BUCKED Box Set: A Bull Rider Western Romance (24 page)

However, I thought that I shouldn’t be too
harsh on him, even though I was rarely wrong about my judge of character.
I
was just having such a hard time keeping it all together. I quickly noted that
no matter what he did or how he acted, just his presence annoyed me and,
therefore, I couldn’t completely trust myself.

You
felt the same way at the wedding, though…
I thought, before
I quickly reminded myself that was a very emotional day as well. Much like
being in this house, I hadn’t wanted my father to get married. He had only met
the woman a few months before, and it never sat right with me that the first
time she even bothered to meet me, was when she was already a part of the
family, whether I liked it or not.

There was something suspicious about the
pair of them, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.

“I’m looking forward to the chance to get
to know you,” I heard Tyler’s voice say, in a manner that was smooth as glass
and likely loaded with crap.

However, I didn’t want to come across as
rude. Once I realized what he said, over the sound of my own thoughts, I smiled
at him and answered, “Yes, thank you…” in the most gracious, interested voice
that I could muster. But hearing it ring aloud in my ears, I knew that there
was not as much smoothness behind the crap that I was peddling.

I didn’t care to get to know either of
them. I was uninterested in having any kind of civilized relationship with the
people who, in my opinion, had stolen my father away from me during his time of
weakness. But I reminded myself that I was doing this for my father and so, I
kept in time with my charade, no matter how awful it came across.

When Tyler finally let my hand go, his
mother picked up my attention right behind him. “Hi, Ashley…”

I turned towards the woman who was much
younger than my father, but actually saw genuine kindness in her eyes, or at
least that was how I perceived it. My stepmother’s expression was not the same
as that of her son’s. She seemed to realize, to some degree, the level of my
discomfort that not even my father was picking up on. The woman pressed her
hand against my arm and moved closer to me, as though asking if it would be
alright if she hugged me.

I made the motion to hug her back, just to
ensure the room did not grow to be any more awkward, and she seemed thankful.

When we broke away, I caught a glimpse of
my dad smiling, as though he was proud of what was going on. I wondered if he
was ignoring the obvious strain, or if he was just oblivious to it, like he
seemed to be oblivious to most things since he had met Theresa.

I wondered how long he was going to keep
up this sense of careful ignorance. After all, I didn’t want to be responsible
for creating a problem; but being back in this house, in such a drastically
different situation, after all of this time, no matter how I tried to convince
myself that I needed to remain under control for my father, I wasn’t sure if I
could keep my opinions to myself for an entire summer.

While my father was welcoming and glad I
was there, and his new wife was kind, but cautious around me, there was still
something that didn’t quite sit right about them and their relationship. There
were a lot of things that didn’t make sense to me, and more was wrong than
right with my opinion of my stepbrother, but even my dad’s relationship was a
little strange. I couldn’t quite figure it out, what I didn’t trust, but I
figured throughout the entirety of the summer, there was sure to be some dirty
laundry aired. Maybe through that, I would be able to pick out what was going
on.

For the moment, though, I decided the
greatest threat to myself personally, was my own mind and my stepbrother.
Although he was just as attractive as I remembered from our brief exchange at
the wedding, I quickly became partial to the impression that Tyler likely spent
more time prepping himself in the morning than I did. And that is not the kind
of man that I am interested in…

I didn’t even try to expand upon the
thought that regardless of how I felt about him,
we
were family now. But despite trying to shut my brain off before it could
actually make that connection, I had a solid thought about it anyway, which
caused a shudder to run down my spine.

Ewww!
I
thought, keeping in mind that even if I hadn’t pictured the two of us getting
together, even in the loosest terms, I would still have thought the idea of
them being part of the family creepy.

There was just something about the whole
dynamic between everyone that now resided in the household that just wasn’t
right, and I had no idea what to do to make it any better.

I was simply lost, for words as well as
for a sense of understanding, that all I could possibly do was just sit there
and stare, while my mind reeled in an effort to gain some answers.

It took a moment for me to even realize
that I had plastered a smile on my face and had resorted to making more noises
than I had actual words. Thankfully, no one was really talking to me, but
rather about me.

My new stepmother continued to usher in
one compliment after another, trying her best to make me feel
overly-welcome
into the family that my father had formed with both his new wife and, for all I
knew, freeloading stepson, while I was away, living the dream of a life I
actually wanted at school.

Eventually though, the introductions ran
out of words to be uttered and I felt my father tug at my arm.

“I’ll help you with your bags, sweetie,”
he said carefully, as though he wasn’t quite sure how to speak to me anymore.

That wasn’t much of a surprise. My father
hadn’t really known how to speak to me since my mother died. Perhaps I reminded
him of her in a way that was too painful to bear and so, it inherently made him
feel guilty. Or maybe I was a constant, undying thought of his old life that he
would rather forget, and he feared every time he opened his mouth, he might
actually let the truth slip. Or there was a possibility that he genuinely never
knew what to say to me, since outwardly, he was the one who had taken my
mother’s death so hard.

I knew for a fact that he was guilty about
that. While I had never moved on inside my own head, and learned how to adapt
in my life so I could keep some semblance of what life was like before I lost
my mother, my father just stagnated.

Until he met his new wife, he hadn’t done
much except grieve after my mom passed away. Then, when he finally mustered up
the courage to put his foot in the kiddy pool of dating, he married the first
person he thought would have him.

If that didn’t scream guilt, I wasn’t sure
what did.

Still, being my father, I loved him and
therefore I was able to put his obvious misgivings aside to actually want to
work with him.

That was why I was here, secretly being
humiliated and counting the moments until the summer was over, so I could
return to a reality I preferred far more than the reality my father existed in.

I followed him up the stairs as neither
one of us spoke a word. He seemed nervous and jittery though, like he was
trying to get up the nerve to say something to me. Even though I wasn’t a big
fan of my father, I still managed to learn his ticks and his attitude.

For instance, right before he said
something he felt might be confrontational, he always made strange noises,
along with the patterns of his breath. It was hardly noticeable, except to
people who were comfortable being close to him, for he hovered right on top of
them, even if the confrontational situation he was about to embark on had to do
with that person.

I didn’t think that he even knew that he
was doing it, despite the fact that I had made it a point to remind him about
personal space, another annoying and convenient oversight that he had
habitually acquired after my mother’s death.

Still, since I didn’t want to have any
trouble with him, I didn’t want to start badgering him about things that his
wife probably said to him all the time. I needed to be in his presence, at
least for an hour, before I did anything that was considered nagging.

My father walked with me into my room and
when we were alone, he closed the door. He carefully set my suitcase down next
to him and looked at me with wide, serious eyes. “Ashley, are you alright?” he
asked with a grim demeanor.

I sighed and shook off the feeling that
this was going to turn into an argument. I knew that look and while it was
meant to be concerned, it came off to me as aggravated.

Great,
I’ve only been here five minutes and I’ve already upset him…
I
thought, trying to steer clear of growing angry.

“What do you mean? It’s summer after a
great year at my dream college. Of course I’m all right.”

“You don’t seem all right,” he answered,
almost as if that was a trigger reaction that he would have said regardless of
what I had preceded it with.

“What makes you say that?” I asked, now
feeling a rise of heat in my chest as I wondered if he was really trying to
pick a fight with me.

“You don’t seem yourself.” He
crossed
his arms in front of his chest. “What is it? Are you overwhelmed?”

No,
I’m angry that you dragged me out here, where there are so many memories with
people that are no longer around, just so that you can show off to your new
wife and her stupid son.
I felt my brow wrinkle, but what I
said was, “Sure…A little. I mean, I am just meeting them.”

“You met them at the wedding,” he
answered, once again as though he was expecting me to say that.

It caused me to wonder if he had planned
out the entire conversation, inevitably ending in disaster from the start. I
hadn’t thought about this annoying, yet once again fairly new, knee-jerk
reaction to any type of perceived confrontation. Normally when he spoke to me,
he was too thrilled to be hearing from me to pull any of this, post-death guilt
on me. It might not have been my fault that my mother died, but sometimes, with
the way that he acted, it was almost as though he blamed me for it; or for
living when she was no longer around to take care of me. How cynical I was
depended entirely on how I thought. Today, I just wasn’t sure.

I felt my breath speed up, as I tried to
calm the adrenaline that pumped through my head, flooding my brain with quick,
sarcastic replies and hurtful comebacks that would just make him go away.
However, before I said anything, I took a deep breath, held it and let it go.
“Yes, Dad. I did meet them at the wedding, but that was a fairly hectic day.”

“It was a wonderful day!” he exclaimed, as
though accusing me of thinking anything less.

Not
for me it wasn’t.
I thought, trying to hide the contempt
that was steadily growing inside of me.
Why
is he doing this to me? I just got here!
Yet, once again, I calmly replied,
“I am very happy for you, Dad. This is going to be a fun summer. I meant what I
said, I am looking forward to getting to know the new members of our family.” I
smiled and tried not to roll my eyes as I sat down on my bed, trying to ground
myself for whatever was going to spew out of his mouth next.

“It will be,” he smiled brightly, but then
his lips moved back into a slight scowl as he added, “But I wish you would tell
me what is bothering you. You don’t act like this when you are overwhelmed, you
act like this when you are angry.”

“I’m not angry,” I answered, almost too
quickly. Although my father might have his faults, he had always known me very
well and now, I was sure that he had picked up on the fact that I was trying to
hide my true feelings.

He sighed and sat down next to me. Now,
having realized what was actually going on, his nervousness had dissipated and
he was able to come to terms with the way I was acting, and that caused him to
be a little more rational. “Why?” he asked, as his eyes bore into me.

Remembering this look from childhood, one
of the few that remained from when we were really a family, I wanted to cry and
embrace him, happy for the small memory and hope that the father I was once so
close to was still there, somewhere. This look was not an angry one. It was a
kind and gentle gaze, which accompanied a question about what was going on. He
simply wanted a reason for whatever it was that was bothering me. This look
told me that he was willing to help, instead of just focusing on the negative
aspects and demons that I was sure still surrounded him on a daily basis.

Just because he claimed to have a good
life with his wife and stepson, while his daughter lived out her dream, far
enough away from home as to not mess anything up for him, did not mean he
didn’t think about what happened and what he could have done differently. It
didn’t mean that he didn’t wonder why there was so much going on inside of his
head, or didn’t try to decipher the craziness that was all a part of his mind
since the moment my mother took her last breath.

However, when I thought about this,
instead of answering his question, he stood up and demanded, “Why are you angry?”

Now the look was gone and I was rocketed
back into the reality of having the volatile, crazy father whom I knew well,
but could rarely handle. This change in him only made me feel angrier, which
caused me to stand and glower at him. I didn’t mean to be callous with my
words, but I had already endured too much aggravation to feel any pity or
remorse concerning what I was about to say. “Why did you have to bring them
here?”