“It must have felt good to win today. Here,” she said finally.
Eight seconds had seemed an eternity as she watched him ride, her heart beating frantically while his horse dipped and turned and bucked, twisting in the air, trying to dislodge him. And Chance had been picture perfect, spurring and riding with his one arm raised, showing the arena how it was done. She’d never been as relieved as when that buzzer sounded and Chance had jumped off, making it look easy to dismount a whirling animal.
“Sometimes you get lucky.” He gave her a considered glance. “Sometimes you don’t.”
“It was more than luck. You gave every person in the stands a lesson in saddle bronc riding.”
“So you do follow rodeo now?” There was a smirk on his lips, and not a good-natured one. He must remember her railing against the rodeo circuit. He hadn’t realized she’d been scared for him, for his safety.
“Yes,” she said. But she didn’t really follow rodeo—she followed him.
He quirked an eyebrow, as if surprised by her admission, and tilted back the brim of his black hat, revealing a thick wave of dark hair. “So what are my chances?” He stared at her for a long second. “At the rodeo,” he added unnecessarily.
“You’re right up there with them all—Muncy, the Wright brothers.”
“For the moment. Rodeo is funny. Seems to run hot or cold but never even.” He leaned back, giving her some breathing room, and stretched his long legs to encompass her chair.
If the tuning up was any indication, the band was getting set to play.
“Hey, Chance, good run.” A small, lanky cowboy hit Chance hard on the back.
“JT. You too,” Chance shot back as he cocked his head in the man’s direction.
“Well, who’s this lovely, lovely lady?” JT flashed a white-toothed smile and gave her a wink in case she wasn’t getting his message.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Chance stiffen.
“My wife.”
JT’s eyes widened to the size of half-dollars. “The hell you say?” he challenged.
The back of Libby’s neck dampened as heat stole up her cheeks. “Ex-wife,” she managed to get out.
JT looked at Chance. “I’d never have taken you for the marrying kind, buddy.”
“Everyone has a weak moment.”
Her head was telling her to just leave, let the lawyers handle it, but Libby knew her legs wouldn’t carry her right then. Besides, she wanted him to hear it from her.
“It wasn’t really a marriage.” Libby felt the need to explain.
“Hell it wasn’t,” Chance said. “It was legal and binding.”
She forced a smile in JT’s direction. The man looked like he’d stepped on a rock with a snake under it. “It’s complicated.”
“I’ll leave you two to work this out. Seems you’ve got some catching up to do.” And with that, JT escaped into the crowd heading for the dance floor.
“We’re dancing, Libby.” Chance spit out the words like he was inviting her into the boxing ring instead of onto a dance floor.
Libby nodded and willed her legs to work. Dancing with Chance beat fighting with him any old day. Might as well enjoy the moment while she could. There would be plenty of time for the fireworks that most certainly would follow.
Gratefully, the dance was a two-step. That meant only their hands would touch for much of the song, but when he had to place his hand on her waist, it was like he set a branding iron to her. And all the time they twirled and whirled, their feet in sync with every step, his eyes were focused on her. As if he could see inside her, into her very soul. The frown on his face said he wasn’t happy with what he found there.
The song ended, and he spun her to face him. When both of his hands grasped her waist and tugged her closer, her feet moved to him as if they had a will of their own. Or no will.
“Like old times—almost,” he said against her ear as the scent of his aftershave filled her senses.
Despite the tension between them, the heat of his breath and the warmth coming off him caused a shudder. Her body had never forgotten him.
The band slid into a ballad. He moved, and involuntarily she leaned against him. Muscular arms captured her, and like an ice cube warming in the sun, she melted into him, laid her head on his shoulders, and together they swayed to the music. It felt so right, too right, when it should be all wrong.
“How have you been?” His question whispered across her ear and lodged in her heart.
“Managing.” She wondered that she didn’t paint it any prettier than that, considering.
“Me too,” he said, burrowing his face in her hair.
The scent of liquor teased her nose. Alcohol was probably to blame for this intimate moment, but she didn’t care. For one last time, she would hold him, be held by him, knowing that this had to be a forever good-bye.