LITMIR.BIZ

       Three

      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 boobs looked good. And completely covered. “It’s not like you can see my nipples or anything.”

      “Dammit, Chloe, it’s a bra,” he growled back through the door. “I can’t... You’re... Look, just put on some clothes. Please.”

      Oh, she liked that note of desperation in his voice. Was it possible she’d misread the situation? For almost ten years now, she and Pete had been snarling at each other across arenas and in parking lots. She’d always thought her physical attributes had no impact on him because he’d never reacted to her before in that way.

      But he was reacting now. She could hear the strain in his voice when he added, “Are you decent yet, woman?”

      She stood, her reflection grinning back at her. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” she said, plucking the heavily sequined white shirt off the hanger and sliding her arms through the sleeves. “I’d be willing to bet large sums of money you’ve seen your sister in a sports bra and never thought twice about it. And yes, I’m decent.”

      “Let’s get one thing straight, Lawrence—you are not my...” Pete pushed his way into the dressing room,

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