His Enemy's Daughter. Sarah M. Anderson
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was high time she realized that.
“Well,” she managed to say in a voice that sounded relieved, if a little airheaded. “I’m so glad we were able to find a solution that works for everyone! And Mr. Wellington, I’m extra glad you are able to bring your horses all the way to the Bootheel.” Her grin was so bright it about blinded him. “I’d like to remind everyone that showtime is in three hours and we do have a sold-out crowd tonight and an almost sold-out crowd tomorrow night. Let’s give these people a reason to come back that doesn’t involve funnel cakes.”
She got a little bit of a laugh for this and she kept that big smile going, but Pete could see the light dying in her eyes a little bit.
Good. That’s just what he wanted. He didn’t feel the least bit sorry that she’d been overthrown in a mutiny. It was past time she found out what it was like to have a usurper sitting on the throne of one’s inheritance.
Still... Watching her grit her teeth as she shook hands with cowboys bothered Pete a little bit. These men had been nothing but rude to her today. Some of them had dressed it up with prettier language than others, but still. She had to pretend like this was all hunky-dory because if she punched someone like her brother would’ve, they’d start in on how it was more proof that women shouldn’t be in charge of these things.
That’s just the way it went. What was done was done and the end justified the means. He had successfully accomplished the first step in taking back his rodeo and he couldn’t afford to let things get personal. Nothing he felt for Chloe was personal and that was final.
She turned to him. “When you get time,” she said, sweetness dripping off every word, “I’d like to go over your new duties with you.”
Which meant she was going to try to destroy him. Pete grinned. He’d like to see her try. “Absolutely,” he told her, fighting the odd urge to bow. “You’re the boss.”
Fire danced in her eyes, promising terrible, wonderful things. She tilted her head in acknowledgment of this false platitude and then sashayed off, her head held high and her hips swaying in a seductive rhythm. Pete knew he wasn’t the only one watching the Princess of the Rodeo leave him in the dust. The woman was an eyeful.
Just as she got to the gate, she turned and looked back over her shoulder. Sunshine lit her from behind, framing her in a golden glow. Damn, she was picture-perfect, every fantasy he’d ever had come to life. If he didn’t know who she was, he’d be beating these other idiots off with a stick to get to her first.
But he did know. She was an illusion, a mirage. She dressed the part, but she was nothing but a city slicker and interloper. A gorgeous, intelligent, driven interloper.
Their gazes collided and his pulse began to pound with something that felt an awful lot like lust. Even at this distance, he could feel the weight of her anger slicing through the air, hitting him midchest.
Oowee, if looks could kill, he’d be bleeding out in the dirt.
With a flip of her hair, she was gone.
“Well, how about that,” Dale said, laughter in his voice. “You got your work cut out for you, Pete.”
Oh, yeah, he was going to have his hands full, all right.
It was time to show Chloe Lawrence that the All-Stars was his. But she wasn’t going to make this easy.
The thought made him smile. He was already starting to like this job.
Chloe’s hands were shaking as she sat at her makeshift makeup table in her makeshift dressing room. Which made applying her false eyelashes somewhat of a challenge. She forced herself to take a few deep breaths.
She was going to kill Pete Wellington. It wasn’t a question of if. It was a question of how.
She’d love to run him down with her glossy palomino—but Wonder was at home, enjoying her hay and oats at Sunshine Ridge, Chloe’s small ranch retreat northeast of Dallas. With all the things she had to juggle, she couldn’t handle taking care of her horse, too. It wasn’t fair to Wonder and it wasn’t fair to Chloe. So she was borrowing a horse for her big entrance tonight.
Frankly, it didn’t feel right running Pete down with a borrowed horse. Too many complications.
That man was up to something. If Steve Mortimer had had a problem getting his horses to the Bootheel, he would’ve called Chloe. It was obvious Mortimer had no such problems.
What kind of deal had Pete made with the stock contractors?
And how did backing her up when she was under siege figure into it? Because he wasn’t doing it solely out of the kindness of his heart. This was Pete Wellington she was talking about—there was no kindness in his heart. Not for her or anyone in her family. She didn’t want to offer him a job. She didn’t want him anywhere near her. But...
If she didn’t hand off some of the responsibilities to Pete, would people break their contractual obligations in protest? She could hire someone else but then she’d have the exact same problem—the people who made the rodeos work would balk at dealing with an outsider. By the time she found a workable solution, the All-Stars might very well die on the vine. And who would take the blame for that?
She would.
Maybe she could arrange a stampede. Watching Pete get pulverized would be immensely satisfying.
There. Her hands were steady. Who knew thinking of ways to off her nemesis would be so calming?
Now she applied the false lashes easily. She wore them for the shows because she was moving around the arena at a controlled canter. If she didn’t have over-the-top makeup and hair—not to mention the sequins—people wouldn’t be able to see any part of her. She’d be nothing but an indistinct blur.
And if there was one thing the Princess of the Rodeo wasn’t, it was indistinct.
She was halfway through the second lashes when someone knocked on her dressing room door. If one could call this broom closet a dressing room, that was. Hopefully, that was Ginger, who sat on the local board of this rodeo. If anyone could talk some sense into those stubborn old mules, it’d be Ginger. She took no crap from anyone.
Chloe still had an hour and a half before showtime, but the gates were already open and she needed to be out in the crowd, posing for pictures and hand selling the Princess clothing line. She was behind schedule thanks to Pete Wellington, the jerk. She finished the lashes and said, “Come in.”
Of course it wasn’t Ginger. Of course it was Pete Wellington, poking his head around the door and then recoiling in shock.
“What do you want?” she asked, fighting the urge to drop her head in her hands. She didn’t want to mess up her extravagant eye shadow, after all. Then she’d be even further behind schedule.
He was here for a reason. Was it the usual reason—he wanted his rodeo back? Or was there something else?
“I want you to put on some damned clothes,” Pete said through the open door. At least he wasn’t staring.
Chloe frowned at her reflection. “It’s a sports bra, Pete. It’s the same one I wear when I go jogging. The same basic style women across the country wear when they’re working out.”
It was a really good bra, too. Chloe had perfectly average breasts. And she’d come to a place in her life where she was happy with perfectly average breasts. She liked them. They were just right. Anything bigger would make cantering around arenas every weekend downright painful.
That didn’t mean she hadn’t gone out of her way to buy a high-end sports bra that provided plenty of padding. Everything about the Princess of the Rodeo was bigger, after all. She did a little shimmy, but nothing below her neck moved. She was locked and loaded in this thing and her