My stomach churns and my heart stops. Is he serious, having me come back out here every day for the next week?
Shit.
Well, I guess if I have to deal with Luke, it’ll be fine. I’ll just cross my fingers and toes that I don’t have another run-in with James. Besides, I think Doc’s teaching me a lesson here too: you don’t have to like your customers; you just have to treat your patients with care and your customers with a bit of respect.
“Sure thing, Doc. Guess I’ll be here tomorrow afternoon then.”
I nod at Luke, pointedly ignoring James, and turn to blow a kiss to Briarbelle before heading to the sink to wash up as best I can. Man, am I glad that I wore old jeans.
CHAPTER 4
JAMES
Luke’s quietly laughing his ass off at me as Sophie struts out to Doc’s truck. I can’t help but watch her go, her dark hair swishing back and forth right above the heart shape of her ass in tight jeans. Total bitch . . . but she’s hotter than the noontime sun; there’s no doubt about that.
I’m for sure gonna hate seeing her every day for the next week, but I can handle it as long as I get to watch her leave like that.
Luke leans against one of the barn’s support beams as Doc and Sophie pull away, giving them a wave while he talks to me out of the side of his mouth. “Damn, James, you show off those skills with all the ladies when you’re on the circuit? Why, I bet you must take home a woman once a year with game like that.”
I jab him on his shoulder, laughing. “Fuck you, my game is just fine. I could take a different woman back to my hotel in every city if I wanted. I wasn’t trying to put the moves on that one, just trying to save the foal. Which is supposed to be your job, I might add.”
He doesn’t take the admonishment like I intended, laughing instead of getting pissed off. “Oh, I was doing my job just fine. Doc wouldn’t have allowed her to do that if he weren’t confident. You’ve been away from the farm too long, James. Besides, Doc’s getting old. This ain’t the pro tour, where organizers have nothing but top-flight docs on call all the time. That pretty girl needed to learn. Also, I was rather enjoying watching my famous little brother go down in flames of his own making.”
My face screws up, slightly pissed. I’ve been hearing it from Mark for years now; I don’t need this shit from Luke too. “Goddammit, Luke, I ain’t famous. What the hell are you talking about? I just ride bulls. Not like I’m a movie star or some shit.”
Luke brushes off his hands on his jeans and heads back into the barn to fetch his hat. Jamming it on his head, he turns and points toward the house. “You keep saying that. We’ve watched every ride you’ve made that’s televised. I saw the signs in the audience in Vegas, what those women were holding up. ‘Ride me, James.’ ‘Bennett’s Bitch.’ Oh, and just a little FYI—Mom was pissed as a hornet about that one especially. You wanna say you’re not famous, that’s fine. You can lie to yourself; you can lie to me about it. Next time you really start thinking it, though, I’ll make sure to bring up those signs and remind Mom. You can see what she has to say about the matter. Spoiler alert: it ain’t gonna be pleasant.”
He flashes a wide, toothy grin at me, and I know he’ll damn well do it just to rile Mama up and aim her my direction.
“Kiss my ass, Luke,” I growl, knowing I can’t win this argument. “I guess I’ll head out to the back pasture and see how many more sections of fence I can get done before dinner again. I’ll leave you here with your horses.”
I give him a middle-finger salute after surreptitiously making sure Mama isn’t on the porch and head out, his laughter ringing behind me.
While I drive the ATV with its cart of supplies out, I fume about Luke and his bullshit. Yeah, I make more money than most farm boys, and a few people might know of me. But it’s only for a few years. Bull riding isn’t an old man’s game, and I’m by no means getting rich. So fuck them. I’m riding bulls because of me.
After getting out to the fence, I work my ass off all day again, my thoughts mainly focused on the fence, the ranch, and how we’re gonna keep it running. I’m not totally selfish; I’ll do what I can, even if it means missing some of the smaller events on the circuit. But I have to be my own man, too, not third fiddle in some fucked-up version of King Lear or something.
Unbidden, Sophie keeps slashing into the pictures moving across my brain, feisty and sassy, self-assured and not taking any shit, especially from me. I thought she was going to slap me when she got in my face, her eyes fiery and her lips wet and juicy . . . yeah, she’s got a face as pretty as the rest of her.
In the moment, it pissed me off. But in hindsight, it makes me smile a bit. That touch of wild fire is intriguing, and so similar to the one in my core. That spark is what ignites inside me every time I climb on the back of a bull. I’ve been riding bulls since I was a boy; I grew up in the ranks of small-time amateur rodeos, even when travel was difficult. Pops had always gone to bat for me, telling Mama that I just had a little more of a wild side to me than most folks, and riding bulls was a damn fine way to let it out. “Better than a lot of kids, Louise,” Pops said the one time Mama protested really hard. “Too many of them going out, gettin’ drunk, and starting fights in bars. At least James has a chance to buy a big house instead of go to the big house.”
I smile at the memory, still hearing his voice in my mind as he called me his “wild child” and told Mama that’s why I was last—because if they’d had me first, I’d have been an only child.
But I haven’t been on a bull in months, not since Pops passed and I told Mark I’d spend the whole summer on the ranch instead of blowing in and out like usual. Nope, I’ve been too busy busting my ass getting things straightened out before finals in November.
Of course, busting my ass means a lot of doing the same thing, day in and day out . . . fence, cattle check, eat, sleep, repeat. I hate to sound bitter, even to my own ears, because I know Pops worked so hard to buy and keep this land. And he raised us right on this ranch too. But Mark was always Pops’s right-hand man, the firstborn golden child to carry on the family legacy. I don’t fault Pops for that, or even Mark for being a bit bossy.
I’d have never been right for running this whole place anyway. There’s a piece of me already on the lookout for an escape back to the rodeo, a new town every weekend, the adrenaline rush of strapping myself to a bucking bull and hanging on for dear life and eight seconds.
Riding a bull is like nothing else. You can prep, you can rosin up your glove and cinch that rope in tight, but when the bull just decides to say, “Fuck you,” and do something you never could have prepared for, nothing matters.
The argument with Sophie this morning was kinda like that, an unexpected ride of excitement in what I thought would be the same old day. My mind sweeps back to her sneering at my “unoriginality” as though she was disappointed I didn’t insult her better.
After watching how she handled the situation with Briarbelle, and honestly, the situation with me, I realize I don’t really want to insult her again.
Hell, maybe I owe her an apology when she comes out here tomorrow.
Maybe.
The dinner bell rings across the pasture, and I finish the last tie on this section, realizing that my fingers have been damn productive while my mind wandered. One more solid day of work and I think we’ll be able to move the cattle over.
That thought makes me feel good as I bring in the ATV and put it away after topping off the tank with the gas can just like Pops taught us. Mark and Luke come in around the same time, and after washing up, we all stumble in and sit down at the table to pass around a casserole dish of noodles and veggies.
I lift my fork to take my first bite, but Mama can’t wait any longer. “So, how’s Briarbelle doing?”
Luke grins around a big spoonful of casserole, nodding. “She’s doing just fine. Her foal too. Little mare with paint spots like her mama. Doc came out with his new assistant, Sophie. She did the delivery, even with the complications.”
“Oh, I didn’t know he had someone working with him now,” Mama says, very interested. “It’s about time. That man runs all over the county, and when you get to be our age, that kind of life can be too much.”
Mark gruffly corrects her while I keep my mouth shut, not wanting to step anywhere near this conversation. “‘Our age’? He’s near seventy years old and should be retired, Mama. You’re in your fifties and still move like a woman ten years younger. That’s nowhere near the same thing.”
Mama just nods, patting Mark’s hand comfortingly like his grumpy ass is normal. I guess it mostly is, especially these days.
“You’re too sweet, honey. I think I’ll have to go out to the barn and see her tonight after dinner. By the way, Luke, what kind of complications? Anything we need to be worried about?”
Luke shakes his head, sipping at his glass of iced tea. “Nope. Just needed some help delivering, but all is well now. Doc said that Sophie would come by and make daily checks for about a week just to make sure, though. Isn’t that right, James?”
I look up, feigning ignorance. “Huh? Oh yeah, right . . . she’s coming out tomorrow to check on them and bring the antibiotic dose.”
Mama eyeballs me, and I can feel her piercing gaze delving into the deepest parts of my brain like the lie detector she’s always been. “What are you not telling me?”
I shrug, seriously wishing we could move on. I smell lemon pie, and while it’s not my favorite, it’s a damn sight better than talking about this. “Nothing, really. I might not have been gracious about her doing the delivery instead of Doc.”
Luke’s mouth drops open, and I know what he’s going to say even before he says it. “That’s what you call it? Not gracious? She had to tell you to shut up or get out so she could do the delivery, and then you called her a bitch.”
Mama screeches, slamming her fork down on the table. “You did what?”
“Mama, I—”
That’s all I’m able to get out before she continues her scolding. “I didn’t raise a son of mine to call a lady a name like that, especially when she was just helping. What were you thinking?”
I’m silent, knowing that I not only crossed a line but hopped way over into no-man’s-land when I said that, as far as Mama is concerned.
Luke helps me out, and I consider just yelling at him later instead of taking a pitchfork to his ass. “The best part was after he called her . . . that . . .” he waffles, “she tells him to try for some originality next time! She swatted him away like a mosquito in the spring.”
He laughs, unable to control it until Mark gives him an evil eye. Never mind; the pitchfork’s too good for Luke . . . I think the chainsaw sounds about right.
Mark sees nothing humorous in any of it, though for him, that’s just normal. “That’s enough, guys. So, she’s gonna be out here again tomorrow? Sounds like you owe her an apology, James.”
I know he’s right. Hell, I’d already come to the same conclusion myself, but it chafes to have your bossy big brother tell you what to do, even if that’s what he’s always done. Maybe more so because that’s what he’s always done. Bossy Big Brother. “Yeah, thanks, genius. Like I didn’t come up with that before lunch.”
Mama heads off the argument at the pass, sounding pleased for some reason. I guess she has been pretty devoid of female company recently. “She’s coming in the afternoon? Sounds like you should apologize and invite her to dinner too. If she’s new in town, she probably needs some friends, not some grumpy old boys too stupid to do the right thing when it smacks them in the face.”
I grimace but say nothing. I’ll apologize, but I’m not asking her to dinner.
It must show on my face, because Mama turns hard eyes on me, picking up her fork again in that way that says she’s about to lay down the law, and the Lord above won’t change what she’s about to say. “Apology and dinner. You won’t eat at my table until she gets both.”
I sigh, knowing her threat is real. One time Pops was being stubborn about something the pastor said, and Pops went off on him. Pops ate outside on the porch steps for a week until he became the better man and apologized. “Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s my boy,” Mama says sweetly. “Now, who’d like some lemon pie?”
CHAPTER 5
SOPHIE
The miniature pig snuggles into my chest, nibbling the Cheerio snacks from my fingers rather delicately considering she’s a pig. “Who’s a good girl? That’s right, you are, little Miss Bacon.”
I pull my hand back, rubbing behind her ears and marveling at how delicate her eyelashes are. Seriously, I’m jealous; I’d kill for those. She snorts, and I laugh as she wrinkles up her snout. Honestly, who names their pet pig Bacon? Definitely someone with a twisted sense of humor.
After finishing her checkup, I place Bacon back into a large kennel along the wall to wait for her owner. She promptly curls up in her fuzzy blanket and starts snoring in seconds, utterly content and secure in the knowledge that the whole world loves her. Pampered little princess pet pig.
Doc, who’s been checking on a schnauzer that got a nail in its paw, comes over with a small bag. “Good job today, Sophie. You still okay heading out to the Bennett place?”
Internally, I groan. It’s a bit of a drive out to their ranch, and while I’ll get to see the new foal and mama when I get there, I’m hoping I don’t have to see that asshat James. I don’t know if I can handle any shit after a long day.
I wasn’t exactly professional yesterday, and I had been nervous Doc would be disappointed in my lack of customer-service skills, but he told me that James deserved it given the circumstance. “That boy’s alright at his core, but sometimes his mouth writes checks that it shouldn’t,” he told me. “You handled him just right, and if I know that family, he’ll get a hidin’ from Louise over it as soon as she finds out.”
It’d been a big relief, but I promised myself to behave better from here on out. That should be easy, if I don’t have to cross paths with James again.
Maybe the nice brother will be in the barn instead. Although he wasn’t as gorgeous, a traitorous voice says in my head. But I shut that thought train down with more rational thinking because I don’t need to stare at gorgeous eyes and cheekbones; I just need to get my work done.
I nod and take the bag from Doc. “Yes, sir. I’ll take the truck like you said and then drive it home. You want me to pick you up in the morning?”
He shakes his head, pointing down at the casual sneakers he’s wearing today. “Nope. My granddaughter keeps saying I need to get more ‘meditative exercise,’ whatever that is supposed to mean. So I’ll stroll on home tonight, and I’ll walk back in the morning. Maybe I’ll even stop and get us some doughnuts on the way in.”
I hum in appreciation. “Sounds delicious. Actually, I haven’t had a doughnut since my freshman fifteen!”
Doc snickers. “In that case, I’ll bring you more than one, and you can indulge. Gotta keep fueled to handle these big animals—their owners too.”
He gives a little wink, and I wonder if he’s thinking about yesterday too. I hide my blush with a little pose, flexing my right bicep and grinning. “There you go, Doc. More power than any man can handle!”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Okay, okay. Go on and head out. It’s after four, and the only thing left today is for Bacon to get picked up. When you get out to the Bennett ranch, make sure you give Briarbelle and her foal their injections, and note if you think I need to head out there. Oh, and see if they named the baby yet for me, ’kay? Need it for my records.”
“Sure thing. See you in the morning.” I head out to Doc’s truck, slide behind the wheel on the old, blanket-covered bench seat, and start it up.
The drive out to the Bennett ranch is stunning in a way I never thought would appeal to me. As soon as I clear the city limits, things start to open up, and I can see for miles to the horizon line, just an occasional tree or fence line breaking the expanse.
I make the las
t turn onto the road that leads out to the Bennetts’, almost overwhelmed by the vibrant green of the grass and cloudless blue of the sky that stretches unendingly in front of me, a cloud of dust rising behind me as I bump and jostle down the dirt road.
Turning the country song on the radio down, I mentally go over my checklist for the horses, preparing myself to be efficient, professional, and most of all, to look like I know what the hell I’m doing. I actually do, regardless of what that jerk thought.
Seeing the metal arch that proclaims the BB Ranch is just ahead, I slow down to turn into the long drive. The gate is closed today, and I don’t see a call box to phone up to the house.
Grinning, I problem solve and give the truck’s horn a few short blasts. Beep-beep-beep, beep-beep-beep, beep-beep-beep-beep-beep . . .
It’s just a couple of minutes of honking out “Jingle Bells” before I see a small cloud of dust stirring up behind a horse and rider, silhouetted with the sun at their backs. I cross my fingers, holding out hope that it’s the nice brother, or maybe a ranch hand. But even though his face is in a dark shadow as he touches the front of his hat and dips his chin in greeting, I can tell it’s James.
It’s in the width of his shoulders, the dark blond hair that’s just a little long and peeking out from under his hat, and if there was any doubt, it’s in his smirk as his eyes meet mine.
He bends down, one muscled forearm leaning against the saddle horn. “Good afternoon, Miss Sophie. You’re lucky, I was just giving Cooper here an afternoon stroll. Here to check on Briarbelle?”
Deciding a combination of crisp professionalism and kindness is my best course of action, I stick my head out the truck’s window and nod. “Yes, and please, just call me Sophie. No need for the Miss. Did she do well last night?”
He climbs down off the horse gracefully, unlocks the gate, and gives it a forceful shove so that it swings wide open. “Yep, she did just fine, I think . . . Sophie.”
Buck Wild (Bennett Boys Ranch Book 1) Page 3