Rough

Chapter 2

2

AUDREY

The testosterone in the arena was overwhelming.

Unfortunately, my undersexed body was standing up and taking notice. I would swear my ovaries dropped two eggs when Boyd entered the med room. All cowboy swagger and charm. He’d stepped so close I’d been able to smell his aftershave and soap, and it did something crazy to my head. I mean, my body. Everywhere. I got all hot and tingly, and my brain lost power for the moment.

I already had a thing for cowboys. The hats, the loose hipped gait, rugged exteriors and the air of… maleness. It was definitely a perk of moving to Montana. Boyd was about as gorgeous as God made them with that chiseled jaw and lazy smile. Sandy colored hair that was a few weeks past a haircut. Pale eyes that had roved over me as if I were a tasty treat he wanted to devour. A crooked nose that proved while he might be quick with the smile, he was probably quick with the fists, too. It was the whole package—all six feet plus of pure muscle and virile man that made my n*****s harden and my panties get damp.

My body had reacted to his presence like I’d been seeping in pheromones that crazily enough made me feel like I was in heat, and he was some kind of stallion ready to mount. I might not have been with a man in a while… close to a few days short of forever, but I knew the signs. He’d wanted me as another notch on his bedpost.

My mind was a total slut—wanting to be tied to that notched bedpost—which it had no business being. The animals might be branded, but each one of those Grade-A cowboys should have a mark that guaranteed them players. They were all quick-grinning males who could make a woman wet with just a wink and have her drop her panties with the crook of a finger.

These rodeo champs apparently thought they were God’s gift to women, although why Boyd and Abe—Abe might have been subtle about his intentions, but he’d flirted nonetheless— bothered making a play for me when there were a dozen or more scantily dressed cowgirls out there for the taking was beyond me. They probably dished it out to every female they met. Cowboy code or something. My panties were ruined after being in the same room as Boyd for even a few short minutes, but I fortunately still had them on. Or, unfortunately, because I had no doubt the guy knew his way around a woman’s body, and there’d been a perfectly sturdy exam table for me to be bent over and f****d.

Yup, my slutty mind was pretty darned busy. Abe was the only injury so far for the event, and I was able to head to the stands and watch the bull riding. I was the doctor on call. If someone got hurt, I was to tend to them, connect with the ambulance standing by and get the person to the hospital.

From where I sat—unless someone randomly started choking on a corn dog in the vendor area—I’d know if my assistance was needed. I sat near the aisle with easy access to the competitor area and a great view of the chutes. This was where the bulls were held and readied, then the cowboy climbed the fence and hopped on its back. Once the man was secure, the gate was flung open and off they went, the pissed off bull doing anything to fling off his rider. It practically guaranteed me a few more patients before the event was over.

I scanned the chute area for the two of them, watched as the first few competitors completed their rides. I was equally turned on and filled with dread as one after another had his turn. The crowd felt the same as me, cheering and gasping in equal measure. Riding a bull was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. And the dumbest.

I didn’t know how these guys lived past thirty. Maybe they didn’t. That thought made my chest unexpectedly tighten, like I’d already developed an attachment to the two cowboys I’d met.

Not the first one, the second. Abe was handsome. Gentle, considering his size and what he did for a living. Sweet, even. Boyd, though, was… dangerous. I wasn’t afraid he would hurt me physically, although he had at least a foot on me and probably fifty pounds, but something else. He could hurt my heart. Screw with my plans. I’d been so focused on med school and my residency. On my career. It wasn’t like me to deviate because of a perfect ass in a pair of Wranglers. He was a bad boy who I knew was trouble but wanted anyway.

A rider was flung from his bull and landed hard, then rolled to clear himself from the back hooves of the bull. The rodeo clowns—I was sure they had some other name I didn’t know—ran over, redirected the animal, so the rider could get to his feet. I exhaled as the crowd cheered at his high score. He dusted himself off, lifted his hat in salute and walked out of the ring.

Boyd’s face appeared on the jumbotron, his quick smile twenty feet wide. The crowd went wild, which meant his ego was probably as big as his image on the huge screen. Yeah, I needed to keep my distance from that one because I wasn’t the one-night-stand kind of woman. With med school and residency, I barely socialized, let alone dated, let alone had tons of s*x. Or any, really. Maybe a fling would be best for my crazy schedule, but no, that wasn’t me. I was the long term, commitment type. In fact, I’d moved to small town Montana to settle down. Slow down. Find a partner and start a family, just as I’d always longed to have. A family made up of two parents who loved each other and a gaggle of kids. I wanted that kind of insanity. Sledding, science fair projects, pet gerbils. That was what I longed for. Especially babies.

Screwing a rodeo champ was not part of that picture, and I doubted a rodeo champ wanted to f**k a woman who had baby fever. The words “ticking clock” wasn’t the same for him as it was for me. His plans lasted eight seconds, mine a lifetime.

Still, my body went on full alert when I spied his name on the ticker—Boyd Wolf vs. Night Sweats, which was a crazy name for a bull.

I leaned forward to spot him down in the chutes. They all looked the same in their helmets, safety vests and chaps, the sponsors’ logos splashed across the shoulders of their collared button-downs. But then I saw him—at least I was fairly certain it was him. The rider oozed the same raw confidence he’d shown in the medical room.

He straddled the snorting black bull then set about adjusting his grip on the rope with easy, deft movements. Only his hand held him on that beast. I knew none of the details about bull riding, only that I’d overheard it was called a rough stock event. Rough was the definitely right word.

“Hey, pretty lady.” Abe came up the concrete steps and settled his large body into the seat beside me.

I couldn’t help but smile at him, but I glanced back at the chutes.

“Hard to watch?” he asked.

I nodded. “Your ride went well. You stayed on past the buzzer. I should be congratulating you, right?”

He tipped his hat back, then set his hand on my shoulder. “Yes, ma’am. Best ride of the night. So far. We can celebrate by you getting that coffee with me after.”

His quick grin and mild manner had me smiling. He was handsome. Courteous. But like Jett Markle, the local rancher who I’d had one bad date with the week before, he didn’t do anything for me. Like those romance novels I read in my spare time, I wanted spark. Heat. Attraction. Chemistry.

Jett was turning out to be a creep, so I couldn’t put Abe into the same category.

The announcer called the next ride, and I was distracted by Boyd’s imminent turn. When I looked his way again, he wasn’t focused on the thousand pounds of pissed off animal beneath him, but at me. His gaze was locked onto me, and I gasped. No, he wasn’t looking at me, but at Abe’s hand on my shoulder. Boyd’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed. If I wasn’t mistaken, he was as pissed off by that action as the bull was to have a rider sitting on him.

Why was he looking at me? I wasn’t important. I was the short, dumpy doctor who had zero social life. Still, he stared. I tried to school my breath when he nodded his head. I realized it wasn’t for me when the chute was flung open.

Night Sweats came pawing out, snorting with fury over the rider on his back. I held my breath, stomach bunched up in a tight knot as he kicked his back legs up.

Even with the wild ride, Boyd seemed to take the body-snapping movements with ease, his thighs gripping the sides of the bull, his arm flung up, his back staying loose, his movements gracefully in sync with the animal.

It was mesmerizing.

Magical, even.

A wide smile stretched across his lips like riding bulls was a walk in the park for him. Oh God. Was that for real?

He scanned the audience… as he rode the bull.

What bull rider had the presence of mind to look for Mom when he was trying to stay on the back of a pissed off bull?

The crowd was going wild—cheering and stamping. Boyd had already been on the bull for eight seconds.

Nine.

I stood to see better, and he caught sight of me. Again.

That was impossible.

He might have glanced my way before, but now? On the back of a bull? He wouldn’t be looking for me in the crowd.

I shrieked, covering my mouth as he was thrown, flipped straight into the air like a frisbee. Oh God—no! Time slowed. I squeezed my eyes closed, then opened them again at the horror unfolding. As Boyd’s spinning body came down, the bull turned and tossed its head, landing a vicious horn right below the protection of Boyd’s vest.

He’d been gored.

Badly.

Possibly lethally.

“Oh s**t,” Abe said. While I knew it wasn’t good, Abe’s words confirmed it. He’d seen more rides than I had, and this was worse than others.

I switched into medical mode, my training kicking in. I ran down the steps before I even knew my feet were moving, sprinting along with the EMTs for the arena.

“Hold up!” a manager yelled, barring our entrance while the rodeo clowns distracted the bull, and two riders rode out to rope it. “Now, go! Go!”

Boyd was on one knee, trying to get to his feet. Adrenaline was probably the only thing keeping him upright. Blood soaked his shirt and jeans, staining the dirt below him.

“Stop moving!” I yelled as I ran up. “Hold still, Boyd.” To the EMTs who followed with a backboard, I barked, “Get him on.”

Carefully, they transferred him to the board, strapped him to it and stood, walking quickly across the dirt ring toward where they’d left the gurney.

“I’m going to need a pressure bandage and an IV. And morphine,” I ordered, one of them speaking into the walkie talkie strapped to his shoulder, giving information, hopefully, to the ER. “I’ll ride along to the hospital.”

I wasn’t a trauma doctor. I was an ObGyn, but all my training as I did my rotations came rushing back. I jogged alongside the gurney, trying to gauge the depth, location and severity of the wound when a hand closed on mine.

My gaze flew to Boyd’s face. It was pale and sweat stood out on his forehead, but he grinned at me.

“Just a scratch, Doc,” he said, his voice raspy. His breathing was difficult, especially on inhales. I had to assume a punctured lung. “No need to worry.”

Was he actually comforting me? Now?

I squeezed his hand back, surprised at how relieved his upbeat attitude made me feel. As a doctor, I knew he was in a great deal of danger but was also aware the patient’s outlook could make the difference between living and dying.

“I usually do the reassuring, but I’m glad you’re staying positive. I’ll get you something for the pain as soon as we’re in the ambulance.”

He winced, trying to sit up and look at the injury.

I pushed him back down, although he wasn’t going anywhere with the strap around his waist. “Take it easy, champ, you’re losing blood.”

He gave a half grin as his face turned pasty. His blood pressure was most likely dropping, and he was going into shock. I needed to get him stabilized right away. As his lashes flickered, he mumbled, “Guess you’re not going out with Abe for coffee, huh?”

What? He had a hole in his chest and was worried about me going out with Abe? “Guess not. Hang on for me, okay?”

But it was too late. He’d lost consciousness.

Heart thundering in my chest, I hustled into the ambulance with him and took over the insertion of the IV needle into his arm as the paramedic settled an oxygen mask over his face.

Boyd Wolf was probably the cockiest cowboy in the west. It was his job to get on the back of a bull, but it was my job to save him when he fell off. I’d do everything I possibly could to do so.