Rode Hard

By: Lorelei James
Rough Riders, Book 2


To everyone who’s found true love—no matter what stage of life.

Chapter One

“That horse nearly throwed you clean into the funeral parlor, boy.”

Whoops of cowboy laughter cut through the dusty air.

Gemma Jansen hung on the edge of the trash-talking bronc riders, waiting for a break in the conversation. The rodeo announcer’s voice reverberated through the arena stands as he pumped up the crowd for the next event: steer wrestling.

“I didn’t break nothin’, but he shore loosened my jaw so’s I tasted some dirt.”

Another round of male laugher.

A baby-faced kid shoved a plug of tobacco in his cheek. “I’d rather have a bucker like him than the last one I had. Shoot. That bronc couldn’ta tossed off a baby blanket.”

Gemma jammed her hands in her jeans pockets and sauntered closer to prop a hip against the muddy tailgate. “Afternoon, boys.”

Immediately slouched postures straightened. A couple of the younger fellas even removed their hats. Aw. Their mommas would’ve been proud at their show of respect. Still, it made Gemma feel…old.

Feel? Hell, she was old enough to be any one of these guys’ mommas.

The wiry bronc buster named Jesse grinned at her. “Hey, Miz Jansen. You’re lookin’ purty as a picture today.”

The other young buckaroos nodded and gave her an appreciative appraisal. She didn’t mind. “Thanks.”

“Haven’t seen you around the circuit for a while. Everything okay?”

“You know how it goes. Been busy taking care of ranch business.”

“Ain’t doin’ all the work alone, are you?”

“Trying not to.”

“Good to hear.” Jesse frowned and scratched his chin with the back of his leather glove. “Come to think of it… How come you haven’t been supplying animals this season?”

“I’ve been asking the same question. None of the promoters can give me a good answer.”

“If you don’t mind me saying so, that sucks.” His eyes gleamed. “I’d sure like a chance to ride that ornery bronc of yours again.”

“Which one?”

“Warpaint. Man. That roan could buck off a man’s whiskers.”

“He’s itching to be rode. Maybe you’ll get a shot later in the year.”

“Looking forward to it.” He gifted her with another inspection from beneath the brim of his Stetson. “So you just wandering around, looking good, showing up them baby bunnies who’re trolling for buckles?”

What a charmer. She grinned. The kid’s eyes were brown from being so full of shit. “No. Actually, I’m looking for Cash Big Crow. You seen him?”

Jesse pointed to a stoop-shouldered man perched on the tailgate of a rusted-out International pickup. “Ask Frank. He keeps tabs on all the stock handlers.”


She skirted the rigging bags and saddles, avoiding the gigantic potholes in the makeshift road.

When she reached the pickup, the old Indian man squinted against the cigarette smoke curling into his left eye. “Help ya, miss?”

Miss. Right. She hadn’t been called that in a coon’s age. “Yeah. I’m looking for Cash Big Crow.”

“You ain’t the only one. Last I heard he was at the first aid station.”

Gemma’s stomach pitched. “Was he hurt?”

“Don’t rightly know.”


He nodded.

She paused to let the two female trick riders by, all decked out in flowing purple regalia. Once she reached the tiny room beneath the bleachers serving as the first aid station, the only person inside was a bored looking EMT.

“Has Cash Big Crow been in here?”

The man lifted one pierced brow. “You’re the second person to ask me that. No one’s been in here for a coupla hours. Been a yawner today.” He refocused on the girlie magazine on the exam table.

Damn. Where could Cash be? Hopefully he hadn’t left.

Gemma cut through the contestant’s area, steering clear of the motor home, which housed the rodeo headquarters. She’d been in and out of that rig several times in a fruitless endeavor to convince rodeo promoters to give her a shot as a rough stock contractor.