It was the best rodeo Allison had ever seen. Gene knew most of the contestants and most of the livestock, so he pointed out the strongest riders in each competition and the worst bulls and broncs.
“Now that son of a mustang leaped flat-footed into the backseat of a convertible on a neighboring ranch,” he informed her as one of the worst bareback broncs trotted away after unseating his would-be rider. “He doesn’t belong to us, and I’m glad. He’s a really bad customer. All but unridable and bad-tempered to boot. I’ve been kicked by him a time or two myself.”
“You said you didn’t ride,” she remarked.
“Not often,” he corrected. “Now and again when I’ve had a beer too many, I get the old urge to try to break my neck in the arena,” he chuckled.
That didn’t sound encouraging, either, as if he liked to go on binges. Allison knew so little about men and their habits. She really had led a sheltered life.
“Look, here comes one of ours,” he said, nudging her. “That’s Rocky Road. He can outbuck most of the others hands down.”
Sure enough, the bronc unseated his rider in jig time and sashayed off without a care in the world. The cowboy he’d unseated slammed his hat down in the dirt and jumped on it repeatedly while the audience laughed at the unexpected entertainment.
Allison laughed with him. She really couldn’t help it.
“Oh, the poor man,” she choked.
“You pay your money and take your chances,” he said without much real sympathy. “It happens to all of us. The name of the game is to keep down the number of winners. A rodeo exists to make money, not to give it away, you know.”
“I guess I didn’t think. But I still feel sorry for the men who lose.”
“So do I, actually.”
The next man stayed on and Allison thought he’d done extremely well, but he didn’t score at all.
“He didn’t get thrown!” Allison protested on the man’s behalf.
“The horse didn’t buck enough, honey,” Gene explained patiently, and then went on to point out that a cowboy was judged on much more than just staying on the horse’s back.
“It’s so complicated.” She shook her head.
“That’s the name of the game,” he replied. He smiled down at her. “If you watch rodeo enough, you’ll get the hang of seeing how it’s judged. That’s an art in itself.”
She smiled back at him, tingling from head to toe at the warm, intimate look in his eyes before they averted back to the action down in the arena. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt happier or more alive. Especially when Gene appropriated her hand and clasped it warmly in his while they watched the rest of the competition.
The last of the bareback bronc riding finished, with the winner and second and third places announced. Then came barrel racing, and the woman named Dale was competing. Allison noticed that Gene didn’t applaud or pay much attention to the pretty young woman in the arena. He didn’t even react when his ex-lover won the race. Dale Branigan, they announced, and Allison stared down at the younger woman with envy. She was pretty and young and full of the joy of life as she reacted to her win by jumping in the air and giving out a loud, laughing yell. So that was the kind of woman who attracted the taciturn man at her side: young, aggressive, eager for intimacy and fancy-free. She didn’t really have much of a chance. That might be a good thing, considering how he seemed to treat women he’d slept with. She felt suddenly sad. She was daydreaming, and it was no good. He might be wonderful to kiss, and delightful as a companion, but it was all just means to an end, she was sure of it. The thought depressed her terribly, although Gene didn’t seem to notice. He was quiet after the barrel racing.
He felt Allison’s gaze, but he didn’t meet it. Seeing Dale again had disturbed him. He remembered very little of the night he’d spent with her, and now he was ashamed of his part in it. The old Gene wouldn’t have had any qualms at spending the night in the arms of a pretty, willing woman. But since he’d been taking Allison places, the ease of his old conquest disturbed him. He couldn’t sort out the confused feelings he was entertaining for Allison, or the guilt she aroused in him sometimes. She seemed to look for the best in everyone and everything, as if she wouldn’t even admit the existence of evil in people. She was caring and kind and gentle, and sensuous in a strange, reserved way. He was surprised at her inhibitions when he kissed and held her intimately, and he wondered why her own conquests hadn’t taught her more. Perhaps she’d been sleeping with the wrong men. He thought about sleeping with her himself, and his body vibrated with excitement. It would be like having a virgin, he thought, and his heartbeat increased fiercely. He didn’t dare look at her until he got himself under control again.
Unaware of his thoughts, Allison concentrated on the arena. But there seemed to be a distance between Gene and herself, and she didn’t understand why.
In no time, the competition was over, the prizes awarded and it was time to go home. Allison followed Gene down from the bleachers, noting his dark scowl as he saw Dale coming toward them with her award.
“Going to congratulate me?” she asked Gene, apparently having recovered from her bad humor, because she was smiling seductively.
“Sure. Congratulations.” He slid an arm around Allison’s shoulders and drew her close, glancing down at her possessively. “We thought you were great, didn’t we, cupcake?” he added, his voice low and caressing for Allison.
She smiled with difficulty, going along with the pretense. “Yes.” She looked at the younger woman with kind eyes. “You were very good.”
Dale shifted restlessly under that warm, easy
