"Dallas isn't back yet," Stormy told them as he walked her and Shari toward the big black Dodge dually he'd been driving while his partner was gone. "He's doing a local TV show. He'll meet us at the park as soon as he's finished. I think he's missed seeing everybody."

Patience couldn't help wondering if Dallas might have missed her. Probably not. He had probably been too busy.

The chuck wagon barbecue at Kendrick Park, where there were acres of grass and big, leafy cottonwoods, was in full swing when Stormy drove the pickup into the parking lot. Once they reached the picnic area, they grabbed bottles of ice-cold beer and wandered toward the old-fashioned chuck wagon that was about to start serving up food.

"Hey, Stormy!"

Patience turned at the sound of the gruff, unfamiliar voice. It was the grizzled old cowboy Patience recognized as one of the Circle C crew who worked behind the chutes.

"You seen Dallas?" he asked. "Charlie's lookin' for him." He was slightly stoop-shouldered, his cheeks sunken in and rough with stiff white whiskers. Sun-browned skin stretched like rawhide leather over his bone-thin arms.

"Dallas had a TV interview," Stormy said. "He'll be here as soon as he's finished." Stormy's hazel eyes flicked to Patience then back to the old man. "You two know each other?"

"'Fraid I ain't had the pleasure."

"Salty Marvin, meet Patience Sinclair. Most of us call her P.J."

Salty tipped a dusty, battered felt hat that looked about a thousand years old. "How do, ma'am?"

"Hello, Salty. It's nice to meet you." A second man walked up just then, average height and build, dressed in the usual scuffed boots and faded jeans of the rodeo world.

"And this fella here is Junior Reese. He's clowning the show with Cy Jennings. Junior, this is P.J. Sinclair."

She smiled. "Nice to meet you, Junior."

"Same here."

He didn't say more and neither did she. In Flagstaff, Shari had mentioned the clown who would be taking Ritchie Madden's place until Ritchie got back on his feet. Patience had watched him perform, mostly working the barrel, but he had been wearing his clown makeup then.

He looked far different now.

Shari had told her the story, that years ago, as a young bull rider, he'd gotten hung up on his rope and been trampled by a bull. The Brahma had kicked him in the face, breaking his nose and jaw, leaving a scar that bisected his eyebrow, and crushing his cheekbone. In profile, Junior looked perfectly normal. When he turned, half his face was caved in.

"Anybody seen Cy?" Junior asked. "I want to go over tomorrow's routine."

"Haven't seen him," Stormy said. "He may be downtown, doing that interview with Dallas. Dallas mentioned something about the station asking him if he could get one of the clowns to come along."

"Thanks." Junior wandered away as they moved toward the chuck wagon line, which stretched half a block across the grass. Wes McCauley walked up to join them.

"I'm so hungry I could eat the ass end out of a skunk," Wes said, making them laugh.

Wes hadn't been at the Greeley show, but he had competed at the rodeo they had been to in Pecos. Wes had wrestled his steer to the ground in three point four seconds, the fastest time of the night, and taken home first place money. To celebrate, he had invited them all out to dinner at the Caramba Cafe. Wes had asked her to go out the following night and finding no good reason to decline, she had said yes. They had doubled with Stormy and Shari and gone to see a movie.

Afterward, Wes had kissed her. Though she hated to admit it, she had been hoping for a rousing, blood-stirring, Dallas-Kingman-sort-of-kiss, but it hadn't been even close.

Patience sighed, thinking there was only one man who could excite her the way Dallas did, and if she were going to explore her sexuality, no other man would do.

"Boy, that looks good." Stormy eyed the thick, perfectly grilled New York steak and heaping pile of barbecued beans that passed by on a plate in the hands of Reno Garcia.

The line moved forward. They drank another beer and inhaled the rich aroma of roasting meat and thick slabs of buttered, toasted garlic bread. They were all loaded up with heaping plates of food, plastic silverware, and red-checked paper napkins, heading for one of the empty picnic tables when Dallas showed up.

"Get your plate and join us," Stormy called out as he set his plate on the table. Dallas flicked a quick glance in the group's direction and shook his head.

"I'm sitting over there with Cy and a couple of his friends. I'll catch up with you later." He turned away without so much as a hello, how are you, kiss my backside-nothing. Patience's chest tightened with disappointment. Obviously, he hadn't missed her.

"Wonder what's got into him?" Shari asked.

"He was fine when I talked to him earlier," Stormy said. "He's probably just tired after being on the road for so long."

Not too tired to sit with a couple of little blond buckle bunnies, Patience noticed. Not too tired to fetch one of them a beer then take her over to meet Charlie and some of the local VIPs before they joined Cy and sat down to eat.

After all the restless nights Patience had spent pondering whether or not to sleep with Dallas Kingman, after the tug-of-war she'd had between her conscience and her brain, Dallas didn't even want her anymore. Maybe he never really had.

She finished her second beer and set the empty long-neck down on the picnic table, angry at Dallas, even more angry at herself. What was it about him that made her act like a fool again and again? She took a deep breath, shoved her hands in her pockets as she rose from the picnic table.

"I'm really wrung out. I think I'll see if I can catch a ride back to the trailer."

Wes stood up beside her. "I'm packin' it in, too. I'll give you a ride home before I head back to my motel."

She nodded. "Thanks."

As they walked toward his dark green Ford pickup, she noticed Salty Marvin leaning up against the trunk of a cottonwood tree. He watched them as they passed and she made a mental note to see if she could interview him about rodeo life in the past.

Wes opened the door of his big 250 diesel and helped her into the cab. "I don't see how you guys do this, year after year," Patience said as Wes fired up the motor. "All of the travel, I mean."

"'Less you rodeo some yourself, you'll prob'ly never really understand."

"So, explain it to me."

He shrugged a set of linebacker shoulders. "It's jus' what we do."

She noticed the way he had begun to slur his words. She didn't say more as they drove back to the rodeo grounds, just watched Wes gulping his beer and casting her sideways glances. There were six empties rolling around at her feet and she realized he had drunk more than she'd thought.

He shouldn't be driving. Not until he sobered up. She decided she would make him a cup of thick black coffee when they got back to the trailer and insist he drink it before he set off for his motel.

CHAPTER 10.

Dallas tried not to look for her. He had made up his mind to stay away from her, but the minute he had seen her standing next to Wes, a knot had tightened in his gut.

He finished his steak and excused himself from Cy and his friends. Dumping his empty paper plate in the trash, he picked up his beer and took a long, thirst-quenching swallow. A glance at the picnic table where Patience had been sitting told him she was no longer there. Neither was Wes McCauley.

Hey, she was single and over twenty-one. She could go out with any man she wanted. But the thought of her with Wes spawned a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He glanced around to see if she might be sitting somewhere else, all the while telling himself to forget her, reminding himself she was nothing but trouble.

In the distance, he could hear western music pumping over the speakers at the edge of the picnic area, but saw no sign of Patience. He wondered if Wes's truck was gone, too. Giving in to the urge to find her, he wandered toward a cluster of cottonwood trees near the parking lot. Up against the rough bark of one of the towering trees, Salty Marvin sat in the shadows, his brown, weathered hands forming a hand-rolled cigarette.

"If you're lookin' for that pretty little gal I seen you starin' at, she left with Wes." The knot in Dallas's stomach turned into a ten-pound rock. "Heard someone say he was givin' her a ride back home."

"That so?"

"I was you, I'd make sure she got there okay."

Dallas fixed a hard look on Salty. "What are you talking about? She's Wes's problem, not mine."

"Maybe so. But Wes was drinkin' pretty hard tonight. He gets liquored up, he don't always listen too good when a lady says no."

A thread of worry slipped along Dallas's spine. He had heard stories about Wes, that sometimes the big steer wrestler had been known to press a woman a little too hard for what he wanted. Rumor was, it had happened at Roy Greenfield's party. Dallas didn't believe Wes would actually force a woman to have sex, but he was big and sometimes he didn't know his own strength. He didn't want Patience having problems with Wes.

"How long have they been gone?"

"Fifteen, twenty minutes."

Dallas started walking toward his truck. Using his own set of keys, he clicked open the door, climbed behind the steering wheel, and started the engine.

It didn't take long to reach the rodeo grounds. He spotted Patience's little white travel trailer hooked up to her brown Chevy pickup. Wes's Ford sat in the shadows not far away. Dallas turned off the motor but didn't get out of his truck.

You do this, you're gonna make a damned fool of yourself.

But the door of his truck cracked open as if it had a mind of its own. Dallas climbed down from the seat and started walking, cussing himself all the way. When he reached the trailer, he heard voices inside. Then the lights went off and the trailer fell silent.

Sonofabitch. He knew what was going on in there. He knew and it and it royally pissed him off.

You'll probably think I'm old-fashioned...

Old-fashioned? Ha! His hands balled into fists. Fine, he told himself. She wants Wes, she can have him. He started to walk away, but something just wouldn't let him. He turned to look at the trailer. He thought he heard them talking again.

Calling himself ten kinds of a fool, Dallas strode over and banged on the door. "Patience?"

Wes's deep voice answered. "Hey, buddy, we're busy in here."

Dallas swore foully. He started to turn away, even madder at himself that he was at her, when he heard the sound of glass breaking inside the trailer. Combined with the instincts screaming inside his head, he reached for the knob and jerked open the door.

A Coke bottle whizzed past his head, smashing against the door frame.

"Get out of here, Wes McCauley! And don't you ever come back again!"

Everything happened at once.

Wes dragged Patience against him and crushed his mouth down over hers. She jabbed an elbow into his ribs and kicked him hard in the shins.

"Shit!" Wes swore, and a red haze of fury dropped over Dallas, unlike anything he had known.

"You son of a bitch!" He caught the front of Wes's shirt and spun him around, dragged him toward the door, and heaved him down the stairs. Wes landed in the dirt and Dallas went after him, hauling him up and smashing him in the face. Wes spun around and swung a punch at Dallas, who dodged the blow and punched Wes in the stomach, doubling him over.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Wes slurred. He was a taller, heavier man, but he was drunk and disoriented. He staggered to his feet and Dallas smashed a fist into his jaw that sent him sprawling. He went down like a stone and this time he didn't get up.

Adrenaline pumped through Dallas's blood. His jaw was locked, his teeth clenched. The scab on the back of his hand had been ripped away and he saw that it was bleeding. He turned toward the trailer, found Patience standing at the bottom of the metal stairs.

"I-I needed a ride back to the trailer," she said as he walked toward her. "Wes volunteered. I didn't...I didn't realize he had drunk so much until we had already left the picnic." She glanced over at the big lump sprawled on the ground. "I was worried about him driving back to his motel. I insisted he come in for coffee."

Dallas said nothing. He was still so mad, he couldn't speak.

Patience took a shaky breath. "Wes started kissing me and I couldn't make him stop." Her face looked pale. He saw that she was trembling and a band seemed to tighten around his chest.

Dallas reached for her, drew her into his arms. "It's all right, darlin'. It's over and you're okay."

Patience slid her arms around his neck and seemed to melt against him. "Dallas..." She said his name with a soft sigh of relief and it was suddenly hard to breathe. He held her for long moments more, until her trembling eased and she began to compose herself.

"I'm sorry." She eased a little away, straightened the front of her shirt. "I think I could have handled him." She shook her head. "He's just so darned big. He's damned pushy but I don't think he would have forced me." She flicked a glance at Wes, who now lay there snoring. "It's just..."

"Just what?"

"Something happened before I left Boston. A man I briefly dated became obsessed with me, a guy named Tyler Stanfield. He started stalking me, wouldn't leave me alone. One night, he broke into my apartment while I was in bed. I guess he made a copy of the key on my key ring. He threatened me, scared the living daylights out of me. I had to get a restraining order to keep him away."

Dallas drew her back against him, pressing her into his warmth, angry all over again. "He hasn't bothered you lately?"

"No. Aside from bumping into him once at the supermarket, it's been months since I've seen him. I don't think he even knows where I am. I guess that's why Wes scared me so much."

"Wes is through scaring anyone. He isn't going to bother you again." No, Wes McCauley wasn't going to bother her. He'd beat the bastard senseless if he ever came near her again.

She leaned closer, stood there in the darkness with her cheek nestled into the hollow of his neck, her hair brushing his temple. She felt so good in his arms. So good. He had tried not to think of her, tried to satisfy himself with other women. But God, he had missed her.

"It's all right," he said again, stroking her hair, holding her until the stiffness left her body. Patience drew a little away and he noticed the marks left from Wes's late-night beard. His temper shot back up and he wanted to smash his fist into Wes's face again. "My cell phone's in the truck. I'm going to call the sheriff."

Patience straightened, caught his arm. "Wait a minute, Dallas. Please don't do that. He just kissed me. He didn't really hurt me."

Some of Dallas's anger shifted onto her. "Look, Patience. I don't know what's been going on between you and Wes the last couple of weeks, but tonight I lost a friend because of you."

Her chin went up. "So now this is my fault?" She started to turn away, but he caught her arm.

"Hold on-I didn't mean it that way. This isn't your fault. I'm sorry. I guess I'm just a little..." Jealous. He bit back the word. "I'm sorry." Very gently, he reached out and touched the whisker marks on her cheek. "Damn him."

She caught his hand, then spotted the bloody scabs on the back. "You're hurt!"

"It's nothing. Just a scratch. No big deal."

She wouldn't let go when he tried to pull it away. "It'll be a big deal if it gets infected. Let me put a bandage on it for you." She rushed back inside and came out a few minutes later with a gauze pad, a roll of adhesive tape, antibiotic ointment, and a pair of scissors. Her hands were gentle as she worked over him, spreading the ointment, fitting the gauze just so, carefully applying the tape. Her fingers brushed his and a thread of desire slipped through him.

Dallas ignored it. "Are you sure you don't want me to call the sheriff? A night in jail might do Wes some good."

"I don't want to get involved with the police. I had enough of that in Boston."

The light from inside the trailer outlined her slender figure and long, jean-clad legs. He wanted to scoop her into his arms and carry her off somewhere safe from guys like Wes McCauley and Tyler Stanfield.