Handful of Sky by Tory Cates Read Free Book Online Page B

out that Junior can’t ride the pony, thinks he’s got another Midnight on his hands.”
    Shallie laughed at the comparison between the mangy creatures in front of her and the legendary bronc Midnight.
    “It is pretty funny,” he went on. “They all think they’ll sell their ‘killer’ horse to the Circle M and make a fortune. Turns out most of these ‘outlaw’ animals couldn’t buck off a wet saddle blanket.”
    Shallie knew there was one horse in the pack that could do that and much more. She climbed up on a wooden railing to find his bluish mane. As hard as she tried to ignore the disturbing presence of the man beside her, she was acutely aware of his gaze following the curves of her body as closely as the jeans and tailored shirt she wore.
    “How long . . .” Her voice came out squeaky and high. She cleared her throat and started again. “How long will it take for you to buck out all these horses?” She turned toward him and the answer to her question was lost forever.
    She was standing above him so that now it was his face that was lit by the moon’s radiance. It was precisely the face she would have seen in her dream if she hadn’t been awakened. There was an uncompromising ruggedness to his high cheekbones, and his eyes held a wildness that matched the panther quickness of his body. Looking into those eyes for the first time told Shallie everything she would ever need to know about the secret to this man’s success at bronc riding—he was united with the wild mounts he rode.
    “You said Jake McIver is your grandfather?”
    “I did indeed.”
    “That means . . . you’re Hunt McIver.”
    “Last time I checked my driver’s license that’s what it said.”
    “What in God’s name is a four-time world bronc-riding champion doing competing at an amateur rodeo?”
    The cocky lilt abruptly faded from Hunt’s voice. “Those four buckles happened a long time ago.”
    Shallie riffled through her mental files searching for any bit of gossip she’d heard about Hunt McIver. For the first time she regretted her lack of interest in the sport’spersonality parade. All she could remember was that after winning four consecutive world titles at the National Finals, Hunt McIver had had a couple of bad years compounded by some severe injuries. She also vaguely remembered that he’d earned quite a reputation as a rakehell in a sport that had more than its share.
    “But you’re still riding on the pro circuit, aren’t you?”
    “Some folks would argue with you about whether what I’ve been doing lately is actually riding or not, but, yes, I’m still holding my PRCA card,” Hunt answered, referring to the membership card issued by the Professional Rodeo Cowboys of America that entitled the cowboys holding it to compete in any of the more than 650 PRCA-sanctioned rodeos held annually.
    “You wouldn’t have that card for long, would you, if the Association knew you were riding in amateur rodeos?” Shallie already knew the answer, but she was hoping he might provide the response to an even larger question.
    “Of course not,” Hunt answered edgily. “They’d jerk it so fast my head would spin. That’s why I didn’t ride under my own name or pick up the prize money. Why? Are you planning to report me?”
    “No.” Shallie watched the roan’s head, colored the thin blue of skim milk, rise above the others. No, she wouldn’t give away Hunt McIver’s secret, but she was careful to file it mentally in a convenient spot. It couldprove quite useful in the future. “Why did you do it then if you weren’t even planning on collecting the prize money?”
    She felt his shoulder, lightly touching the outer side of her thigh, shift uncomfortably. She knew she was treading on touchy ground. She glanced down at him. His burning, intense eyes were fastened on some invisible object in the dark distance.
    “I was never intending to make off with some hometown hero’s prize money. I just wanted to ride. I