His Enemy's Daughter. Sarah M. Anderson
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a decent rider in the arena and a loose cannon out of it.
Pete gave it a second before he replied and he made damned sure to sound bored as he said, “I imagine you’ll talk a big game, throw a few wild punches, then get drunk and stumble off with the first buckle bunny who catches your eye. As usual.” He was speaking from personal experience with Flash. The kid had caught him by surprise one night and given him a hell of a black eye.
Of course, Pete had returned the favor. Anyone who was old enough to get drunk and start a fight was old enough to finish one—on the floor, if need be. Which was where Flash had wound up after Pete had started swinging. It hadn’t been a fair fight—Pete had a solid ten years on the kid and at least forty pounds. But Flash had started that one.
Out of the corner of his eye, Pete saw Flash’s shoulders rise and fall. Pete couldn’t tell if that was a sigh of resignation or a man fighting to keep control. But then Flash tilted his head and looked at Pete from underneath the brim of his hat. “You just can’t let the past go, can you?”
Irritation rubbed over Pete’s skin. “Sure I can. I don’t hold it against you that you jumped me at a honky-tonk, do I?”
Flash snorted. “Yeah, you’re clearly over it.” He shifted, angling his entire body toward Pete. “We both know you’re not here because you’ve moved on, Wellington.” His voice dropped as the music shifted and the local rodeo queen led the rest of the procession out. He was quiet until the music hit a crescendo. “You hurt my sister and you won’t have to worry about a barroom brawl.”
“That sounds like a threat, Lawrence.” But Pete was almost impressed with the bravado the kid was pulling off. Chloe wasn’t the only one who’d grown up, it seemed.
Flash cracked a grin but it didn’t reach his eyes. Those were hard with something that looked a lot like hatred. Pete recognized that look all too well. “Of course not, Wellie.”
Pete gritted his teeth but otherwise didn’t react. No way in hell he’d let someone who willingly chose to go by Flash get under his skin for a stupid nickname.
Flash slapped him on the shoulder and leaned forward. “It’s a promise,” he whispered and damn if a chill of dread didn’t race down Pete’s back because Flash Lawrence was doing a hell of a good job at pulling off menacing. He moved to walk past Pete but paused and added, “We’ll be watching.” Then he was gone.
The national anthem began to play and Pete whipped off his hat as Flash’s words echoed around his head. Had the kid caught wind of Pete slipping out of Chloe’s dressing room? Or was he simply fulfilling his brotherly duty?
Didn’t matter. Either way, Flash hadn’t told Pete anything he didn’t already know.
The Lawrences didn’t trust Pete.
They’d have to be total idiots to do so and, sadly, they weren’t that stupid. But Pete knew that’d be the case going in. For his plan to work, he didn’t need them to trust him.
He just needed a foot in the door and, for the time being, he had one.
He had to make the most of it because if he screwed this up, he’d never get his rodeo back.
* * *
The last of the crowd was filtering out under the starlit sky and the last chords of the last song were fading from the air when Chloe finally dragged her boots back to her dressing room, where Pete had been waiting for her for at least forty minutes. The sound from the concert back here had been distorted something awful, but he hadn’t wanted to risk Chloe trying to give him the slip.
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