Not that she intended to let him know.

Managing a casual smile, she started walking toward him just as he wiped the last of the shaving soap from his face. "Good morning."

He surveyed her bright orange tank top and jean-clad legs and his eyes lit with appreciation. "You're up early."

She didn't tell him she'd had a restless night-he might offer a sleeping aid she couldn't refuse. "It's a really nice morning. Cheyenne is hot in the daytime, but the mornings and evenings are perfect."

"Stormy's gone someplace with Shari. There's coffee on inside. You want to come in for a cup?"

"Sure."

There wasn't much room inside the RV, even less than in her trailer. Just a pair of bunks at one end, a one-burner stove, tiny fridge, a table with two stools, and a minuscule bathroom.

"All the comforts of home," Dallas said, pouring her a steaming mug of coffee and setting it on the table in front of her. She noticed a laptop, out of place among the cowboy clutter-boots, ropes, chaps, gloves, spurs.

"A computer man. I never would have guessed." Dallas was still bare-chested. She kept her eyes on his face.

"Are you kidding? This is the twenty-first century. We've got cell phones and e-mail-the whole enchilada." He grabbed a shirt off a hook beside the door, shrugged the cotton fabric over his shoulders, but didn't bother with the snaps. "Actually, I use that thing mostly to keep up on the standings...who's ahead in the overall and how much each man has won. It'll even tell you the rank of the horse or bull you've drawn."

"That's pretty amazing."

He poured a mug of coffee for himself and sat down on the stool across from her. "Your great grandmother sure would have thought so."

"That's the truth." Patience blew on her coffee, took a scalding sip. "How's Charlie?"

Dallas raked a hand through his still-damp hair. "Worried. So am I."

"What you did yesterday...at the accident, I mean. you were incredible. Shari told me you went to medical school. I guess I wasn't the only one with secrets."

"It's hardly a secret. I figured you knew. Everybody else does." He wrapped his fingers around the mug, lifted it and took a drink. "I never wanted to be a doctor. I only went to medical school to please my father. I'm glad for the years I spent, for learning as much as I did. A rancher needs to know how to take care of his stock and I know more than most. But I have no interest in that kind of career."

"Shari says you only have a couple more years to get your degree. What about becoming a veterinarian?"

Dallas shook his head. "I want to raise cattle. I want to own my own place and someday I will. That's all I've wanted since the first time I set foot on Circle C land."

"Happy now. Right?"

The edge of his mouth curved up. "Right."

Patience blew on her coffee, took another sip. It was dark and slightly bitter, but she liked it that way, and the punch to her system felt good. "What did the sheriff have to say?"

"He said the hitch was tampered with."

Her head came up. "Just like you thought."

"Yeah, just like I thought. Someone drilled a hole in the pressure release valve, which caused air to leak out and build up pressure. When the pressure got high enough, the hitch came loose and the trailer drifted away."

A memory arose of dying and injured horses, and a chill swept through her. "Sounds tricky. Whoever did it must have known a lot about trucks."

"Or hired someone who did. The guys on the Circle C crew are pretty versatile. Most of them have worked off and on at different jobs to earn extra money, truck driving among them."

"Any idea which of them might have done it?"

"I know most of those guys. I can't imagine any of them doing something like that, but the cops are looking into it."

"They're bound to turn up something-sooner or later."

Dallas's gaze slid out the window. "I'd rather it was sooner," he said.

Cheyenne Frontier Days. Nine days of ass-kicking, ball-breaking rodeo, the cowboys said. The Daddy of 'Em All, they called it. After more than a hundred years of attracting the top performers in the country, Patience figured the show deserved the name.

Cheyenne was an old-time celebration, with pancake breakfasts, western art auctions, street dances, and parades.

"Come on, P.J." Shari tugged her away from the keyboard of her computer. "Let's go downtown and see what's going on."

"I probably ought to work," Patience said halfheartedly, wishing she could go.

"Come on-this is work. Your thesis involves the history of rodeo, right? This is Frontier Days. You can't get more historical than that."

They caught a ride into town with the barrel racers, Ruth Collins and Bonnie Sweeney. There was a big parade that morning. It took a while to find a parking spot for Bonnie's bulky Suburban, but eventually they got lucky. They climbed out of the vehicle and the four of them walked along the route until they found a good vantage point to watch the parade.

It was already underway, an all-American affair with high-school marching bands, John Philip Sousa songs, flags and banners, and horsemen dressed as outlaws, bandits, and Indians. A mounted sheriff's posse rode past, the uniformed men all on matching palomino horses with silver-mounted saddles.

Patience grinned as the Golden Angels baton-twirling school marched past, twelve darling little girls all dressed up in white satin angel outfits glittering with sequins. Their baton twirling wasn't much to watch, but their enthusiasm made up for it.

Junior Reese and Cy Jennings paraded past, decked out in full clown regalia. Cy wore his usual red tights, knee-length fringed red chaps, and smiling clown-face makeup, while Junior's makeup was applied the opposite way, to look like a big ugly frown. Cy ran back and forth across the street tossing candy to the children while Junior rode past on the little donkey with long floppy ears he used in his act. Cy spotted the women and waved, tossed them a handful of brightly wrapped candy, which the four of them laughingly scrambled to catch.

"Look! There's Dallas!" Shari waved at the '58 Cadillac convertible Dallas rode in, a collectors' automobile, pale pink with tons of chrome and a huge pair of longhorns mounted on the front. Dallas sat next to a couple of rodeo bigwigs on top of the backseat, waving to the crowd. Having the world's champion cowboy join in the festivities was good for the rodeo, and his sponsors liked the added publicity it got them.

Dallas smiled and continued to wave, but even from a distance, Patience thought he looked a little distracted. He was worried about his uncle and what the sheriff had discovered. Patience hoped he'd be able to concentrate on his performance during the show. If he didn't, he might get hurt.

The morning drifted past, the sun beating down overhead, the air growing thinner and hotter. The parade was winding down. When the fire truck at the rear of the last marching band appeared in the distance, they decided to slip away before the traffic made it hard to get back to the rodeo grounds.

The afternoon performance began at one P.M., an hour from then. This was Cheyenne and there was something different in the air, a competitive spirit that seemed to heighten the excitement. Already cowboys gathered behind the chutes, limbering up. There was a lot of money at stake in Cheyenne and these cowboys wanted to win, but it was more than that.

Cheyenne meant real, old-fashioned rodeo. The unspoken challenge was there. Cowboy up! This is the reason you do it. This is because you love the sport.

Shari led Button up just then and Patience reached out to pet him. The sleek little sorrel nickered softly and nuzzled his head against Shari's shoulder while Patience stroked his neck beneath his reddish mane.

"Would you do me a favor?" Shari asked.

"Sure. What is it?"

"Warm Button up a little. You said the other day you missed riding. Hell, you're right here in the middle of cowboy country. I know you ride English, but there can't be that much difference."

"I'd love to ride him for you." Patience reached up and rubbed the horse's ears. "I've been itching to get in the saddle since the day I got to Rocky Hill."

But there were matters of trust where valuable animals were concerned. She and Shari knew each other now. Apparently, Shari felt her horse was safe in Patience's hands.

"Stirrups are gonna be short. We could let 'em down, but it's a lot of trouble and we don't have all that much time."

"Don't worry about it. I'm just going to ride him around the arena a little."

"Thanks. I got a couple of things I need to do. I'll see you before the show starts."

Patience nodded and accepted the reins. The strips of worn leather felt good in her hands. She was reaching for the saddle horn, looking forward to the pleasure of riding again, when Wes McCauley walked up behind her.

"Well, look who's here."

She stiffened at the sound of his voice. She hadn't talked to him since the wrestling match they'd had in her trailer. She would have been happy if she never saw him again.

She let go of the horn and turned to face him. "What do you want, Wes?"

"Nothin' much. You know, you caused me considerable trouble back there."

"Is that so? Well, you caused me considerable trouble when you mauled me around in my trailer. Do anything remotely similar to that again, and you'll find yourself on your way to jail."

Wes's jaw tightened. "You invited me in. What did you think was going to happen?"

"I thought I was going to make you a cup of coffee so you would sober up a little before you drove home."

Wes glanced away. "I was drunker than I thought. Maybe I got my signals crossed."

"Yes, I guess you did. I told you to leave and you refused. You were all over me like a rash and I don't appreciate being treated that way."

"You were putting out for Dallas. I figured-"

"She wasn't putting out for anyone," Dallas said sharply from a few feet behind her. "And if you ever do more than smile and say hello to her again, the beating you got that night will only be a sample of what you're going to get the next time."

Wes's gloved hand fisted. "Don't threaten me, Kingman."

"That's not a threat, Wes. It's a promise."

Wes's jaw locked and color rose beneath the bones in his cheeks. "You think that scares me? I was drunk that night. Next time you'll be the guy left lying in the dirt." He turned and spit on the ground as if to emphasize his point. "You got a knack for stickin' your nose into other people's business, Dallas. I'm warning you not to do it again."

Patience watched Wes stalk away and dragged in a shaky breath. "I'm sorry about Wes. You've got enough trouble without having to worry about me."

Dallas's eyes remained on the man who had once been his friend. "That's all right. Better to discover a snake in the grass than to wind up getting bit."

She felt the pull of a smile. "I presume you're riding today."

He nodded.

"What horse did you draw?"

"Timber Rattler." He grinned. "I guess it's my day for snakes."

Patience laughed. "Good horse?"

"A Final's horse. One of Jack Stiles's best."

He was dressed to rodeo, wearing his trademark blue shirt and black and gold metallic-fringed chaps. God, she loved a man in chaps. "Will you promise me something?"

Those incredible blue eyes slid down to her mouth, and there was no mistaking his thoughts. "Pretty much whatever you name."

She ignored the coil of heat that tightened in her stomach. "Until the rodeo is over, I want you to forget Wes McCauley and everyone else. I want you to go out there and ride like winning is all that matters in the world. I want you to knock 'em dead this afternoon."

From beneath his black hat, Dallas looked at her and his lips curved up. "Yes, ma'am," he said.

CHAPTER 14.

Button danced with impatience as Patience collected the reins, shoved her boot into the stirrup, and swung up on the sorrel's back. She had never ridden western style before and the saddle felt strange beneath her, but the cantle curving against her bottom felt solid and reassuring. Shari was so petite the stirrups were inches too short, but riding hunter-jumpers required a shorter stirrup so it didn't feel all that awkward.

Patience walked the horse, letting him stretch his legs, then went into a trot, posting in the English manner. A slow canter followed, guiding the horse in lazy figure eights at the end of the arena. Button settled down right away, performing like the perfectly trained animal he was, responding to her silent commands as if they had ridden together a hundred times.

She was grinning when she left the arena, exhilarated by her brief return to riding, enjoying the bond between horse and rider as she always did. She dismounted outside the fence, led Button back to the trailer, and returned his reins to Shari.

"That was wonderful. You've got yourself some horse there."

"Thanks." Shari patted Button's neck and spoke to him gently. "You ready to do your thing, sweetheart?"

Button nickered as if in reply and Patience laughed. Western music drifted toward them, the Charlie Daniels Band's "The Devil Went Down to Georgia." Then the distant sound of the announcer's voice boomed over the loudspeaker. Applause from the grandstand said the rodeo had begun.

The show started with a patriot display of fireworks, then a flag-waving run up and down the arena by two local rodeo queen contestants mounted on big white horses. A loud, swelling version of the National Anthem filled the crowd with rodeo excitement.

The show clicked along without a hitch, Charlie doing his usual good job behind the scenes, keeping things running smoothly. With the Circle C bucking horses out of commission, he was forced to use Jack Stiles's Flying S stock-for a fat fee, of course. But the horses were working well and so far there hadn't been a problem.

Dallas had told Stormy and Shari about the sabotage that had been done to the trailer hitch and asked them to keep their eyes open for anything out of the ordinary, but Charlie had insisted they keep the information to themselves. The sheriff had sent a couple of extra officers out to the rodeo grounds but so far the afternoon had been peaceful.

The rodeo progressed. In the steer wrestling, Wes brought down his steer in three point six seconds, which was a damned fast time and put him in the lead for the money. The saddle bronc section followed. Patience looked around but didn't see Dallas. She spotted Junior Reese running into the arena and turned to watch him do his skit.

In big, baggy, size fifty-plus Wranglers and a red striped shirt, he told the crowd, "Me and my wife was drivin' by a field full of pigs and mules. 'Them your relatives?' I asked. My wife just nodded. 'Yeah,' she said. 'Them's my in-laws!'"

The crowd roared with laughter and Patience joined in. Behind her, cowboys walked up and down the row of chutes, getting ready to make their rides. She was used to the activity by now, the shuffle of scuffed leather boots, the jangle of spurs, the big Brahmas grunting in the pens behind them. Dust hung in the air, tinged with the smell of alfalfa and manure.

She turned back to the arena just as a boot slammed down on the fence rail beside her. Spurs jingled, fringe slapped against a man's long leg. She looked up and for an instant, she simply felt drenched in cowboy-there was no other way to describe it.

"Good show so far," Dallas said, but he was looking at her, not into the arena, and she felt suddenly breathless. His gaze traveled the length of her, over her breasts and down her jean-clad legs, and her mouth went dry. "How about afterward we go out and get something to eat?"

She swallowed. He was asking her out to supper but looking at him, food was the last thing on her mind. How about we just go straight to bed? she thought, then mentally kicked herself.

What she needed least in the world was a deeper involvement with Dallas Kingman.