Ride Rough - Tessa Layne Page 0,49

close to some of the giants."

Trace made a face. "Then fuck 'em. They deserve what they get."

"Well not everyone has your sense of justice," she said, bitterness washing over her. "Look. What's done is done. I've moved on." She waved a hand in the direction of the hall. "To remodeling." Trace tried to step around her to get to the sink, but she blocked him with a hand on his chest. "Leave it. Please?"

"But that story." He shook his head, a determined set to his jaw. "That story needs to be told."

"Not by me."

"You could send it to someone else. If it's as big as you say it is, someone else will want it. News outlets are always looking for the next scoop."

The bitterness in his voice was so sweet it hurt. She cupped his cheek and stood on tiptoe to press her lips to the patch of skin just above his beard. "I'm so flattered you want to help. But some things you just have to let go." A wave of regret hit her in the belly. There would be no awards or recognition for journalistic integrity in her future. Maybe after Christmas she'd sign up to be a war correspondent after all.

He covered her hand with his, turning his face to kiss her palm. "You're a good writer, Cecilia. I may have only read the first page, but I can tell. If it's your dream, don't give up on it."

Cecilia's chest pulled tight and her throat felt like she'd swallowed a hot coal. No male she'd ever dated had encouraged her like this. It felt weird and awkward, and strangely wonderful. "Well, maybe it's just a hiatus, then."

Trace's voice turned to gravel. "I know one hiatus that's ended." He pulled her close, his hand coming to rest on her ass. "We've got one more condom to use."

Chapter Twenty

The week flew by. Between early morning chores, late afternoon rodeo practice, and sneaking over to see Cecilia in the off-hours, Trace was beat. Tomorrow they'd head to Strong City, and he'd ride his first bull in front of an audience. The knot in his stomach grew. He'd improved significantly, staying on until the horn more often than not, but would it be enough? Knowing Cecilia would be in the stands was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, knowing her eyes were on him made him feel damn near invincible. On the other, the need to impress her was so strong, that fear of failing knotted his belly, throwing acid up this throat. There was a certain look she gave him, a look that said she wanted to believe in him against all odds, that made him want to prove himself, even move mountains for her. And more and more, he found himself wanting to be that hero he'd played in the movies, the one still left standing amid the destruction, and who walked into the sunset with the girl on his arm. But not for himself - for her. She'd caught a number of bad breaks, and if he could help her catch a good one, he would.

He glanced over to the stack of somewhat wrinkled papers taunting him from the corner of the counter. Maybe he'd crossed a line by rescuing her writing from the recycle bin, but the little he'd read? Granted, it was only the intro but holy smokes. He'd read enough winning screenplays to recognize great writing, and there was something magic in her style that instantly grabbed his attention. It was tempting to read on. His curiosity was piqued, but if Cecilia believed it was bad luck, he could resist. A thought that had been hovering at the edge of his consciousness all week, lodged in his brain. This was his chance to put a little good back in the world without anyone being the wiser. There was only one person he trusted with a story as precious as Cecilia's, who would make sure it got into the right hands, and keep her mouth shut about the whole thing, although Portia would be livid if she ever found out. She'd just have to not find out, then.

Trace grabbed his phone, sucking in a breath. This call wasn't without risk. But in the end, the risk was worth the payoff for Cecilia's sake. He dialed, stomach fluttering. He hadn't talked to Ophelia in three years. The phone rang. Maybe she was in the studio or on-air. Voicemail would be preferable to the ass kicking he