Used (Unlovable, #1) (Unlovable Series) (9 page)

An elbow jabs in my side, and Austin whistles. “Holy fuck,” he chimes in wonder. “That girl. That girl’s good. And F.I.N.E. fine. A fine piece of ass, I tell ya. Oh, I bet she’d give me a wild ride.” This is close to what he’s been saying about most of the girls all morning. But when he says it about Denver, it’s a lot more enthusiastic.

Before I can say anything or punch the shit out of him, the anger radiating from Greer, who’s been standing a couple feet away, surrounds us. He was engaged in a conversation before Austin’s loud proclamation. I stay quiet, curious to hear what he has to say.

“Hey, peckerhead,” Greer calls out.

“What, man?” Austin answers, unruffled. That’s because he knows he is, in fact, a peckerhead. I can’t help but grin and have to firmly bite my tongue to keep from laughing.

“See that girl there who just rode?” Greer asks with a gesture in Denver’s direction.

Still oblivious to Greer’s pissed-off tone, Austin shouts, “Hell, yeah! That’s who I’m talking about. She’s shit-hot.”

Greer strides over our way a bit but doesn’t lower his voice, wanting, I’m sure, to make his stance known to every horny cowboy within a hundred mile radius. “That girl is special,” he says. That throws me. I expected him to say she’s mine and stay away. That’s what most guys in his position would say. “She doesn’t need a no-count peckerheaded cow
boy
”—the way he emphasizes boy almost makes me lose it again—“like you leering at her while she goes about her business. You got me? Keep your eyes to yourself. Keep your hands to yourself. Most importantly, keep your dick to yourself.”

Austin throws his hands out like he’s indicating his innocence. “Aw, now. No harm in looking, Greer. You didn’t say shit when we were checking out those other girls.”

“Like I said, she’s not just another girl. So hands off.”

“Well, cowboy, let me assure you,” Austin says as he gestures toward his manhood. “When it comes to my hands and my dick, they only go near the girls who are wanting it. So if it gets that far, it’s ‘cause she’s asking for it. And I don’t think I’ll need to be answering to
you
when it comes to that.”

Greer lunges toward Austin, but I step between them before he can get in Austin’s face. “All right, that’s enough. Austin, quit trying to start shit.” I glance over my shoulder at Greer. “Greer, Denver’s tough enough to take up for herself. And I’m sure she wouldn’t appreciate you standing guard around her.” I pat Austin on the shoulder and turn him back toward the arena to watch the next cowgirl.

“Yeah, boss,” Austin grumbles. I turn toward Greer and raise my eyebrows when I see him staring me down now.

He has the nerve to hold a finger up in my face. “Don’t kid yourself thinking you know what she would or would not want. You had one ride together. That’s it.”

My eyebrows shoot up further in surprise. “Whoa now, you sound like a jealous boyfriend. And from what Denver told me, y’all are just friends.” For some reason, the fact that he considers Denver his foregone conclusion rubs me the wrong way. Probably because I sensed her doubt about them as a couple when we were talking, not to mention the little fact that I’m set on making her mine.

His jaw clenches and unclenches. “You know nothing about her and
will
know nothing about her. It’d be best if you just steer clear.” With that, he turns on his heel and stalks off to where his horse is tied up. I turn back to the arena and wonder what kind of screwed up situation I’m about to get myself involved in, and if it’s worth it. Rephrase—is
she
worth it?

Chapter Seven

Denver

T
HE GIRLS AND
I gather around the fence to watch as the bull riders get ready to do some practice rides on a few bulls who were turned out to pasture. It’s not as effective as practicing on rodeo bulls, but it will get them back in the swing of things.

Austin is up first, and he gives an impressive ride, even making it to the buzzer his first go-round. I noticed his free hand touching the bull’s neck, which earned him a lot of booing and ribbing from the other cowboys. Tall riders like he and Ransom have to be careful not to “slap” the bull because it results in disqualification, even if they’ve stayed on for the full eight seconds.

A few other cowboys ride who, even though we met, I couldn’t remember their names. A couple of them looked like they just started riding bulls and got bucked off quickly … and not prettily. Another one had a decent ride.

While Pete’s getting situated for his ride, I look instead at Maggie. She’s studiously ignoring me and has a feigned look of disinterest covering her features. Her only tell is the focus of her electric green eyes. They dance with energy as she watches him pound his fist closed and nod. I hear him say, “Let’s go,” and he’s off.

Turning back, I watch as he hangs on to the bull’s every move and does it with grace and fluidity. When the bull spins, he spins with him, steady and sure. The buzzer sounds, and Pete springs off, landing on all fours. He snatches his hat off the ground and swipes the dirt from his knees as he laughs and jogs toward the fence. The other boys take turns congratulating him with slaps on the back and crude talk as they help pull him up and over the fence to safety.

Last to ride is Ransom, and a buzz runs through the small crowd as everyone who’s paying attention spreads the word that he’s about to ride. He’s that big of a deal. There hadn’t been a bull rider like him in a long time, and we are all quite aware that we’re in the presence of greatness.

I laugh to myself when I realize his bull is, by far, the feistiest of the day. I’m sure that was no accident. I suck air through my teeth when the bull jars Ransom’s body forward trying to ram Ransom’s head into the metal bar in front of them. Fortunately, Ransom is able to jerk his head back in time. Bulls may be known for their brute force, but they’re no dummies. After a few more minutes of preparation, Ransom nods with a quiet, but powerful, “Go,” and his bull blows out of the chute.

When the beast spins, Ransom hangs on. When he cuts left, Ransom hangs on. When he kicks his back legs up and is perpendicular to the ground, Ransom hangs on. But he doesn’t
just
hang on. His form is perfect. His arm stays powerfully straight and extended at a ninety-degree angle. His frame never slouches. His face never shows fear.

The buzzer sounds, and he dismounts, landing on his feet with his hat slightly askew on his head. He jogs to the fence and climbs up as everyone greets him with awe-infused congratulations.

I shake my head as I try to clear myself of my own John Ransom-induced haze. All the girls standing around me erupt into claps and squeals of delight. They immediately start in on praise of his … uh, finer aspects. Just when I get used to hearing all the different ways to describe how tight his butt is, how strong he is, how commanding he is, one comment jars me from watching Greer take the arena. My eyes widen.

Maggie must’ve heard the harsh remark too because she asks the girl to repeat herself. I turn around to determine if it was a slip or if she was, in fact, bragging and realize it’s Becky, the bitch who has a hard time keeping her mouth shut. She flips her long brown hair over her bony-ass shoulder, and I can tell she’s getting a kick out of being the center of attention. “I said,” she begins again. “If you think he’s perfection here, you should see him in the bedroom. And no worries—chances are you all will since he’s never with the same girl twice.”

“Ransom wouldn’t want you talking like that,” one of the other girls scolds.

“Yeah, in fact, he pretty much demands that you don’t talk like that,” another says.

Oh my God! He has rules for his whoring around. Well, so do I, I guess, but I only whore around with one person. Great! And I now feel like a hypocrite but can’t help myself. I mean, I know I brag about being a slut, but only when I’m provoked, and I don’t drag other people through the mud with me.

I catch Becky’s knowing eye. It’s like she’s daring me to comment, and I can’t help but say, “Pretty hypocritical of you to stand out here and talk about whoring around with Ransom after what you said to me last night, don’t you think?”

She just laughs and glances around at Ransom’s other conquests. “If you were ever with Ransom, you’d know it wasn’t whoring around. Oh, but wait, Ransom will never be with you because you really
are
a whore. He does have standards.”

I give a short laugh and run my eyes up and down her skinny frame. “Clearly they’re not very high if he’s willing to settle for a prepubescent-looking girl who puts out for a known manwhore. And, trust me, if Ransom was ever with me, once would never be enough. I’ve proven that a time a two.”

“You little bitch,” she seethes.

“Don’t be confused, Becky. I’m the biggest bitch you’ll ever meet. So you’d best steer clear.” I laugh and look around at the girls who’ve circled around us like we’re about to put on a show. “And, just for the record, I’m immune to backstabbing, jealous harpies like you. So you’re wasting your time trying to put me in my place. It’s not gonna happen.”

The other girls laugh at the righteous indignation radiating from her pores. I’m sure they all heard how she confronted me last night, and how it had backfired. And now she made it clear that she was the one with issues. No one here knew for sure about my past. I really wish I knew who’d told her, but I won’t give her the satisfaction of my curiosity. I raise my eyebrows as I wait for her comeback.

I’m sorely disappointed. “Everyone believes those stories about you, Denver. You’re the whore, not me,” she screeches before stomping off with Amber in tow.

“’Cause everyone knows you can trust a lying, troublemaking bitch like you!” I call out after her, eliciting more laughter from our group.

One of the other girls—Lauren, I think—nudges me and says that Ransom isn’t what Becky had made him out to be and that he obviously had a lapse in judgment by “fooling around” with the likes of her.

Her defense of him does nothing for me because nothing turns me off quicker than a manwhore. Ugh, how many girls has Ransom been with exactly? I really thought …
what did I think
? That Ransom was different from most of the guys out there? That maybe I liked him? It hits me then, that’s exactly where my thoughts had been headed even though I was supposed to be thinking about Greer and whether or not I can give him what he wants. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’ve been toying around with the idea of Ransom, and it stings to know that I will never have the chance to explore that. I promised myself I’d never let myself be used. And that’s what manwhores do—they use, and then they move on.

Our attention turns to Greer as he and his calf sprint from their respective chutes. Greer swings the rope over his head in a near-perfect circle before releasing it from his powerful frame in a fluid movement, successfully roping the hind legs of his calf. Once he secures the rope around his saddle horn, he springs from his horse and sprints toward the struggling calf. Shadow does his job of keeping the rope pulled tight until Greer flips the calf over and ties him up. I flash a grin as he jogs back to his horse, mounts, and waits for his score. He executes his ride with textbook perfection. That’s the cool thing about his event. Calf roping is something that can be perfected in everyday farm life, and Greer had been working cattle on my ranch for years.

After he’s finished, he joins the other calf ropers to watch his competition, so I turn and make my way to the barn. I unsaddle Liberty, brush her down, and make sure she’s comfortable before taking Indy back out to the area behind the barn. I work on some voice commands with her and do some quick sprints. She’s holding back a bit on our last run and seems to be favoring her front leg, so I jump off to check her over. Tapping on her lower leg, she lifts her hoof for me, and I hold it between my knees while I use a stick to clean it of debris. “I don’t see anything big going on here, girl. What’s got you feeling bad?”

“I love the way you talk to your horses,” declares that damn voice. The one that washes over me and has my entire body quaking.

Still holding Indy’s hoof, I glance up and spot a grinning Ransom leaning against one of the giant oak trees that shades the round pen. I can’t help my traitorous grin even though I’m put off by earlier revelations.

I’m the last person on earth who should rush to judgment, especially based on rumors. I wonder if his situation is similar to mine and all that talk is blown out of proportion. Or am I just making excuses because I’m interested in him?

“Oh, yeah?” I ask, feigning indifference.

“Yeah, I was watching you. You barely have to kick your horses, you definitely don’t take a crop to them, and you don’t shout or holler. So, what’s your secret?”

“Hmm … no big secret. I have the best horses around.”

He kicks off the tree to walk over next to me. “True, they are amazing, but they’re not amazing on their own.”

I shrug and move around Indy to check her other hooves but don’t see anything alarming. I’m about to shift to check her bridle when Ransom says, “Check her bit. It’s pinching.”

Trying to tamp down my annoyance at being told what’s wrong with my own horse, I just nod and check it out. Sure enough. “That was my next guess,” I mutter, as I remove her bridle and make some adjustments.

He keeps Indy still by holding onto her halter. I’m not real sure how I feel about him touching my horse. “I’m sure it was,” he says with a laugh. “You don’t like anybody telling you your business, do you?”

I grimace a little at being so transparent. “No, sorry about that. I’m, uh, kind of used to doing things on my own.”

“I get that. You can’t do everything on your own, though. There’s no harm in taking orders every now and then.”

Pfft
. The thought of taking orders puts such a bad taste in my mouth that I mentally applaud myself for refraining from spitting. “Taking orders? I’ve never taken orders from anyone in my life.”

“No?” He runs his hand up Indy’s nose and ruffles the hair resting above her eyes. He’s got that gleam in his eyes again like he’s silently laughing at me.