Calder Storm (Calder Saga 10)

“No problem.” Trey rose from the chair. “And thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” the man countered. “Just be glad you Calders are a hard-headed lot.”

“Always.” Trey grinned and eased his hat back on, taking care to keep the band away from the bandage’s adhesive ends. There was a twinkle in his eyes when he moved to Sloan’s side. “Satisfied?”

Amusement tugged at the corners of her mouth, but she was serious when she said, “At least now you don’t look like something out of a Halloween movie.”

“That bad, was it?” As one, they drifted in the direction of the arena.

“It was.”

His interest in small talk faded the closer they got to the chutes and the mix of contestants and onlookers. And Trey was reminded of the shortness of time they had.

“Did you mean that about not going to the street dance tonight?” He let his gaze travel over her face, certain he would never tire of looking at it.

She nodded and slid him a quick look. “Last night was fun, but once is enough,” she said, then admitted, “I’ve never been much of a party-hearty type.”

“After a while it gets to be all the same, doesn’t it? A lot of drinking, loud talking, and equally loud laughter.” That hadn’t always been his attitude. Yet lately Trey had noticed that rowdy nights spent carousing had lost much of their excitement and fun. “So what are your plans instead?”

“I haven’t really made any. But after two days of the crowds and noise, a quiet dinner somewhere sounds good.”

The prospect appealed to him, too. But he knew the unlikelihood of that happening. “I don’t think there’s a place in town where you can have a quiet dinner this weekend. But I do know a good place to eat.”

“Not another picnic,” she teased.

His answering smile was wide. “No. I had in mind a sit-down dinner with someone else doing the serving. Are you game?”

“What time?”

“Whenever you say.”

Halting, she checked her watch, made some quick mental calculations, then cast a thoughtful look over the chute area. “I’m losing the natural light. From now on it’s going to be a battle to get a good shot with the sun at this angle. Since the rodeo will still be going on tomorrow, there isn’t any reason why I can’t wrap it up for today and head back to the motel. Say, an hour to shower and change, and I could meet you for dinner sometime between six-thirty and seven. Is that all right?”

“That will give me time to clean up, too.”

“You need it. There’s blood on your shirt and a few crusty bits of it near your temple.” Without thinking, Sloan reached up and touched the places, then felt a modicum of surprise at the sense of freedom she felt to do it. It was rare for her to be the one to initiate contact. “But don’t get the bandage wet,” she added in quick admonishment.

“Yes ma’am.” The laughing glint in his eyes was at direct odds to his polite answer. “Do you want to meet in the lobby, or shall I come by your room?”

“Let’s make it my room.” The answer was given in an off-hand delivery, but she felt anything but off-hand the instant the words were uttered. Her choice suggested a familiarity and intimacy between them that they hadn’t yet reached. With a sudden, heady rush of certainty, Sloan realized it was something she wanted.

“I’ll be there with bells on,” Trey told her, his voice a little husky with promise.

“With bells on,” she repeated and released a short, soft laugh. “What a strange expression. I’ve never understood what it means.”

“It’s not so strange,” Trey stated. “It goes back to the old days out West. Back then, when a cowboy got dressed up to go to town, he attached jingle-bobs to his spurs.”

“Really?” She injected the single word with both doubt and hope.

“Really.”

“I’m glad. I like the story.” Again her gaze strayed to the chutes. “I wonder if anybody is wearing jingle-bobs on their spurs. That would be a great shot.” Sloan caught herself and laughed. “That better wait until tomorrow or I won’t be ready when you knock at my door tonight.” With an odd reluctance, she moved away from him. “See you in a bit.”

As far as Trey was concerned, the time couldn’t pass soon enough. Turning, he headed in the direction of the pickup parked in the infield.

Six-thirty on the dot Trey arrived at the door to Sloan’s motel room. There was a dark sheen to his hair, still damp from his recent shower, and his face was shaved smooth of any end-of-the-day stubble. Blood ran hot and strong through his veins, part of the heady anticipation that put the dark and eager sparkle in his eyes.

A rap of his knuckles on the door drew an immediate and muffled response. “Be right there.”