1 Chapter 1
Jana Tucker paused on the sidewalk outside the Club El Paso. She needed a moment to gather her courage. Over the door, the garish neon sign flashed, dazzling her eyes. No time like the present. I’ll never win that bet with Kim and Tracey if I don’t try.Squaring her shoulders, she pushed the door inward and stepped into hazy cacophony.
Inside the club, a well-amped country and western band rocked the room while the smoke was so thick she could barely see two feet ahead. She paused to let her eyes adjust to the dim light, feeling as out of place as a sheepherder at a tea party.
Why did I ever let myself get talked into this? Damn old friends who know you can’t resist a dare!
From what she’d heard, the bar was crowded every weekend, but tonight, with the big rodeo in town, the dimly lit room reminded her of the proverbial sardine can, packed to the brim. She hesitated, trying to get her bearings. The club had live music every Friday and Saturday night, but this time it was a name band, not just local talent like Alvie and the Muleskinners.
Down and Dirty performed for the capacity crowd of cowboys and cowgirls, buckle bunnies and locals. On the body-jammed dance floor, couples gyrated to the driving beat. From what she could see, every small table around the dance floor was occupied. With a final crescendo of twanging guitars and pounding drums, the band ended the set. The musicians stood to indicate it was break time. The dancers reacted at once. Time to grab another long neck, and maybe step outside for a breath of hot but fresh air.
As the crowd parted, a lane opened across the room to the end of the bar. A cowboy sat on the farthest stool, hunched over his drink. The stool beside him was empty as if his dark mood kept the revelers at arm’s length. In an instant, Jana recognized Tyler Parton. Nobody else wore those retro-styled red and black shirts that had become his trademark—the ones with contrasting piping around the yokes and embroidered roses, fore and aft. Straight out of the forties. This one was black.
Gawd, he’s one hot looking man. An ass to die for, too. Those tight Wranglers really showcase his buns.
Jana’s lusty thoughts surprised her. Hardly typical of a prim high school librarian, her normal persona. Maybe it was the atmosphere. The musky odor of beer, hot bodies and rodeo dust would stir anyone’s libido.
Better make this good, girl.
She pulled her shoulders back to tighten the glitter-splashed, cropped, black tee across her breasts and sauntered into the gap, swinging her hips.
Thank goodness for that exotic dance video.Now if I can only remember and repeat some of those moves.
She had to admit she’d learned a lot from the video. This walk was one of the best tricks—pure sex on two feet, shod in a brand new pair of scarlet boots. Her spandex jeans couldn’t fit any closer if they were painted on. She looked good and she knew it. The old Jana lacked the brass to carry off this act, but maybe the new one could do it. She gave a little shiver.
Damn, I feel like everyone is looking at me and they all think I’m a hooker.
Dodging departing dancers and hurrying waitresses, she made a bee-line for Tyler. Fierce determination fueled her desire to win her bet and prove she wasn’t the bashful and backward twenty-seven-year-old professional spinster Kim and Tracey accused her of being. Of the three old school friends, Kim and Tracey had both been married, but she hadn’t. Privately she thought she might be the lucky one, especially after hearing the sad tales of their divorces, but that wasn’t the point.
He’s hung like a Brahma bull, too, from what those tight jeans showed today
At that brazen memory, Jana felt the heat wash over her face. Thank goodness no one could see her blush in the dim light. But she’d noticed. She couldn’t help it, just as half the female population of Riverbend had also. At today’s rodeo, she could hardly take her gaze off him. Whether he won or not, he was one hot hunk of cowboy.
But today hadn’t been one of his good days. Coming out of the chute his bareback bronc had stumbled. When the horse fell in a leggy awkward heap, Ty had barely scrambled clear. He’d get a re-ride tomorrow morning, but that wasn’t much consolation. Then with one of the bull’s infamous tricky moves, Big Trouble had unloaded him in the seventh second, hardly a heartbeat short of the whistle. Up until then, he’d had a good ride. Not that it mattered. No money, no points, in either event. He was clearly taking the run of rotten luck hard.
