His jaw clenches and unclenches. “You know nothing about her and will know nothing about her. It’d be best if you just steer clear.” With that, he turns on his heel and stalks off to where his horse is tied up. I turn back to the arena and wonder what kind of screwed up situation I’m about to get myself involved in, and if it’s worth it. Rephrase—is she worth it?
Chapter Seven
Denver
THE GIRLS AND I gather around the fence to watch as the bull riders get ready to do some practice rides on a few bulls who were turned out to pasture. It’s not as effective as practicing on rodeo bulls, but it will get them back in the swing of things.
Austin is up first, and he gives an impressive ride, even making it to the buzzer his first go-round. I noticed his free hand touching the bull’s neck, which earned him a lot of booing and ribbing from the other cowboys. Tall riders like he and Ransom have to be careful not to “slap” the bull because it results in disqualification, even if they’ve stayed on for the full eight seconds.
A few other cowboys ride who, even though we met, I couldn’t remember their names. A couple of them looked like they just started riding bulls and got bucked off quickly … and not prettily. Another one had a decent ride.
While Pete’s getting situated for his ride, I look instead at Maggie. She’s studiously ignoring me and has a feigned look of disinterest covering her features. Her only tell is the focus of her electric green eyes. They dance with energy as she watches him pound his fist closed and nod. I hear him say, “Let’s go,” and he’s off.
Turning back, I watch as he hangs on to the bull’s every move and does it with grace and fluidity. When the bull spins, he spins with him, steady and sure. The buzzer sounds, and Pete springs off, landing on all fours. He snatches his hat off the ground and swipes the dirt from his knees as he laughs and jogs toward the fence. The other boys take turns congratulating him with slaps on the back and crude talk as they help pull him up and over the fence to safety.
Last to ride is Ransom, and a buzz runs through the small crowd as everyone who’s paying attention spreads the word that he’s about to ride. He’s that big of a deal. There hadn’t been a bull rider like him in a long time, and we are all quite aware that we’re in the presence of greatness.
I laugh to myself when I realize his bull is, by far, the feistiest of the day. I’m sure that was no accident. I suck air through my teeth when the bull jars Ransom’s body forward trying to ram Ransom’s head into the metal bar in front of them. Fortunately, Ransom is able to jerk his head back in time. Bulls may be known for their brute force, but they’re no dummies. After a few more minutes of preparation, Ransom nods with a quiet, but powerful, “Go,” and his bull blows out of the chute.
When the beast spins, Ransom hangs on. When he cuts left, Ransom hangs on. When he kicks his back legs up and is perpendicular to the ground, Ransom hangs on. But he doesn’t just hang on. His form is perfect. His arm stays powerfully straight and extended at a ninety-degree angle. His frame never slouches. His face never shows fear.
The buzzer sounds, and he dismounts, landing on his feet with his hat slightly askew on his head. He jogs to the fence and climbs up as everyone greets him with awe-infused congratulations.
I shake my head as I try to clear myself of my own John Ransom-induced haze. All the girls standing around me erupt into claps and squeals of delight. They immediately start in on praise of his … uh, finer aspects. Just when I get used to hearing all the different ways to describe how tight his butt is, how strong he is, how commanding he is, one comment jars me from watching Greer take the arena. My eyes widen.
Maggie must’ve heard the harsh remark too because she asks the girl to repeat herself. I turn around to determine if it was a slip or if she was, in fact, bragging and realize it’s Becky, the bitch who has a hard time keeping her mouth shut. She flips her long brown hair over her bony-ass shoulder, and I can tell she’s getting a kick out of being the center of attention. “I said,” she begins again. “If you think he’s perfection here, you should see him in the bedroom. And no worries—chances are you all will since he’s never with the same girl twice.”
“Ransom wouldn’t want you talking like that,” one of the other girls scolds.
“Yeah, in fact, he pretty much demands that you don’t talk like that,” another says.
Oh my God! He has rules for his whoring around. Well, so do I, I guess, but I only whore around with one person. Great! And I now feel like a hypocrite but can’t help myself. I mean, I know I brag about being a slut, but only when I’m provoked, and I don’t drag other people through the mud with me.
I catch Becky’s knowing eye. It’s like she’s daring me to comment, and I can’t help but say, “Pretty hypocritical of you to stand out here and talk about whoring around with Ransom after what you said to me last night, don’t you think?”
She just laughs and glances around at Ransom’s other conquests. “If you were ever with Ransom, you’d know it wasn’t whoring around. Oh, but wait, Ransom will never be with you because you really are a whore. He does have standards.”
I give a short laugh and run my eyes up and down her skinny frame. “Clearly they’re not very high if he’s willing to settle for a prepubescent-looking girl who puts out for a known manwhore. And, trust me, if Ransom was ever with me, once would never be enough. I’ve proven that a time a two.”
“You little bitch,” she seethes.
“Don’t be confused, Becky. I’m the biggest bitch you’ll ever meet. So you’d best steer clear.” I laugh and look around at the girls who’ve circled around us like we’re about to put on a show. “And, just for the record, I’m immune to backstabbing, jealous harpies like you. So you’re wasting your time trying to put me in my place. It’s not gonna happen.”
The other girls laugh at the righteous indignation radiating from her pores. I’m sure they all heard how she confronted me last night, and how it had backfired. And now she made it clear that she was the one with issues. No one here knew for sure about my past. I really wish I knew who’d told her, but I won’t give her the satisfaction of my curiosity. I raise my eyebrows as I wait for her comeback.
I’m sorely disappointed. “Everyone believes those stories about you, Denver. You’re the whore, not me,” she screeches before stomping off with Amber in tow.
“’Cause everyone knows you can trust a lying, troublemaking bitch like you!” I call out after her, eliciting more laughter from our group.
One of the other girls—Lauren, I think—nudges me and says that Ransom isn’t what Becky had made him out to be and that he obviously had a lapse in judgment by “fooling around” with the likes of her.
Her defense of him does nothing for me because nothing turns me off quicker than a manwhore. Ugh, how many girls has Ransom been with exactly? I really thought … what did I think? That Ransom was different from most of the guys out there? That maybe I liked him? It hits me then, that’s exactly where my thoughts had been headed even though I was supposed to be thinking about Greer and whether or not I can give him what he wants. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’ve been toying around with the idea of Ransom, and it stings to know that I will never have the chance to explore that. I promised myself I’d never let myself be used. And that’s what manwhores do—they use, and then they move on.
Our attention turns to Greer as he and his calf sprint from their respective chutes. Greer swings the rope over his head in a near-perfect circle before releasing it from his powerful frame in a fluid movement, successfully roping the hind legs of his calf. Once he secures the rope around his saddle horn, he springs from his horse and sprints toward the struggling calf. Shadow does his job of keeping the rope pulled tight until Greer flips the calf over and ties him up. I flash a grin as he jogs back to his horse, mounts, and waits for his score. He executes his ride with textbook perfection. That’s the cool thing about his event. Calf roping is something that can be perfected in everyday farm life, and Greer
had been working cattle on my ranch for years.
After he’s finished, he joins the other calf ropers to watch his competition, so I turn and make my way to the barn. I unsaddle Liberty, brush her down, and make sure she’s comfortable before taking Indy back out to the area behind the barn. I work on some voice commands with her and do some quick sprints. She’s holding back a bit on our last run and seems to be favoring her front leg, so I jump off to check her over. Tapping on her lower leg, she lifts her hoof for me, and I hold it between my knees while I use a stick to clean it of debris. “I don’t see anything big going on here, girl. What’s got you feeling bad?”
“I love the way you talk to your horses,” declares that damn voice. The one that washes over me and has my entire body quaking.
Still holding Indy’s hoof, I glance up and spot a grinning Ransom leaning against one of the giant oak trees that shades the round pen. I can’t help my traitorous grin even though I’m put off by earlier revelations.
I’m the last person on earth who should rush to judgment, especially based on rumors. I wonder if his situation is similar to mine and all that talk is blown out of proportion. Or am I just making excuses because I’m interested in him?
“Oh, yeah?” I ask, feigning indifference.
“Yeah, I was watching you. You barely have to kick your horses, you definitely don’t take a crop to them, and you don’t shout or holler. So, what’s your secret?”
“Hmm … no big secret. I have the best horses around.”
He kicks off the tree to walk over next to me. “True, they are amazing, but they’re not amazing on their own.”
I shrug and move around Indy to check her other hooves but don’t see anything alarming. I’m about to shift to check her bridle when Ransom says, “Check her bit. It’s pinching.”
Trying to tamp down my annoyance at being told what’s wrong with my own horse, I just nod and check it out. Sure enough. “That was my next guess,” I mutter, as I remove her bridle and make some adjustments.
He keeps Indy still by holding onto her halter. I’m not real sure how I feel about him touching my horse. “I’m sure it was,” he says with a laugh. “You don’t like anybody telling you your business, do you?”
I grimace a little at being so transparent. “No, sorry about that. I’m, uh, kind of used to doing things on my own.”
“I get that. You can’t do everything on your own, though. There’s no harm in taking orders every now and then.”
Pfft. The thought of taking orders puts such a bad taste in my mouth that I mentally applaud myself for refraining from spitting. “Taking orders? I’ve never taken orders from anyone in my life.”
“No?” He runs his hand up Indy’s nose and ruffles the hair resting above her eyes. He’s got that gleam in his eyes again like he’s silently laughing at me.
“No,” I confirm.
His hand leaves Indy’s forelock to brush the hair from my shoulder. “I think you might like it in the right context,” he tosses out, his voice turning gravelly. My head snaps back because I don’t think we’re talking about horses anymore. Before I can ask what he means, he changes direction. “How is it that a young girl like you finds herself in that situation? Not taking orders from anyone?” His hand moves from my shoulder to my cheek and cups it, his fingertips press against the back of my neck. I suck in a surprised breath just as he removes his hand. “Driving herself across the country all on her own? Handling horses like she’s been doing it for twenty years rather than just a handful?”
My eyes make contact with Indy’s as if to ask her if this guy is for real. She’s no help as she just blinks at me. I see him mirrored in her eyes, and I imagine the intense stare he’s leveling at me—the one I’m too chicken to return. “I, uh, grew up on a ranch,” I stammer, as I busy myself with putting her bridle back on.
“A lot of people grow up on ranches. They don’t act like they run a ranch when they’re only eighteen.”
I give a jaded laugh and, having had enough of his meddling, finally turn to him to snap, “Well, I am almost nineteen, and age ain’t nothing but a number.” I snort. “I know plenty of so-called adults who act more like twelve year olds caught up in the latest Facebook drama.”
He laughs lightly and brings his hand up, grazing my cheekbone with his thumb. “I like you, Denver Dempsey.” And with that simple declaration, he turns on his heel, leaving me staring after him like a dumbstruck fool.
“YOU ‘BOUT DONE in there?” Greer calls from outside Indy’s stall.
I peek over her and see his straw ivory cowboy hat. “Yep. You all set?”
“Yeah, uh …” Ducking under Indy’s neck, I pop up next to the stall gate when he pauses in his answer. His expression is wrought with nerves.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, as I reach a hand out to soothe the puckered skin between his eyebrows.
He immediately relaxes and grins at me. “Everything’s perfect now.”
I flick his hat down a bit and wink at him as I turn back to finish rubbing down Indy.
“Denver,” he calls out, as I look over my shoulder at him.
“Yeah?”
“I’d like to take you on a date tonight.”
He wears his nerves on his sleeve, but hope gleams bright in his eyes. Could it be that simple after everything that has happened? Can we just go on a date like normal college freshman do? One where your hopes and worries are no more than I hope he holds my hand, or how do I eat pizza without getting sauce on my shirt?
He folds his arms on the wooden slat to peer at me with a half-smile. “Don’t over-think it. No pressure, no past, no future. Just tonight.”
I feel myself nodding because that actually sounds amazing. “Yes, I’d love to,” I answer with a small smile.
Chapter Eight
AFTER I GREET a breathless Maggie fresh from the shower, I jump in under the spray, and we babble (as in Maggie) and grumble (as in me) about our respective dates. I’m not worried about it or even nervous. I just don’t expect much.
Maggie, on the other hand, just about barreled over me telling me about Pete asking her out right before she and Stephanie pulled out from the barn. They are going on a double date with Stephanie and another bull rider named Gage.
“You sure you don’t want to make it a triple and tag along with us?”
“No, but thank you. I don’t want to ruin Greer’s plans,” I explain, as I put my make-up on. I am really looking forward to seeing what he has planned too. I’ve never been on a bonafide date. All my previous ones had been ruses to keep up my shady arrangement with Greer, and I’ve seen him in action enough to know that he is a romantic. Will he put that kind of careful detail into our night even though it’s just me? Pulling my hair into a low, side ponytail, I slip on my tight black jeans. When I walk into the room, I’m greeted by a cotton candy confection version of Maggie.
“You look great,” I tell her. And she does. On anyone else, her shades-of-pink outfit would look ridiculous, but it fits her. “Pete’s not gonna know what do to with himself.”
“Oh, you think?” she gushes excitedly.
“Definitely. I reach into the closet and pull out my turquoise boots with black angel’s wings emblazoned on them. The outline is filled with tiny black sequins that shimmer in the right light. I snag a black button-up to go with it.
Spinning around, I set about pulling my boots on and tucking in my pant leg as Maggie walks back, admiring my boots.
“Girl, those boots are gorgeous,” she squeals, but then frowns as she looks at my shirt. “Nuh, uh. You’re not wearing all black. You’ll look like you’re in mourning. Dates are happy things, Denver.”
“Really, this is fine. I’m not into a ton of color.” It’s true, and now that I think about it, my wardrobe consists mainly of black, red, and white. I infuse color with one of my many sets of boots from time to time. She just keeps digging in her closet, ignoring me. “Seriously, I’m good.”
My protests die ou
t quickly, though, when she spins around with a turquoise cowgirl shirt with black stitching and black snaps. With a knowing grin, she edges closer to me, and I see the ropers embroidered with black threading on each of the shoulders. “Oh,” I whisper.
“Yeah, oh. Greer will have a fit.”
Yes, he will.
A few minutes after Maggie leaves, I slide my ID, some money, and my phone into my pocket and head out. When I hit the front stoop, I smirk at Greer’s back as he leans into Pete’s truck. I’m glad Maggie let me borrow this shirt. If not, Greer and I would have looked like twins. I’ll let him be the Man in Black tonight.
He taps the top of the truck as they pull off and turns to me. I really do love him in black. His golden-blond hair and skin stand out against it, making him really earn the nickname I gave him. As he gets closer, I realize the color makes his blue eyes appear brighter too.
“You must be … Denver Dempsey,” he says with a crooked grin.
My forehead wrinkles. “What?” I mutter.
“Yeah, I sure am glad our friends suggested this ‘cause you seem like a girl I could have a lot in common with,” he continues, unabated.
Ah … “Yes, me too. Greer, right? Greer Tanner?” I ask, playing along.
He tips his head. “Yes, ma’am. And you sure do look pretty tonight.” He reaches out and brushes the roper on my right shoulder. “I see you like ropers. Well, this just so happens to be your lucky night,” he boasts. “I happen to be a calf roper.”
“Oh, really?” I snort. “Well, I’ve always thought they were a little too cocky for doing something as easy as bringing down a defenseless baby cow. I hope you have more than that going for yourself.”
Greer’s grin turns into a loud laugh that seems to echo off the buildings. “Hmm, you’re a feisty one. I like that. I’d also like to show you how much more there is to me. I’m quite complicated and multi-layered, I can assure you,” he teases. “You up for that?”
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