Hard Impact: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Novel (20 page)

I also knew that these bucking horses were well cared for because they were costly to purchase and maintain, with investments for one animal reaching as high, and sometimes more than ten thousand dollars apiece. Owners had to follow health regulations and guidelines in regard to vaccinations and blood tests before they could even cross state lines. Sick horses were never ridden in a rodeo because not only would they not score well, but the risk of injury was too great. Due to my prior experience, I also knew that a number of veterinarians were always available at rodeos; not only at today’s events, but through every day of a sanctioned rodeo.

The horse that Blake rode did not wear any flank strap, more commonly known as the bucking strap, which had fallen out of favor a while back. It was designed to make a horse kick higher and straighter. It was no longer legal to use a flank strap in the United States, which I, along with other rodeo goers, appreciated.

I couldn’t help but feel the thrill of excitement as I watched Blake ride. Up there on that horse, he looked like a true cowboy, transplanted from a distant past. Down to earth, simple, and uncomplicated. Beside me in the stands, I heard a number of comments about him.

“Oh, I wish he would ride me like he rides a horse!”

“Isn’t he just a dream?”

“I’d jump his bones in a second flat.”

I smiled, filling an odd sense of pride and satisfaction that Blake and I had indulged in our sexual interlude last night. If only those women knew that I, Misty Rankin, had been the recipient of Blake’s focused attention, they would probably drool with envy. Then again, I realized that my feelings were now totally opposite of what they were when I was first given this assignment.

I tried to disregard my wandering thoughts, my gaze focused on the beauty of Blake’s powerful form and the strength it took to maintain his mount, worrying that the hard jolts and sideways maneuvers of the horse would injure him. And then, like the rest of the crowd, I glanced up at the time clock. One more second. One more second!

When the buzzer went off, the crowd erupted into cheers. Still Blake hung on. I could tell the horse was growing tired, but in the next instant, he twisted sideways, flung his rear legs high in the air, and thrust his head so low to the ground I thought he would do a somersault. My hands flew to my mouth as Blake went flying through the air, arms akimbo. I stifled a cry of alarm as he landed hard in the dirt, rolled several times, and ended up on his back. A second later, the rodeo clowns ran toward the still bucking horse, guiding it toward the chute.

I pulled my attention back to Blake, relieved when he slowly rolled over and got to his feet, then bent down to reach for his hat, slapping the dust and dirt from it before he placed it atop his head. Once again, the crowd erupted into applause and cheers. He briefly tipped his hat and then walked toward the chute, climbing the metal rails and then hopping over and disappearing into the mass of cowboys, animals and trailers beyond.

It was only then that I realized I’d been holding my breath. My heart was pounding. This was certainly a unique situation, I thought. Another side to Blake Masters. A side that I knew was there, but nevertheless, seeing with my own eyes gave me a totally different perspective. Why did Blake do this? Why did he risk injury, or worse, to ride broncs? He was rich. I knew he wasn’t a rider at every event or I certainly would’ve heard about him. So why risk his neck for a few thousand dollars, if that?

Knowing that he was an adrenaline junkie and seeing him engage in such activity were two entirely different things. I had to wonder. Maybe this was something to explore as I continued the interview, if I was still going to be interviewing him, that is. Was his reckless behavior triggered by his father’s death, or had he engaged in such activities before that? Did one have to do with the other or was it just a coincidence?

I didn’t have time to reflect too long on the questions that now barraged my brain. The next rider was up, and though he didn’t last as long as Blake, he put in an impressive showing. The third horse had just made it out of the chute when a shadow passed over me. I glanced up, thinking it was someone wanting to climb up into the stands. I leaned sideways to give them room when I realized it was Blake.

Before I could even speak, a number of people noticed him. We were immediately surrounded by fans, some of them asking for autographs, mainly teenage girls, although there were a couple of adult women in the crowd giving him appraising looks, smiling at him, trying to get his attention.

At first, I was amused, especially when he signed the back of one woman’s shirt with a black felt tip pen. Then, a particularly lovely woman, her slim figure accentuated by skinny jeans and a close-fitting western shirt that highlighted her not so natural bust line meandered toward Blake and cozied up to his side. Grabbing Blake’s arm, she smiled up at him and then looked around, her gaze focusing on me. She shoved her cell phone toward me.

“Take a picture of me with him, will you?”

I grabbed for the phone before it dropped, then quickly cast a questioning gaze toward Blake. He gave a slight shrug and allowed the woman to literally hang off of him while I quickly snapped the shot. I was surprised by the sudden sensation of jealousy that swept through me. What the hell did I have to be jealous about? I wasn’t interested in Blake, I reminded myself for the thousandth time. The fact that I wanted to shout out what we had done last night on the couch also startled me. I wasn’t into kissing and telling or discussing my sexual encounters with anyone, let alone strangers. So why did I feel the need to let everyone in the stands know what we had done together last night?

I sat in the bleachers, waiting for Blake as he absorbed the attention of fans that I never knew existed. I suddenly felt self-conscious and out of place. I had been enjoying myself immensely, so why did I now feel compelled to compare myself to every woman making eyes at Blake? I was better than that. So I didn’t wear a size one skinny jeans. So I didn’t have a twenty-three-inch waist. Big deal.

Despite scolding myself and telling my brain to quit comparing me with the women fawning over him, I couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, Blake had taken advantage of me. That he had taken advantage of a situation where he found himself alone with a woman. Any woman. And the more I tried to talk myself out of that vein of thought, the worse those thoughts became.

Dammit! My normally self-confident mien quickly transformed into self-doubt and disappointment. Even while I wondered if Blake and I could ever develop a serious relationship, given that the situation and circumstances were right, I realized I was just being stupid. The circumstances would never be right. Blake and I could never develop anything. We were too far apart. Besides, falling for him was not part of my assignment. I was not here to like him or dislike him. I was not here to approve or disapprove of him. I was here to follow him around as he inspected his properties. I was here to get a story. I determined then and there that I would get the story, and nothing but the story. So help me God.

On the way out of the parking lot, I remained relatively quiet. I did turn to Blake with a smile. “Thank you for taking me with you,” I said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a county fair, let alone a rodeo. I had a great time.”

He grinned at me in return, making my heart skip a beat. My stomach filled with butterflies. At this rate, I think I would rather have him scowling and in a bad mood, because the alternative was the sexual attraction and desire I felt for him every time I saw that grin. It undermined my focus. We were about halfway back to the cabin before he spoke.

“You’re a million miles away,” he said. “No questions?”

I turned to him, eyebrow raised. “You want more questions? Does that mean you’re not sending me away?”

He glanced at me, stared a moment, and then returned his attention to the road ahead. “Odd as it may seem, Misty, I’m rather enjoying your company.”

“Thanks a lot,” I said wryly.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, once again turning to me with a grin. “I mean that I’m not regretting this as much as I thought I would.” He was quiet for a second, then shook his head. “I don’t usually stick my foot in my mouth like this. That came out wrong.”

I smiled. “No need to explain,” I said, taking pity. “I feel much the same way.”

“You weren’t looking forward to interviewing me?”

I decided that honesty was the best policy. “To tell you the truth, Blake, I didn’t know what to expect from you. My friend at the magazine offered a little bit of information, and I found some more on the Internet, but other than that and the brief bio that my editor gave me, I know nothing about you.” I paused for several moments. “I certainly wasn’t expecting to spend more than a few hours with you. Certainly not flying around in a helicopter, going four-wheeling, or… other stuff,” I finished softly.

“You enjoyed the rodeo, didn’t you?”

I brightened. “I did,” I said, turning slightly in my seat so I could face him. “I even feel a little homesick. It’s odd, because I haven’t felt homesick since I got to San Francisco. But being at the rodeo, around all the sights, the smells, and the events… it just brought back a lot of memories of my childhood.”

“You had a good childhood, didn’t you?” He asked, his gaze focused on the road as we headed up into the hills.

I nodded. “I did. My parents spoiled me rotten, but not to the point where I was a brat or anything. At least I don’t think I was.”

He offered a chuckle.

“What about your parents? Did you have a good childhood?”

He didn’t answer right away, and I began to feel that he wouldn’t. Finally, he offered a shrug. “Yes, I did. I had a good relationship with my parents. My dad was away a lot, but my mom was always home. You might find this hard to believe, but she’s a rather old-fashioned creature. She was never ashamed or self-conscious to define herself as a stay-at-home-mom or a housewife. She worked hard every day. She took care of my dad, me, made a lot of the decisions involved with running the ranch… you could say that she was an all-around groundskeeper, landscaper, interior decorator, cook, chauffeur, nurse, you name it.”

“She sounds wonderful. Just like my mom. They probably would have liked each other.”

Again, he said nothing. I wondered if his mom was still alive. What happened to her after her husband died? She disappeared just as completely as Blake had. Had they gone away together? For how long? I wanted to ask, but at the same time didn’t. It was my job, my goal, but after seeing Blake ride at the rodeo today, I was having second thoughts. Was it really that important?

If Blake had been under suspicion of killing his father, chances were that the police would still be in contact with him. They weren’t. There had been nothing mentioned about it during all the intervening years actually, until his ex brought it back into focus.

“You did great at the rodeo today,” I said. “Do you get a chance to ride often?”

“Not as much as I used to.”

“Were you a regular on the circuit?”

“For a couple of years, yeah. Then I started to get busier, and my business pulled me away from it. When I can though, I ride. It helps to keep me grounded.”

I had to ask. “But why risk your life for such a small amount of money? You don’t need it—”

“I don’t keep any of my winnings.”

“What? What do you do with them?”

“Donate them to charities.” He lifted a shoulder. “Like I said, it keeps me grounded.”

Well, was there no end to learning such things about Blake? He donated his winnings to charity? Admirable. And while I could certainly think of better and safer ways to keep grounded, to each his own. Maybe I would ask him about that after dinner tonight. I fully intended to ask him more questions. Whether he would answer them or not was the question.

I knew that if I wanted to find out more about his father, or his life after his dad’s death, I would have to tread carefully. I would have to lead him into talking about it. I couldn’t make it seem as if that’s all I wanted to know. And to be honest, it wasn’t. I found myself intrigued by him. What made him tick? Who was he, underneath that gruff exterior, that outdoor adventurer? Was he really a loner, or did he keep people at arm’s length for a reason?

That thought gave me pause. Maybe he pushed people away so that he wouldn’t have to feel their curiosity about his father. And when it came right down to it, I realized that that would be a pretty sad way to live. To have to adjust your life and the way you lived it just to maintain a sense of privacy.

He said nothing more and we drove the remainder of the way back to the cabin in silence. More than once, I wondered what he was thinking. Was he thinking about last night? Was he wondering if something would happen tonight? Did he want it to? Did I? While I certainly couldn’t deny that he had given me pleasure, and I liked to think that I had given him pleasure in return, what was the point? Why even go there?

“What’s next?” I finally asked as he pulled into the drive leading to the cabin. I eyed the black, sleek helicopter and stared at it as we drove past it.

He glanced at me just before he pulled the truck into the shed. “What do you mean?”

Had I imagined that sound of alarm in his voice? Had he misunderstood what I meant? “I mean, are we going to be here tomorrow or do you have some place else to go?”

“Some place else to go,” he replied, shutting off the engine. The vehicle made several cooling noises and the interior illuminated as he opened the door, but I still couldn’t see his face. “You’re free to come along with me if you’d like, or you can go back to San Francisco. Your choice.”

Well, it certainly didn’t sound like he was interested in a repeat performance. I shook my head as I climbed out of the truck. Was I going to question everything he said from now on? Looking for double meanings? Ridiculous.

As we stepped out of the shed into the waning light of day, I turned to him. “How about I make dinner for you tonight? Turnaround’s fair play, right?”