Dallas had goals, plans, dreams. Someday he wanted to own a ranch like the Circle C. From the day he'd quit college and started full time into professional rodeo, he had known exactly what he was after. Since then, he had won a lot of money and saved a good deal. In five or six years, he'd have enough to buy his ranch and retire from the sport-assuming he didn't get hurt.

In the meantime, he would settle for what he had with Darlene, or Debbie, or whatever her name was. Pound into her until he found release, then get up and get the hell out of Dodge. He would leave commitment to guys like Stormy, guys who expected a whole lot less out of life than he did.

He thought of his friend as he got off the little commuter plane that landed in Silver Springs. Inside the terminal, Dallas recognized Stormy's lean, smiling face, lanky build, and slightly bowlegged walk coming down the concourse toward the gate.

"Hey, buddy!" Stormy slapped him on the shoulder. "Glad to have you back." They shook hands and started for the baggage claim to pick up Dallas's gear, including the bronc saddle he felt naked without. He always hated to check it, but when he flew commercial, he didn't have much choice.

"I heard you kicked butt," Stormy said with a grin.

"Yeah. I also got my butt kicked."

Stormy laughed. "Vegas and Reno are coming up. You can make up for it in Nevada."

They picked up his bags and he settled into the passenger side of his truck while Stormy slid into the seat behind the wheel.

"How's Lobo?" Dallas asked once they were headed for the rodeo grounds.

"Pouting because you've been gone. He'll be glad to see you."

His horse would be glad to see him. That was something, he guessed. An image of Patience Sinclair popped into his head. Why, he had no idea, since she was one person who wouldn't be the least bit glad he was back. During his time in Canada, he had tried to put her out of his mind, but thoughts of her kept creeping in. He'd thought of her even when he was in bed with Debbie, which really pissed him off.

Patience was hardly his type. He liked his women hot and wild-the exact opposite of P.J. Sinclair. Or maybe she was just playing hard to get. Still, as he turned off the engine and climbed out of the truck, he found himself looking for her little white trailer.

And the fact that he was irritated the hell out of him.

"Admit it-you're attracted to him." Sitting in the trailer, Shari shoved away her paper plate, crowded with bones from a Kentucky Fried Chicken supper. The Clovis Rodeo had ended last night. Today they were parked in the field outside the arena in the town of Silver Springs.

"That's ridiculous. We've been oil and water since the day we met."

"Sometimes it starts out that way."

"Is that what happened with you and Stormy?"

Shari shook her head. She had tied back her curly red hair and small gold earrings glittered in her ears. "Me and Stormy...we were attracted right off. The problem is I've commitments and so does he and they don't fit together very well. Right now we're having fun, getting to travel together more than we normally would. We haven't...you know." Her cheeks turned a little pink. "Not all the way, at least. We agreed just to let things go for a while and see where they lead."

"Well, at least the two of you have things in common. Similar lifestyles, similar interests. Dallas and I-think about it. In the fall, I start a teaching job as an assistant professor. Dallas is...Dallas is a cowboy."

Shari grinned. "The World Champion All-Around Cowboy."

"Well, it doesn't matter what he is. Dallas isn't interested in me and I'm not interested in him."

Which was good because he had avoided her ever since his arrival in Silver Springs and she had made a point of avoiding him.

He was nowhere to be seen when the rodeo was over late that night. He'd been bucked off the horse he had drawn, then in the calf roping, he had broken the barrier-the string that marked the head start the calf was given-which cost him a ten-second penalty and any chance of landing in the money. He had obviously gone off to lick his wounds and she told herself she didn't care.

Everyone was tired after the evening performance, but it was Friday night and Shari and Stormy wanted to go out dancing. They refused to let her stay home.

"You came here to learn about rodeo," Shari said. "Well, what we do after the perf is an important part of the life you're writing about."

True enough. And part of her really did want to go, even if she couldn't dance the Texas two-step.

The sign above the door read The High Desert Saloon and the parking lot was so full of cars Stormy had trouble finding a place to park Dallas's pickup. There had to be some secret code she hadn't yet figured out because all the contestants seemed to know where the local hot spot was in each town.

The bar was buzzing, packed to the rafters when they walked in. A lot of the Silver Springs riders lived within driving distance, which meant a number of Hispanic and Indian cowboys were competing. One of the guys she had met was extremely good-looking, a bareback rider named Blue Cody who was part Navajo, with black hair and dark eyes and incredible cheekbones. Shari had introduced them and Patience noticed him tonight as they pushed through the doors of the saloon and wove their way up to the bar.

The place rang with a combination of honky-tonk, old-fashioned western music, hot country, and good ole rock and roll. In Boston, she never listened to country music, but Shari played it in the pickup whenever they were on the road. Patience had to admit she was beginning to enjoy it.

Especially here, in this loud, smoky, low-ceilinged bar that flashed with neon beer signs, had a big wooden dance floor overflowing with couples in cowboy clothes, and everyone laughing. From what she'd seen so far, most of the serious cowboys didn't drink or party much until the rodeo was over, but those who were already out of the money or just wanted to have a good time showed up in the bar after the performance was over.

She found herself searching for Dallas, but Stormy had his truck, and besides, he would be riding tomorrow. It wasn't likely he would be out on the town. Especially since he had done so poorly today. She didn't believe he took many falls, at least not as hard as the one he had taken that afternoon. She hated to admit it, but it scared her to see him thrown into the fence then get up and rub his injured shoulder. He had picked up his hat a little stiffly then walked with his head down out of the arena.

But Shari had said he was fine, just a little bruised up and mad at himself for making some stupid mistake coming out of the chute.

Dallas wasn't there, but Wes McCauley was and so was that Navajo cowboy, Blue Cody.

As Stormy shoved an icy bottle of beer into her hand, Blue came up to where she stood and pulled off his broad-brimmed black hat.

"Hey, P.J. How about a dance?"

She smiled. "I'd love to dance with you, Blue, but I'm afraid I don't know how to do the two-step."

Blue grinned. "No problem. I'll teach you."

She hesitated only an instant as Tyler's face flashed in her mind, and she realized how paranoid she still was. Blue wasn't Tyler and this was supposed to be an adventure. "All right-if you're sure your feet can stand it."

Blue took her hand and led her out on the floor. Fortunately, the song ended just then and the disk jockey started playing an old Rolling Stones rock song, "Jumpin' Jack Flash," so she didn't have to try to learn anything new. It was fun dancing again, something she hadn't done in years, and she found herself laughing, just like everyone else.

The dance ended and Wes McCauley stood waiting at the edge of the floor. The DJ started playing "Bubba Shot the Juke Box" and Wes dragged her out in the middle of the crowd, determined to teach her his version of the two-step. But the man's feet were as big as his body and mostly he just whipped her around until her neck was sore and her feet black and blue. Patience was eternally grateful when the song came to an end.

She passed on the next cowboy who asked her, returned to the bar, and climbed up on the stool Stormy gave up for her. "I don't think I'm cut out for this."

Shari laughed. "You'll get the hang of it."

Patience sipped her beer. A slow song started, Garth Brooks, "Beaches of Cheyenne," and she felt a tug on her arm.

"How 'bout a dance?" Dallas asked. He didn't wait for an answer, just hauled her off the stool, across the room, and out onto the dance floor. Before Patience had time to prepare herself, she was wrapped in his arms.

God, he felt even better than he had the last time he had held her. He was wearing the same sexy cologne she had noticed in his truck and his dark, neatly trimmed hair teased her hand at the back of his neck. He was holding her so close she could feel the snaps on his western shirt, and it occurred to her she was following his lead as if they had danced together a hundred times.

He was a very good dancer-no surprise there. Dallas was good at whatever he did. The notion struck out of the blue-he's probably as good in bed as he is on the dance floor.

Sex with Dallas Kingman. It was a completely unexpected and totally unwanted thought-and a daunting one.

Dallas might be good in bed, but Patience was a complete and utter failure. She could still hear Tyler's mocking words the day she had broken off with him, telling her what a terrible lover she was. Worst of all, as much as she disliked him, she was afraid it might be true.

"I didn't think you'd be here," she said to Dallas, forcing herself to smile.

"Why not?"

"You have to ride tomorrow."

His dark brows pulled into a frown. "If I ride the way I did today, whether I come here or not won't make a fiddler's damn." There was an odd cadence in his voice. For the first time, she realized that he had been drinking. More than just a little.

"You're drunk."

"So?"

"I don't think you should be drinking when you have to ride. You might end up getting hurt."

He drew back to look at her. "And I suppose you'd care."

Patience glanced away. "Of course I'd care. I-I don't like seeing anyone get hurt."

Dallas stared down at her and something softened for a moment in his features. His body brushed hers as they danced. He tightened his hold and she found herself pressed nearly full length against him. When the dance ended, he eased her into the corner, but he didn't let her go.

Dallas bent his head. "I've been thinking about you." His warm breath feathered over her ear and it was difficult to concentrate. Then the hand at her waist slid down to her bottom and he pulled her even closer. "I've got something for you, honey. You want to find out what it is?"

Patience's eyes flew wide. He was fully aroused and he wanted her to know it. He was looking at her as if she were a saucer of cream he meant to lap up, and at least a dozen people were staring at them.

Patience set her jaw. "I've got something for you, too, honey." Jerking away from him, she drew back and slapped his face.

Dallas's jaw dropped in disbelief. Patience turned and started walking, but Dallas caught her arm. "You know what you need, P.J? You need a good hard fucking and I'm just the guy to give you one."

It was all she could do not to hit him again. Instead, she grit her teeth against the name she wanted to call him and walked away, grateful the music had started playing. By the time she reached the bar where Shari and Stormy sat, she was shaking. She'd been right about Dallas Kingman from the start. He was an arrogant jerk and she must have been crazy to feel the least bit of attraction for him.

"Anybody going back to the rodeo grounds?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling.

"I'll take you," Wes offered.

"No need for that." Shari got up from the red vinyl bar stool. "We were just about to leave. There's a rodeo tomorrow and both of us are planning to win."

They left the bar and drove straight back to the rodeo grounds. If Shari or Stormy had seen what happened on the dance floor, they made no comment. At least not until they reached the trailer.

"Dallas hardly ever drinks when he's workin'," Stormy said. "He's not himself lately. He's worried about Charlie and it's affecting his riding. He can't afford to keep losing if he wants to make the Finals this year."

"You don't have to apologize for Dallas," Patience said. "It isn't your fault he's a jerk."

Stormy looked embarrassed. "Like I said...he ain't been himself lately."

But Patience thought Dallas was exactly himself-rude and overbearing, arrogant and conceited. A man who was used to getting exactly what he wanted.

Well, he wasn't getting anything from her. Whatever she had begun to feel for Dallas Kingman had evaporated completely.

Patience just wished it didn't bother her as much as it did.

Sonofabitch! Dallas rubbed his stinging cheek and watched Patience Sinclair walk out the door of the saloon with his friends. Sure he was drunk. He'd ridden like a beginner today and it was fast becoming a habit. He never drank when he was riding, but after his dismal performance, he just couldn't seem to get his head on straight. When Ritchie Madden, one of the clowns, had shown up, still wearing most of his face paint, carrying a flask of Jack Daniel's and a six-pack of Coors...well, things just got a little out of hand.

Dallas turned at the sound of female voices. Three little blond buckle bunnies gathered around him, grinning up at him from beneath white straw cowboy hats.

"Hey, Dallas-could we have your autograph?"

They were young, but not that young. He could take one of them home if he wanted, work out his frustrations the way he had in Alberta.

One of the girls handed him a ballpoint pen, then turned around so he could sign the back of her T-shirt. One of the others was braver, insisting he sign the front, right above her right breast. She was puffing furiously on a cigarette, talking around the end.

"They're playing a really good song," the short one said. She was the prettiest of the three and obviously interested. "Maybe we could dance."

But Dallas kept thinking of Patience and what he had said to her. Damn, he couldn't believe he had behaved like such an ass. He managed to muster a smile but it wasn't that easy. "Some other time, darlin'."

Turning, he started toward the bar, looking for Ritchie to drive him back to the rodeo grounds. As he crossed the room, he kept seeing Patience's face when he'd made those lewd remarks. She looked like a pretty little filly he'd kicked in the stomach, and that was exactly the way he felt. Like he'd done something rotten to someone who didn't deserve it.

He tried to tell himself it wasn't important. Cowboys got drunk and said that kind of stuff all the time. Not him, but still...He wasn't sure why he'd done it, maybe because she'd looked so damned pretty and he'd wanted her and he didn't want to.

He tried to convince himself she'd get over it.

But it didn't make him feel any better.

CHAPTER 6.

The Silver Springs Rodeo was part of the small town's annual summer festival, which included a big flashy carnival with games and rides. A neon-lit Ferris wheel turned in the distance. Patience walked past the Scrambler, the Hammer, and the Tilt-A-Whirl, remembering times when she and her sisters had gone to the big state fair with their father.

She had always loved a carnival. She loved to ride the scariest rides, would have gladly climbed aboard any one of them that afternoon if she'd had someone to go with her. But Shari was getting ready for the show, and even Wes was busy. Patience wandered over to the section of the grounds where the carnival games were played, tried her luck with a beanbag toss, took a turn at the shooting gallery, then strolled back to the arena.

When she climbed the stairs to the narrow raised platform where the riders had begun to collect for the rodeo, the crew was still setting up, running the broncs into the chutes and the calves into the trough at the end of the arena. A couple of cowboys sat in saddles resting on the ground, their legs stretched out in front of them, boots in the stirrups, an exercise to limber up the muscles in their calves and thighs.

She didn't see Dallas anywhere around, thank God. She didn't want to see him. She had nothing to say to him and anything he might have to say to her was no longer of interest.

It was crowded up on the platform. The holding pens were below, one full of broncs, the other holding a herd of huge, sharp-horned Brahma bulls. Patience watched the bulls for a while, milling and blowing, stomping and slobbering and rolling their eyes. Their muscles lengthened and bunched beneath their thick skin and she wondered what possessed a sane man to climb up on the back of such a big, brutal creature. It was the danger, of course, the adrenaline rush cowboys craved.

From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Charlie Carson walking in front of a group of riders. He climbed the stairs along with the men, waved at Patience and she waved back. The riders walked toward her, crowding the platform even more. She didn't want to get in their way so she took a step backward. Someone brushed against her, bumping into her as he passed.

Patience heard herself scream as she started to fall. The ground came up hard, jarring her teeth and bruising her hip, knocking the air out of her lungs. She must have hit her head. For an instant, the world went black.

Her skull was pounding like blazes when she opened her eyes. Then it all came rushing back and she knew that she was in trouble. She was lying on the ground inside the pen behind the chutes and five furious Brahma bulls were staring her in the face.

"Don't move," a man's voice said softly. It was Cy Jennings, the bullfighter, and she was never so glad to see anyone in her life.

"Can you stand up?" another, more familiar voice asked, and she realized two men had jumped into the small, fenced area that held the bulls.

She nodded, but had no idea what would happen when she did. She sucked in a breath and started to move. She felt Dallas behind her, his arms under hers, helping her to her feet, but the bulls were standing in front of the gate and they weren't budging, and there was no other way out. Climbing over the fence wasn't going to be easy with her head spinning and her legs shaking the way they were.

Cy Jennings kept the bulls' attention fixed on him. "Move around behind me. I'll ease them away from the gate."