

  They’d shared a meal together, cleaned up together, and talked about everything under the sun, except rodeo and horses. Sutton expected she’d bring up the other part of their deal, acting like a couple. One thing he hadn’t been clear on was whether they were telling their families they were involved or if the only place they were “out” was on the weekends at the fairgrounds. The other thing he needed to know? If London was trying to get Stitch back. He was onboard to help London save face, but he wouldn’t be happy if she planned on returning to her ex. He’d played the chump before.

  But as the evening wore on, he hadn’t asked because it’d been easy—ridiculously so—how well they got along.

  Maybe because they were both on their best behavior. Maybe it was something else that Sutton was too superstitious to name. Tempting to let this easy camaraderie lie, but he needed to know exactly where he stood with her. “Did you see Stitch and Paige last night or today?”

  “No. I pretty much avoided everyone. Stayed in my camper and worked on some jewelry.”

  “Why?”

  “I figured a few people saw that kiss at the rodeo grounds and I didn’t want to explain it. Or you. I wanted to make sure we were on the same page—hah! Poor word choice, being on that Paige since that’s now Stitch’s job—before we put ourselves out there in public.”

  He nodded.

  “So I’m really grateful you opened up your home and we can get to know each other as friends.”

  Fuck. There was the word he’d feared. “Friends?” he repeated. She sure as fuck hadn’t wanted to be friends when she’d practically tackled him to her bed.

  “Yeah. I mean you were right to put the brakes on us yesterday. I’m more impulsive in my personal life than I should be. Just like you said, you’re the calm, quiet voice of reason. So if we spend this week getting to know each other, on, ah—another level, our relationship will seem less suspicious this weekend when we’re together.”

  “Less like we’re literally doin’ a horse trade to get something that each of us wants?”

  She laughed. “Exactly. Being friends puts us more at ease.”

  “Because it’s all about appearances.” That came out with a bitter edge.

  “It has to be. I don’t want to get caught in a lie. Wouldn’t that be the most mortifying thing you can think of?”

  No, the most mortifying thing I can think of is getting friend-zoned by you in the first four hours of play.

  Damn. No wonder he didn’t put himself out there. Good thing he’d asked about their parameters before he’d made a move.

  But Sutton had to respect her for taking the time to consider her boundaries when she clearly had none yesterday. Yet, the bottom line for him hadn’t changed. He needed London to work his horse—no matter how much he wanted to work her over in his bed nine ways to Sunday.

  Friends. He could do that. Hell, he oughta be used to it by now.

  But fuck if he wasn’t tired of denying himself, even when it was his own damn fault. Demanding she stay with him in his house. Cooking for her. What people said about him was true. He was too damn nice and accommodating, but he did have an ulterior motive—hot kinky sex. But he didn’t want London to feel obliged to fuck him, which sounded ridiculous in his head and would sound even more idiotic if he said it out loud. He needed to retreat, regroup, before he stuck his boot in his mouth.

  Sutton forced a yawn and then stood. “Sorry. It’s getting late.”

  London’s eyebrows shot up. “Late? It’s only eight-thirty.”

  Shit. “Huh. Well, it seems later than that which is a sign I should call it a night.”

  “Oh. Well. Sure. Do you mind if I stay up and wash some dirty clothes?”

  “Help yourself to whatever you need.”

  “Thank you. I was afraid I’d be walking around naked tomorrow morning since everything I own is dirty.”

  Do not think about naked and dirty and London in the same sentence.

  Friends, remember?

  Repeat it. F-r-i-e-n-d-s.

  Still, this was gonna be a long damn week.

  Chapter Six

  Now London understood why people called Sutton Grant “The Saint.”

  She’d been trying to get under his skin—okay mostly she’d been trying to get into his Wranglers—for the past four days and the man hadn’t been tempted even once, as far as she could tell.

  They spent their free time together. She stuck close while he cooked supper, tasting and touching and forcing him to feed her little tidbits. She wore pajama short shorts and a camisole that showed a lot of her skin when they watched TV. When he’d mentioned suffering from a sore neck, she’d offered to give him a massage, but he’d spoken of the personal massager his ther
apist had lent him. When she’d noticed his razor-stubbled face and volunteered to shave off the scruff, he’d just smiled and said he’d pick up razors next time he went to town.

  A saint.

  But...London knew he watched her. He watched her work with Dial—from a distance. He watched for her truck to pull into the drive at the end of her workday—from a distance. He watched her doing beadwork—from a distance. But he watched her watching TV up close and personal. He watched her all the damn time.

  But that’s all the man did. Watched.