Her Bull Rider's Baby Page 17

  He held up a hand and shook his head. “I can’t sell you those cows.”

  Shit. “Why not? Did someone else snatch them up first?” Joking, light, and not at all as anxious as she was feeling.

  “That’s not it. I heard about”—his gaze flicked to her stomach—“about you and that bull rider.”

  Heat crept into her cheeks. “Yep. Adriano and I are expecting a little girl in a few months here.” She waited for him to offer his congratulations, which would have been the polite thing to do.

  It didn’t come. “Your dad is one of my oldest friends. We grew up rodeoing together.” He drew a deep breath, as if trying to soothe a sour stomach. “So it kills me to say this, but: I think you’re screwing up your life, Lil.”

  She caught her angry response between her front teeth. He was her dad’s friend—he’d known her forever. She couldn’t spit her anger at him, so she reached for something more placating. “I’m asking you to sell me a few cows. Not approve of everything I do.” Her tone wasn’t as friendly as before, but not as mad as she felt.

  Bob shook his head. “That’s the thing. You shouldn’t be raising bulls at all. I didn’t say anything because of your dad.” He had, actually, but she let it slide. “And you… Well, I’ve heard about what you get up to at these events.” The burn in her cheeks flared with new heat. “I can’t condone what you’re doing, having a baby like this.”

  It’s not yours to condone. Unbelievable that a man she’d known her entire life, a man who claimed to be friends with her father, was trying to slut-shame her. She could rattle off a dozen indiscretions of others in the rodeo world—Hank Smith’s third wife, who’d once been the babysitter; Julie Johnston and Jim Ferrell’s decade-long affair, well-hidden from their spouses but no one else; and then there was Scott Black’s pretty serious cocaine habit. She didn’t see Bob scolding any of them.

  All she could see was Bob’s face twisted with discomfort, his gaze angled away from hers, his shoulders hunched. He wasn’t enjoying this at all. He wasn’t finding any triumph in telling her how immoral he thought she was.

  She took a deep breath. No, she couldn’t snap at him.

  Sometimes I pretend I can’t understand what he’s saying. That’s what Adriano did when that other guy strained his temper to the breaking point.

  She wished she could do that right now, just shrug and sidle away, pretending that the shame and awkwardness wasn’t real. But that wasn’t possible. She could, however, compromise.

  “I’m very sorry you feel that way,” she said quietly. “But I understand why you think you can’t sell me those cows.”

  Surprise dissolved some of the discomfort on Bob’s face.

  “Regardless of what you think of me,” she went on, “you couldn’t find a better father for this baby than Adriano. It might have been an accident that put us in this situation, but it was a happy one for me and our little girl.”

  It was true—Adriano would be a wonderful dad. Stricter than most, but he’d laugh a lot too. And teach his children how to work on a ranch and dance.

  But he’d only do those things for one child of hers.

  She took a shaky breath, willed herself to be strong. “If you’ll excuse me then.” She didn’t know where she’d go—there were a few hours before the bull riding started—but she had to get away.

  “Well…” For a moment Bob looked like he might apologize. But he only said, “Thank you for being so understanding.”

  She nodded in response, her voice no longer strong enough to hold her words. She went back to the hotel, cried in their room for a bit, using one of Adriano’s shirts to dab at her tears. For the first time since she’d decided to breed bulls, she began to believe that it might not work. That she might fail at it, and not because her bulls weren’t good enough. Just because of how the rodeo world worked. And it hurt.

  But not as badly as her decision about the baby. It was the right one—she knew it because she ached so badly. Adriano would love their daughter, raise her to be a wonderful person—and Lil would stay here to face the ruin of her bull-breeding dreams, the disappointment of her family, and her own loneliness. But she would survive if not thrive.

  She cried all that out into Adriano’s shirt. Releasing those tears felt good. She’d never enjoyed crying before, but this pregnant crying was different. Relieving.

  Once she was done, she washed her face, reapplied her makeup, and headed back to the arena. She had some bull riders to watch—or maybe just one in particular.

  Adriano would be up near the end of the first round, so she had about an hour of anxious waiting to get through. The crowd was keyed up, roaring with each and every ride, but the noise and excitement only made her own nervousness that much sharper. She made sure to sit by herself, far away from anyone who knew her. She couldn’t handle small talk right now.

  She’d seen him ride before in Vegas. And in videos. She’d appreciated his skill then, been smug that she was sleeping with the man who rode a bull like he did.

  But this time was different. This time felt real and painful and terrifying in a way it hadn’t before. She set a hand on her belly and shifted on the metal bench, her hips protesting at the uncomfortable seat. Of course he would be fine. He did this for a living. As dangerous as the sport was, there were plenty of retired bull riders, happily shuffling off to a ripe old age.

  It would be fine. He would be fine. Although, if this were a bad movie, this would be where he was injured almost to the point of dying. As he recovered, he’d have an epiphany about the meaning of family and how little bull riding meant in the scheme of things.

  This wasn’t the movies. They weren’t guaranteed a happy ending no matter how good things were between them.

  Chill out, Liliana. Everything will be fine.

  Then the announcer boomed, “Adriano Silva.” His name bounced through the arena, and her fragile composure shattered. Her gut twisted as he climbed into the chute, his body tense, his expression tight.

  Oh God, he was really going to climb onto that bull and she was really going to watch him.

  There was a flutter, deep in her belly. The baby. Gabriela. She set her hands over her belly, took a deep breath. She had to remember to breathe. For the baby.

  “That’s your daddy out there,” she whispered. Kind of silly, to whisper like that, but it also helped ease some of her anxiety and just felt… good. Like Gabriela was real, and Lil’s feelings for Adriano were real, and they could make this thing work.

  And maybe all those things could be true.

  Adriano was poised on the fence, readying himself to climb on the bull. His hat hid his face, but the rest of him was electric in his focus, body still and yet crackling with suppressed energy. She wondered if he even knew anything existed beyond that bull and that chute at the moment.

  He settled himself on the bull, checked and checked again his grip on his rope. And checked once more.

  She stopped breathing.

  There was a long, quiet moment—the bull calm in the chute, Adriano’s head bent, his hand on the gate, as if both were gathering themselves for what was to come.

  Then Adriano nodded and the gate swung open.

  Her breath hissed from her teeth, every muscle in her tensing. She was rigid, fearful—but Adriano wasn’t any of that. He was fluid, not ahead of the bull, not behind it—man and animal were moving together. Almost like a dance.

  A violent dance, one that could leave Adriano crippled or dead if he made a misstep, but some of the tight panic left her as wonder took its place—because this was one hell of a ride. A fucking amazing ride.

  He only had to survive it.

  Eyes wide on him, she counted off in her head: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

  No horn sounded. Where was the damn horn? This ride was over. He had to get off.

  And yet she didn’t want it to end, it was so perfect.

  A long, startling blast made her jump, had her snapping off the seat.


  The horn. That was the horn. She let her breath slide between her teeth, caught it again. He still had to dismount.

  This was most the dangerous moment of all. The crowd was roaring, mouths open wide, feet stomping, hyped up. Shut up, she wanted to tell them. It’s not over yet.

  Instead, she put all her focus on Adriano, willing him off and safe. Don’t get hung up. Don’t get hung up. A prayer to him, to the bull, to God—to whomever would listen and get him clear of that bull.

  The bull jerked to a hard stop. Adriano came off.

  On the wrong side.

  Now. If his hand was coming free, it should be now.

  The rope never released. His hand never came loose. He was trapped against the bull.

  OhGodohGodohGod—he’s hung up. She put her knuckles to her mouth, bit until copper sparked on her tongue.

  The bull fighters were moving in, trying to slow the bull, to capture his attention long enough for Adriano to get his arm over the bull’s back and get his hand free of the rope.

  The roar of the crowd had dimmed, transforming into a low groan rising from thousands of throats.

  Lil bit deeper into her hand, giving the pain as an offering for his safety. And she realized then, with her breath stopped, her heart stilled, and her teeth sunk deep into her own flesh, she’d give anything for him.

  This was a hell of a time for her to realize she loved him.

  Shorty, one of the bull fighters, darted in and smacked the bull in the middle of the face. Jesus, he was quick. The bull stopped for half a second, shook his head as if Shorty’s smack had been as small as a fly landing.

  That was all the time Adriano needed. Slick as shit, he had his arm over and his hand out from under the rope.

  Sour and sharp, the breath she’d been holding left her lungs, blowing past her fist still clamped in her teeth.

  Jesus, she was biting herself. She lowered her shaking hand to her side, all of her sagging with relief, set it on her belly, on the child they’d made together.

  Thank you. Thank you. He was safe. She loved him. She bowed her head, sank back onto the bench, curled both hands around her belly. “He’s okay,” she whispered to Gabriela.

  Everyone around her was cheering as Adriano walked safely away, the bull having run out of the arena with no further problems.

  It had worked. She’d bitten herself, which was crazy, but it had worked. He was safe. She began to shake, starting with her insides and vibrating out to the very tips of her fingers. She wasn’t sure she could watch another ride of his. This was horrible, the fear and anxiety, and God, it had been such a good ride. A great ride.

  Adriano stopped by the fence, closed his hand into a fist and kissed it, looking heavenward. That thanks had been for God.

  Then he took off his hat and tossed it into the crowd, which went wild. He knew exactly how beautiful that ride had been. That thanks had been for the crowd.

  Did he see her? Did he have anything for her?

  He started to search the crowd, his smile dissolving, his brow knit.

  She was sitting down. He couldn’t see her.

  She jumped back up, waving wildly. She didn’t care who saw her like this, just as long as Adriano saw her.

  Their eyes met, his smile returned, and she gave him one back.

  He took his gloved hand, that hand that had been clinging to the bull, brought it to his lips… and tossed her a kiss.

  Or perhaps he tossed it to Gabriela. Or perhaps the both of them. Which was as it should be.

  It didn’t matter. She loved him. She loved their baby… Hell, with Adriano safe and blowing her kisses in front of everyone, she felt like she loved everyone.

  When he was finished, once the final round was over and he’d maybe won the whole thing, she’d tell him how she felt. Tell him everything and see how they might make this American-Brazilian thing work out.

  Not only for the baby, but for the both of them.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Adriano shook out his hands as he made his way past the chutes and toward the locker rooms. Adrenaline and anxiety churned together in his gut.

  It had been a hell of a ride. The best of his career. And he’d done it with her watching.

  He closed his hand into a fist, the burn in his palm stinging as he did. He’d gotten hung up with her watching too. The fear on her face… He closed his eyes. A hell of a thing to see right after the best ride of his life.

  So he’d blown her a kiss, a kiss to wipe away that fear. A kiss to tell her how he felt.

  Away from her, he rode like shit, his concentration shattered.

  Here, with her close at hand, his focus was total, his ride a… He shook his head, still not quite believing it. He prayed he’d have another ride like that before he died.

  He stopped at the locker-room door, forced his hand to unclench. He unfastened his vest. He’d forgotten about that, so keyed up had he been.

  No more. He had to calm down. He shrugged out of his vest, pushed open the door, calm, collected.

  They all congratulated him as he entered, slapping his back, American and Brazilian, the entire room united in admiration for his ride. He let it wash over him, accepted the warmth that seeped through the chill of his calm.

  He’d earned this.

  As it faded, each cowboy returning to his own group of friends or simply his own thoughts, Adriano turned toward the circle of his countrymen. It had been a great ride, but it wasn’t over yet.

  “Thought Brazilians didn’t get hung up.”

  Adriano froze midturn. Fucking Crane.

  He clenched his fist, imagined sending it into Crane’s smirking mouth. “Happens to everyone.” He kept his voice neutral, free of his agitation. Trust Crane to try to rile him right now.

  “Course, you got hung up on the biggest prize of all, didn’t you?” Crane’s smile curdled.

  Adriano jaw clenched. Pretend you don’t understand, that you don’t know he means Lil. His arm ached with the urge to strike Crane. “It was just one ride.” One hell of a ride. “I haven’t won this thing yet.” A shrug, which did nothing to release the frustration building in him.

  “I saw Lil out there.”

  Fuck, if Crane wasn’t going to let this drop… Nothing. You’ll do nothing. “Yeah. She’s here with me.” Adriano lifted his chin, let some of his anger show. Maybe that would get Crane to back off.

  “Is she?”

  There had been an edge to Crane’s question that made Adriano’s hair rise. “Yeah. She is.” She’s mine. So fuck off. He took a step toward Crane. Forget pretending he didn’t understand—he was going to make Crane understand that Lil was taken.

  “Well, usually when she’s at an event, she’s not with someone.” Crane let his smile drop, all pretense of friendliness gone. “Usually she’s looking for someone.”

  So that was his game—Adriano wasn’t falling for it. “Not anymore.” He went to sleep beside her every night; that was his baby in her belly—Crane’s innuendo couldn’t compete with that.

  Crane put back on his smile, tipped with vicious triumph this time. “Well, that’s a damn shame because she was a good lay.”

  The air seemed to hiss out of the room. There was a release in the atmosphere surrounding them all, as if Adriano now knew what everyone else had. The other men were relieved—and charged with chilled anticipation at Adriano’s reaction.

  It was true then. She had slept with Crane.

  Adriano blew out the sick feeling from that, forced his thoughts to white blankness. Pretend you don’t understand. But he couldn’t fake it, not anymore, not with this.

  He couldn’t think about who else she might have slept with—that was in the past. She was carrying his baby. They were joined forever by that. He had to focus on that.

  Where was his focus? All he could see was Crane’s leer.

  “She didn’t tell you?” Crane raised his eyebrows mockingly. “Huh. Well, congratulations, man.” The fucker held out his hand—actuall
y held out his hand. “Getting a girl that rich pregnant—she’s got billions. You’re fucking set for life now, thanks to your sugar mama.” He laughed. “Mama. Yeah, you caught her good and tight.”

  Adriano stared at Crane’s hand, shoved into the space between them. Then he lowered his head and charged, exactly like the bulls they rode. He caught Crane in the belly with his shoulder, wrapped his arms around the other man, and drove him into the wall.

  Crane met the cinder block with a satisfying grunt, so Adriano smashed his shoulder into Crane’s belly again, pinning the man between his strength and the unyielding bricks. Another grunt.

  Adriano could do that all night, just slam that son of a bitch against the wall until his shoulder ached and Crane’s ribs cracked. But two hits—one for him, one for Lil—was enough.

  He let go of Crane and the man sank to the floor.

  Wait. There was one more thing.

  Adriano sent his fist into Crane’s jaw, snapping the back of the other man’s head into the wall. A wet, fleshy crack echoed throughout the room.

  That was for Gabriela.

  Adriano stepped back, his chest heaving, and took in what he’d done. Crane was crumpled against the wall, his eyes rolling back and the print from Adriano’s fist livid on his jaw.

  He wasn’t happy about losing control, but to finally pay Crane back for all his smart remarks, to finally admit that he did understand and it pissed him off—yeah, that felt good.

  And it felt great to defend Lil. To claim her in front of all them.

  He breathed heavily as he stared down at Crane, shaking out his aching hand. The rest of the room was silent.

  And then: “Jesus, I think you broke his jaw.”

  Adriano didn’t know who’d said it. His attention was on the sound of steps coming down the hallway, then the rodeo official appearing in the doorway, taking in the scene. The official who must have heard that last comment.

  “Mr. Silva,” the official said grimly, “you’re going to have to come with me.”

  Adriano staggered along the hotel hallway, his legs numb, his insides hollow.