Every Second Counts (16 page)

“How do you know? You and Skyler haven’t seen her in twelve years. People change.”

Tory sighed. “I just know, Leah. Underneath all that bravado is a good, solid soul. But I’ll talk to her.”

Ryder frowned. The artwork couldn’t be the problem. Bridgette had believed her when she made it clear that what was between them had nothing to do with Eleanor’s paintings. But what
was
between them? Did Bridgette see her as just another friend with benefits?

Leah said Bridgette was trying to brush her off. Had their night in the mansion been a pity fuck because she told Bridgette about her childhood? How could she have mistaken it for something more? Bitter embarrassment gnawed at her insides. Nobody had to tell her twice. She’d been brushed off before and knew how to hit the road. She grabbed the truck keys from the hook by the back door. There were lots of other women, available women. Why waste her time on somebody who didn’t want her?

“Really, you guys. Just one beer, then I have to go.” Bridgette had pitched a no-hitter to win the regular-season championship and her team wanted to celebrate. She wanted to go home and paint. But they had welcomed her when she landed in town two years ago, and she owed them at least one drink.

The R&R was loud and teeming with patrons as diverse as the establishment’s music. The two lesbian ex-marines who owned the place made it clear that they wouldn’t tolerate bias within these walls. The crowd came anyway—gay or straight, liberal or conservative, hawk or dove—because of the huge dance floor, the mechanical bull, Foosball, dartboards, pool tables, vintage video games, and the gourmet selection of beer.

Bridgette wove her way to the tables her teammates had commandeered, her locally brewed Howling Dog Ale icy in her hand. She was tired but at the same time energized. Her week had been a frenzy of painting that was going so well, she felt refreshed despite having little sleep. Her rediscovered confidence had carried over to her softball game tonight, and she had pitched a perfect game of blazing fastballs, snapping curves, deceptive risers, and her favorite, sliders.

The team’s catcher, Lou, dropped into the seat beside her and set a second Howling Dog in front of her. She started to protest, but she had almost drained the first and the crushed ice dripping down the sides of the second promised to be just as cool on her parched throat.

“Thanks, but this one is absolutely my…damn, Lou.” She frowned at the ice-filled Baggie that Lou gripped in her swollen left hand. “Sorry about that.”

Lou grinned broadly. “Don’t be. It’s just a bit bruised from the fastballs you were throwing. Shit, woman. I don’t know why you aren’t playing professional ball.”

Bridgette shook her head. “I just had a good night. I’m not usually that hot. Besides, I’d rather paint.”

“Lucky for us,” Desiree said, as she settled in Lou’s lap for lack of an open seat. “The championship-tournament trophy is ours to lose this year. You’ve got it on your calendar, right?”

“Hell, yeah. She better have that weekend reserved,” Lou declared.

“Fortunately, it’s the weekend after the art auction, so it shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll probably have to miss some practices before then, though. I’ve got a million things to do for the event.” The team’s shortstop placed a third Howling Dog in front of her and walked away, ignoring Bridgette’s protest.

Lou waggled her beer at her. “Delegate. That’s why you’re head of the committee.”

“Did you talk to Ryder yet?” Desiree asked.

“About what?” Bridgette spoke before she realized the question was meant for Lou.

“I was going to see if we could add her to the roster for the tournament, if she’s still in town,” Lou said. She and Desiree clanked their beers together in celebration of what they obviously thought was an excellent idea.

“But we’ve got a full roster.” Bridgette frowned. “What position would she play?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lou said smugly. “She can play any position, but what we want is her bat. She holds the Cherokee Falls record for the most home runs in a season. Hell, for the most in one game.”

“Yeah. She hit four the night we played the R&R’s team,” Desiree said. “Can you believe it? Four. The idiot pitcher was so mad, she refused to intentionally walk her.”

Lou chuckled. “Ryder paid for it later. Sherry kicked her out of the bar when the team came here to celebrate afterward.”

“Sherry kicked her out because she was only seventeen,” Desiree said.

When the left fielder plopped a fourth Howling Dog in front of Bridgette, she shoved it toward Lou. “Three is my limit. I have to go.” She stood and swayed a little.

Desiree’s hand on her arm steadied her. “I think you need to stay a little longer. We’ve ordered a couple of pizzas for the team, and you look like you need to eat something before you drive home.”

Desiree was right. She had been so caught up in painting that she’d eaten nothing all day. “I mean I have to go…literally. I hope the line to the bathroom isn’t too long.” She squeezed Desiree’s hand. “Pizza sounds good. Save my seat for me.”

Her head swam a little from exhaustion and beer, so she concentrated on putting one foot before the other. That’s why she didn’t see the two women until she stumbled into them as she came out of the restroom. Ryder was sandwiched between the wall and one of the blond twins from the team they’d just defeated. The woman had her hands on Ryder’s breasts and her tongue in Ryder’s mouth.

Ryder pushed the woman back and made a diving catch to stop Bridgette’s fall, but they ended up on the floor, Ryder on her back with Bridgette sprawled on top of her.

“Well, if it isn’t Moses come down from the mountain. I mean, out of her art cave.” Ryder’s eyes were hazy and her speech slurred.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” She tried to push up from the floor, but Ryder held her fast.

“Let me buy you a drink, gorgeous.”

“No, thanks. You appear to be otherwise engaged.” She hated the surge of jealousy that burned through her and the instant throbbing in her sex at the feel of Ryder’s body under hers.

Ryder grinned. “I’m not engaged. I was just waiting in line for the bathroom and Lisa stopped by to say hello.”

Ryder’s arms relaxed and she broke free to stand. The blonde had disappeared into the restroom. “That looked like more than a hello, but that’s none of my business.”

She looked down at Ryder still lying on the floor but didn’t offer a hand to help her up. She felt dizzy. Was it the beer still or the overwhelming desire to drag Ryder into a dark corner and kiss her senseless? But the memory of the other woman’s hands on Ryder’s breasts, her body pressed against Ryder’s, soured her impulse. “My dinner’s getting cold,” she said, and turned to push through the crowd.

Her elation from the game and her appetite were gone, but she forced down the slice of pizza Lou handed her. She felt the heat of Ryder’s stare but refused to look toward the table near the mechanical bull where she sat with the twins and other members of the opposing team.

She glanced at her watch. Her earlier need to go home to paint had fled with her appetite, and exhaustion settled over her like a heavy blanket. She needed to sleep. She had to pick Lydia up from the airport in Richmond very early. Shit. She also needed the keys to Eleanor White’s house. She had no choice but to speak to Ryder again before she could leave. She both loathed and relished the anticipation that stirred in her.

Suck it up, LeRoy. The woman is making a huge contribution to the auction.

She glanced across the room. Ryder’s friends were pointing toward the mechanical bull and Ryder was shaking her head, resisting their entreaties. But they were persistent, grabbing her arm and urging her to stand up. Ryder shook her head again. Then one husky woman slapped a twenty-dollar bill on the table, and Ryder raised an eyebrow. The woman pointed to herself, then Ryder, then the bull.

Her anger flared. Why did they encourage her? Were they too stupid to realize how suicidal it was to play with bulls? Even a mechanical bull was dangerous. She would put a stop to this.

Ryder looked up as she approached.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Ryder stood. Her tablemates protested, but she ignored them and cupped Bridgette’s elbow to lead her away. Before Bridgette realized where they were going, she was corralled in a dim corner by an unoccupied pool table. Her back was pressed against the black-painted wall, Ryder’s hands planted on either side of her shoulders. Ryder’s face was inches from hers, and her skin heated at the naked desire in Ryder’s dark eyes, the same desire she remembered from their lovemaking—not tryst—in the mansion the week before.

“I was hoping you would reconsider.” Ryder’s voice was husky, her speech still slurred. The ale on Ryder’s breath mixed with her spicy scent, and Bridgette pushed down the urge to taste those full lips that hovered so close to hers. If she did, she’d be lost. The lazy thump of Ryder’s heart reverberated through her as she put her hand on Ryder’s chest to gently push her back.

“My art broker is flying in tomorrow morning and I need the keys to your grandmother’s house so we can price the paintings.”

Ryder pressed heavily against her hand, resisting her effort to create more space between them. “I think I have them in one of my pockets.” Her eyes lit up as if she suddenly had a great idea. “You have my permission to search for them.”

A roar of cheers rose up from a crowd that was gathering around the mechanical bull. The woman who’d put the twenty on the table was hanging on as the operator twisted and spun the controls to buck her off.

“You’re not going to get on that thing, are you? They’re nearly as dangerous as a live bull.”

“Nah. It’s like riding a tricycle compared to a real bull. Not dangerous at all if you know what you’re doing.”

She frowned. “Don’t be stupid. Just last week, you were using a cane to walk. You’ll injure your leg again.”

Ryder pressed closer. “I can think of something better to do with my time.”

“Marc.” She couldn’t do this. Wouldn’t do this. Each kiss, each touch from Ryder’s hands made her want more. It was a dangerous addiction, more perilous than Ryder’s absurd inclination to risk her neck riding angry bovine.

“I can’t stop thinking about last week—how beautiful you are naked.” Ryder’s gaze was soft and hazy, lost in her reminiscence. The tip of her tongue snaked across her lips. “All I have to do is think about it and I can taste you in my mouth.”

She pushed hard with both hands now, catching Ryder off guard so that she stumbled back a few steps. “Stop. All I need from you are the keys to Eleanor’s house. Do you have them or not?”

Ryder’s expression hardened. “They’re outside.” She drew the keys to her truck out of her pocket. “It’s the blue truck with the equestrian center’s logo on it. Look on the seat.” She tossed the keys at Bridgette.

“I’ll bring these back in a minute.”

“Just leave them at the bar with Sherry.” Ryder turned away, and she watched her walk back to her friends and quickly down two shots of tequila from a tray the waitress had just delivered to their table.

Christ. She didn’t need this kind of drama in her life. Her emotions felt raw and her stomach hollow, despite the pizza she had eaten. She rubbed a hand over her face. She was tired. That’s all. Get the keys, get some sleep, and have a great visit with Lydia tomorrow.

When she returned from the parking lot to leave the truck keys at the bar, the shouting almost deafened her. Most of the tables were vacant and the dance floor empty as everyone crowded around the mechanical bull. Ryder was astride it, one arm raised high overhead for balance and her legs pumping to rake her heels along the leather hide as it bucked and twirled crazily.

“Idiot,” Bridgette muttered.

“She is one crazy muther,” Sherry said, taking the keys. “But she’s got more guts than a slaughterhouse.”

The mechanism slowed and Ryder hopped up to stand on it and take a bow amid catcalls and whistles. She swayed, then caught her balance, grinned and bowed again. She was about to jump down when the bull bucked and whirled, flinging Ryder head over heels beyond the floor padding and into the nearest table.

Before Bridgette had time to think, she was kneeling next to Ryder, who groaned and rolled onto her back. She froze. Blood, red and bright, streamed from Ryder’s nose, covering her cheeks and dripping from her chin to soak into her shirt.

“Oh, man, I am so sorry.” Sherry’s partner and co-owner, Jo-Jo, knelt next to Bridgette. “I was reaching for my beer and my elbow accidently hit the controls. You okay?”

“I’m dandy. I’ve got so much tequila in me, it didn’t really hurt.” Ryder sat up, her bloody grin a macabre contradiction to her words. “I think I need to work on my back flip, though. Want to try that again?”

The careless words burned through Bridgette like a fury, and she slapped Ryder so hard the crowd jumped back to avoid the blood spray.

Ryder frowned. “Ow. Now that did hurt. What’d ya slug me for?”

“Trying to knock some sense into you,” she said through clenched teeth. “Get up. I’m going to drive you to the emergency room.”

“I don’t need a doctor, just maybe another shot of Jose.”

“Your nose could be broken.”

“I’ve broken my nose before. This doesn’t feel broken.”

“I don’t think you’re feeling much of anything right now,” Jo-Jo interjected. “Maybe you should listen to Bridgette and go get it checked out. I don’t want you suing me next week because it is broke and you’ve started snoring so bad no woman will sleep with you.”

“I’ll stop by Tory’s and get her to look at it.”

Bridgette huffed. “Tory is a veterinarian, not a doctor. But then you are acting like an ass.”

Jo-Jo laughed and Ryder glared at her. “Shut up and help me get up.”

She struggled to her feet with Jo-Jo and Bridgette’s help, but her face paled. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “I don’t feel so good now,” she muttered.

Bridgette guided Ryder to a chair. “Watch her. I’ll be right back.”

She returned with two clean towels, dampened with ice water. She pressed one against the back of Ryder’s neck and gently cleaned her bloody face with the other. Her nose wasn’t swelling too badly, but Ryder’s eyes were unfocused and clouded with more than alcohol.