“How about by the stage where the band will be playing?” he suggested.
“That’s fine with me.” She lifted her camera, tipping the lens up and blowing softly to remove any dust particles on it, then flicked him a quick glance. “I need to get back to work. I’ll see you there, Trey.”
“I’ll be waiting,” he replied, as she crossed to the arena fence and began scanning the action inside. Softly, for his hearing alone, Trey murmured the name she’d given him. “Sloan.”
It was an unusual name. But nothing about her seemed ordinary to him, certainly not his own hungry reaction to her. This time Trey made a point of noticing the black turtleneck she wore beneath the bulky vest, the slim khaki slacks, and the thick-soled hiking boots on her feet.
Someone jostled his shoulder. All the noise and activity that had receded into the background now asserted itself. Belatedly Trey looked around for Johnny and Tank. He spotted them on the opposite side of the open alleyway and waited for a gap in the intermittent flow of cowboys moving behind the chutes, then crossed the space to join them.
When he noticed Tank hunched over, rubbing his right kneecap, Trey recalled the way he’d limped in the arena. “How’s your knee?”
“Aw, he just twisted it a little.” Johnny dismissed the injury.
“How would you know?” Tank threw him a challenging glare. “It ain’t your damned knee.” He shot a look at Trey. “That’s the last damned bull I’ll ever throw my leg over. Whatever you do, don’t ever believe anything Johnny tells you.”
“Come on,” Johnny protested. “It was just the luck of the draw.”
The phrase reminded Trey of his own luck in running into that blue-eyed brunette again. Sloan. The mere thought of her name brought a quicksilver rush of feeling. He looked over his shoulder, his glance running arrow-straight to her. Head bent, she was busy switching a new roll of film for an exposed one, accomplishing it with practiced ease. Anticipation flowed through him, keen and sweet, for the evening to come.
Johnny said something to him, dragging Trey’s attention away from Sloan. The next time he looked, she was gone from the spot. A few minutes later, he caught a glimpse of her farther down the line.
Johnny was among the last group of bull riders. To Tank’s never-ending delight, he was thrown a quarter of a second short of making the eight-second buzzer. Tank was happier yet when the bull stepped on Johnny. Thanks to the padded jacket, his friend escaped with only a bruised rib.
Tank needled him as they made their way to the pickup parked in the infield. “Hurt to breathe, does it, John-boy?” he observed on a note of feigned sympathy. “Not to worry. It’s nothin’ but a little bruise.”
“Shut up, Tank.” Johnny pushed the words through gritted teeth.
“Best thing is to keep movin’. That way the stiffness won’t set in,” Tank declared, echoing the advice Johnny had spouted to him.
Most times Trey would have joined in, offering some good-natured ribbing of his own, but his thoughts were all for the blue-eyed girl called Sloan. The smooth lilt of her voice played in his mind, unique, to him, in its absence of any discernible western accent. The image of the way she’d looked at him was there, too, the gleam in her eyes that had been so bright and alive to him, yet wisely just a little guarded. He recalled as well the silky appearance of her hair that seemed to invite his fingers to run through it.
As the trio continued its drift toward the collection of vehicles and stock trailers parked in the infield, night’s shadows deepened and lengthened. Trey cast a look back at the lighted arena and grandstand area and scanned the mix of spectators, contestants, and workers exiting the grounds, hoping for another glimpse of Sloan. The vast majority sported cowboy hats; the rest were bareheaded; and he saw no one in a billed cap.
As near as he could recall, he hadn’t seen her after the top riders started their competition for the night’s prize. It could be she hadn’t stayed around to watch it.
“You looking for somebody, Trey?” Johnny asked, all curious.
“Not really.” The question served to bring his attention to the front.
“He was probably checking to see if Kelly was on his back trail,” Tank suggested slyly.
Johnny was quick to voice his opinion. “I told you that you should have turned her down when she asked you to that school dance this spring. Now she’s got her loop set for you.”
That was a road Trey didn’t want to go down, not after all the ribbing he’d already taken about it. Trey had long ago learned the best way to deflect was to attack. And he did.
“You know why she’s doing it, don’t you?” he said in light challenge, spotting the pickup and angling toward it.
“’Cause she’s got her sights set on being the next Mrs. Calder, that’s why,” Tank declared.
“You’re wrong,” Trey replied calmly, a touch of devilry shining in his own eyes. “She’s just using me to make Johnny jealous.”
“Me?” Johnny looked at him in pure shock.
“It’s one of the oldest strategies in a woman’s bag of tricks,” Trey told him. “I saw my sister use it plenty of times.”
“Kelly isn’t interested in me.” But there was a faint note of uncertainty in his voice.
Trey hid a smile. “Don’t kid yourself. She’s got her eye on you. Why don’t you ask her out and see what happens?”