Read 02-Let It Ride for Free Online Page B

the sudden urge to slide his tongue into the cleft of his chin.
    He cleared his throat and focused on his task.
    “Sit up, you big baby.” He kept his tone light. “People are freaking that you might be seriously hurt.”
    Bridge did as he was told. “I like your accent,” he said quietly, like a confession.
    Eric paused, staring hard at the cloth in his hand because he couldn’t look up into that handsome face right then. “Thank you,” he said, his voice just as quiet, and went back to work. When the wound was clean, he quickly applied ointment then gauze, taped it up, and smacked Bridge on the shoulder when he was done.
    “There. No more blood.”
    Bridge opened his eyes, and they locked on Eric’s. There was a mix of embarrassment and gratitude in that rich, brown-eyed stare, but there was also . . . desire. Eric had the distinct feeling Bridge was about to lean over and kiss him, as though they were slowly inching toward each other by some unseen force. The fact that they were in the middle of a rodeo arena with an audience somehow seemed a distant concern. He licked his lips, and Bridge’s gaze dropped to follow the movement. Then Bridge broke the connection by looking down at his arm and turning it over to inspect Eric’s handiwork.
    Eric released the breath that had gotten hung up in his throat and quickly put his supplies back in his kit.
    “Thank you,” Bridge said, his coy smile reaching down into Eric’s chest and settling itself there. He was seeing a new side to Bridge today. The confident, playful side that fired up his engine and made him think—want—things he shouldn’t, and then this. Vulnerable, shy, calling out to a part of Eric that wanted to wrap him up in his arms and protect him. Which was funny. No one could look at a man like Bridge and think he played any other role than protector. The guy was built like a brick house.
    Eric stood and held out his hand. Bridge stared at him for a beat, then placed his hand in Eric’s. Even through the leather glove Bridge wore, their touch made Eric’s skin tingle. He pulled Bridge to his feet, which earned a round of applause from the small crowd. No one liked to see injuries at rodeos, whether it be the competitors, volunteers, or the roughstock, even though it was par for the course in the sport. A minor injury like Bridge’s counted as a good day.
    Bridge swayed briefly once he was vertical, his grip tightened on Eric, and he leaned forward. For the second time in as many minutes, Eric thought Bridge was about to go in for a kiss, and then he straightened up and stood steady. Bridge’s hand slipped slowly from Eric’s, fingertips lingering for a brief moment, and then it was gone.
    A throat cleared. Loudly.
    Preoccupied with Bridge’s injury, Eric hadn’t realized Marty had collected Bridge’s horse and ridden up beside them, where he sat looking down with a teasing smile on his face. He held the reins out for Bridge.
    “Don’t even start,” Bridge mumbled, shooting a warning glare at Marty, who laughed in response. He leaned down to collect his hat and dusted it off against his thigh before plopping it back on his head. He looked at Eric again and tapped a finger to the brim of his hat, then climbed up into the saddle and reined his horse back into the fray.
    Just another day in the world of rodeo.

    Like during the regular season, though with far less fanfare, Bridge and Kent set up a table for their traditional end-of-day card game while Marty doled out cold beers from a cooler that sat on the ground next to Marty’s rig.
    A hoot and holler drew their attention to Craig and Rowdy, a couple of old roughstock handlers they’d known as long as they’d been on the pro tour, who rounded the corner of the trailer.
    “Been missing my poker games with you boys,” Craig said, a huge smile splitting his weathered face, and he hugged and shook hands with them one by one. When he got to Tripp, he held on to his hand a little longer,