BUCKED Box Set: A Bull Rider Western Romance (8 page)

I
continued on with a normal shower routine—shampooing, conditioning, etc.—trying
to clear my head, but I found my mind wandering to Noah.
Damn, he’s even invading my shower time.
I couldn’t deny he was
attractive with that dark hair, tanned skin, and toned physique—even if he was
arrogant as hell. The last thing he deserved was my attention.

If anyone
deserved that, it was Mark. He’d been the one person, besides Emily, who had
been there through everything I’d ever had to endure. He made me soup when I got
food poisoning, he let me vent when I was frustrated or on the rare occasions
when I’d fight with my parents, and he even helped me nurse my self-esteem back
from every heartbreak I’d suffered from the jerks I’d dated. While I stood
there in the shower, washing over the flower Emily had drawn on my arm in
Sharpie before I left, it dawned on me just how difficult that must’ve been for
him. After what he told me—that he had been head over heels for me for quite
some time—that meant hearing me cry over other guys couldn’t have been easy,
and he never once complained.
I bet Noah
wouldn’t do that.
I shook my head to rid my thoughts of the still unwelcome
invasion.

I quickly
rinsed the soap from my body and turned off the water. I dried off in record
time and wrapped the towel around myself, then walked back to my room and slid
into my pajamas before twisting the towel around my hair so it formed a
make-shift turban. I suddenly felt tired—probably because I never took that nap
I wanted during the day. Too many things on my mind. So, I lay down, pulling
the covers all the way up to my chin. With a satisfied sigh, I drifted off into
a deep, dreamless sleep.

BUCKED #2

Chapter Eight - Noah

I had to
admit, I was a little surprised. For the most part, I’m pretty good at waking
up early. Traveling on the circuits has wired my internal clock to have me up
and at ‘em around six o’clock every
day,
unless I’m sick. Jackson, however, was up before me. We usually keep our front
door unlocked— there’s really no reason to lock it when we live in the middle
of nowhere—and Jackson is well-aware of that. They probably don’t lock their
doors, either.
Thing is,
when I’m asleep,
I’m gone. I’m a hard sleeper, so the creak of my bedroom door didn’t even cause
me to flinch. What did was the sensation that something was crawling on the
back of my neck. Now, it’s not uncommon for feathers to slip out of my down
pillow and float around on occasion. Which is exactly what my half asleep brain
assumed was happening. I yanked my hand out from under my pillow and wiped it
across my neck, then shifted my head so I was facing toward my window instead
of the door.

Then, I
felt it again. My eyes flew open, trying to adjust to the dimly lit room, and I
turned instantly to see Jackson’s face hovering inches away from mine. I
grunted. “Jack, what in heaven’s name are you doing in here?”

“What are
you doing in your underwear?” Jackson retorted.

I rolled
over so I was on my back and covered myself with the sheet before I answered.
“It’s too hot to wear clothes to bed, for your information.”

“You’re
weird.”

“Says the
kid who’s standing over his half-naked neighbor while he’s asleep in his bed.
Now…what are you doing in here?”

“Well, you
said that you were gonna start my bull riding lessons today, so here I am.”

I picked
up my phone from my nightstand and looked at the time. “At five-thirty in the
morning?”

“Mom said
that bull riders are used to getting up early, so I figured I might as well
start getting used to it now.”

“Well,
you’re not wrong there,” I told him, stretching and yawning. “Okay, how about
you go downstairs and hit the power button on the coffee maker, and I’ll get
dressed and come make us breakfast.”

“I know
how to make coffee! My mom’s pretty much addicted to it.”

“That’s
alright, it’s already ready. All you have to do is turn the thing on.”

“If you
insist,” he said with a shrug, then turned and clomped down the stairs. I sat
up and pressed the balls of my hands into my eyes hard, then ran my hands
through my hair, thinking I really needed a haircut. I pulled on a pair of
khaki cargo shorts and a green V-neck t-shirt before grabbing socks from a
drawer. It took a minute to lace up my work boots. I threw on my John Deere
baseball cap on my way out of my room. I kind of felt like a tool, wearing work
boots with shorts, but hey, function over form. It gets hot fast in the summer.

I reached
the foot of the steps and saw Jackson standing in the kitchen with his nose
about an inch away from the coffee pot, staring at it as it dripped down.
What a strange kid.
“What are you
doing?” I asked him.

“I love
the smell of coffee, and my nose was cold. I thought I’d warm it up.”

I shook my
head and laughed. “Fair enough, I guess. So, what do you want for breakfast?”

He
shrugged. “I dunno. What do you have?”

“How about
omelets? We’ve got more eggs than we know what to do with.”

“You don’t
have to make anything
that
complicated,” he insisted.

“It’s
fine, my mom’s always got a bunch of veggies cut up, so omelets are actually
pretty quick to make. And, we have a bunch of bacon, too.”

“Bacon!”
he exclaimed.

“I’ll take
that as a yes. What veggies do you want? Onions, mushrooms, and peppers?”

“Yeah, and
do you have cheese?”

“Sure do.”
I poured myself a cup of coffee before getting to work on breakfast. As I was
cooking, I told him to tell me everything he knew about bull riding, which
turned out to be a surprisingly large amount of information.

“Well, I
know that a qualifying ride starts right as the bull’s shoulders exit the
chute, and it’s gotta be at least eight seconds. The bull gets out because of
the
gateman
, who pulls it open with a
rope, then gets out of the way. You can only have one hand on the
bull
at any given time, or else it’s called a
slap and you get disqualified. When the eight seconds are over, you can either
dismount or get bucked off, and then the clown distracts the bull so you can
get away without getting hurt. Then the judges score you and the bull, and you
get a score from one to a hundred. Most people land in the seventies, and
getting above ninety is like, super good, so I guess that means you’re super
good
because my mom told me you got a
ninety-one.” He said it all in one breath like he’d been waiting forever to
show me how much he knew.

“Yeah, you
pretty much hit the nail on the head,” I told him. “Have you been doing your
research?”

“I know
the PBR website like the back of my hand,” he proudly admitted.

“I learned
all I know from my dad, but there’s nothing wrong with learning what you can
before lessons start. Shows you’ve got pluck. I like it,” I told him as I slid
his omelet onto a plate and told him to grab some bacon, which was draining on
a paper towel. He took four slices and sat down at the table.

“So, what’s
your favorite part about bull riding?” he questioned.

I didn’t
even have to think twice about my answer. “The adrenaline,” I said firmly. “You
ever been in a situation where you were terrified for your life?” I folded my
omelet and put it on a plate, then took the rest of the bacon and sat down.

“Yeah, the
one time when I broke my mom’s antique vase,” he said, wide-eyed. “I thought I
was a goner.”

The look
on his face was priceless. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, imagine that times
ten. I mean, you’re sitting on an angry bull that doesn’t want you there, and
he’s trying to throw you off his back. Then, when you finally get off, he
realizes it and wants to trample you so bad that someone has to distract him
while you run away.”

“Awesome!
Sounds intense!”

“Oh, it
is.”

When we
both finished eating, I picked up our plates, rinsed them off, and set them in
the sink. “You wanna go outside now? It’d be neat to catch the sunrise.”

“Definitely!”
Jackson exclaimed, practically dancing to the door. When I opened it, we were
met with a warm, but breezy morning. I led him to my favorite tree and sank
down so I was sitting with my back leaned against the trunk. Jackson danced and
jumped around so much that it was making me anxious, so I patted the ground
next to me and asked him to squat down.

He did,
and we watched the sun break over the horizon, exploding into the sky in a show
of pinks and oranges, complete with a fiery red sun slowly rising over the end
of the pasture. When it had lifted a little higher into the sky, I stood up,
dusted my butt off, and offered
Jackson
a
hand. He used it to help himself spring up and took a quick lap around the tree
before asking, “Alright, so what are we doing first? How am I going to practice
when we don’t have any bulls?”

I balled
one hand into a fist and placed it against my other palm in front of my chest,
then I did a deep martial arts bow and said, “Patience, young grasshopper. You
have much still to learn before your final test.”

For the
first time all morning—this kid had way too much energy for six a.m.—he finally
stood still, giving me a look of sheer confusion. “What do you mean, ‘final
test?’ Are you saying I won’t actually be riding a bull?”

“Not right
away,” I explained. Seeing him frown and look entirely bummed out, I added, “I
mean, I told you how dangerous it is. How would you feel about having a few
bones broken because you don’t know the theory behind it first?”

“Not so
good,” he replied, rubbing his arms like he was protecting them from certain
danger.

“Exactly!”
I said, clapping my hands. “Now, where to begin…” I started rubbing my palms
together and looking around.

“You don’t
already have a plan?”

“Alright,
lesson number one: you have to learn to go with the flow. You never know what
to expect when it comes to riding a bull, so you can’t have a plan.”

“Hmph,” he
said, “if you say so.”

“I do say
so, and I broke ninety, remember?”

“Oh.
Right,” he agreed, shaking his head as if to get it together. “Continue.”

I chuckled
at his command. “Follow me,” I instructed, starting off toward the barn. As we
walked, I told him the all-important lesson number two. “Lesson two: bull
riding is a mental game more than anything; your head always has to be clear
and your eyes always have to be on the prize. So to speak.”

“Got it.”

After a
few more “lessons” on the mental side of things, we reached the barn. I took
out four cinder blocks and put them in pairs, about ten feet from each other. I
then got a thick piece of lumber from the barn and laid it across so it formed
a bridge. I hopped up on one end and crossed it with my eyes closed, walking at
a normal pace. Easy. I explained that balance is one of the most important
physical traits you can have, and then prompted Jackson to try.

We spent
easily two hours there, just crossing the beam over and over. I gave him tips
and demonstrations, he asked questions and tried again and again. I had to give
him props; the kid’s a great student. When he could cross the beam with his
eyes open and me yelling to try and distract him, I suggested we call it quits
and move onto the next thing. He wanted to keep trying so he could get as good
as me—he was nothing if not persistent—but I reminded him that I’d been doing
it for as long as he was alive, so it’d take him some time to get that good. I
guess he realized he couldn’t argue with that, so he asked what the next task
was.

Next, we
moved to practicing how to fall safely. The trick is to land on parts of your
body that have a lot of natural padding, like your butt or thighs. We’d been at
it about two hours when Princess Laci came strolling across the pasture like
she owned it. Hell, in those frayed denim shorts, she almost could.

I had to
admit, those shorts, a red tank top, and white sneakers were a damn sight
better than the crap she showed up in at the airport. Though, I wasn’t sure how
smart white sneakers were, considering all the dirt and other fun things her
feet might find around the ranch.

“Hey,
brat,” she greeted Jackson. “It’s almost noon, so your mom sent me over to find
you for lunch. She’s making your favorite!”

“Tacos and
iced tea?” he asked, hopefully.

“Yeah,
tacos and iced tea!” Jackson let out a little cheer at Laci’s confirmation,
then she turned to me. “I’ve been told to invite you, too,” she said with what
seemed like forced politeness. “Sara says that part of your payment for
teaching Jack how to ride bulls is going to be daily lunch over at her house.”

“Part of
it?” I asked. “You mean there’s more?” I meant it to be sincere, I actually
wasn’t expecting any type of payment, but Laci rolled her eyes, apparently
taking it as sarcasm.

“Mmhm,”
she nodded. It seemed like, for some reason, she felt the need to bite her
tongue and be civil because I could see it all over her face that she had more
to say. Instead, she just asked, “Coming?”

“I could
never pass up tacos!” I responded, following Laci as Jackson ran far ahead of
us. Seeing the kid so happy made me pretty happy, too, and since I was in such
a good
mood,
I tried to strike up a
conversation with Princess Laci.
Now’s as
good a time as ever to apologize like I promised Jackson
. “So, Sara’s a
pretty good cook,” I offered. “Dinner the other night was amazing. I’m pretty
excited to try the tacos.”

Laci
didn’t look at me, instead opting to stare at the ground, apparently trying to
avoid the rocks and surprises the horses might have left behind. Smart move in
white shoes. She did respond as she walked, though. “Yeah, Mexican food is her
specialty. Even more so than Southern food, weirdly enough.”

“Well, if
you think about it, Mexican food is Southern food; it’s just more southern than
you’re thinking.” I thought it was clever.

“Yeah, I
suppose it is,” she said with a hint of a laugh.

What do ya
know?
Maybe Princess Laci isn’t such a
stickler, after all. “Hey, listen,” I started before pausing. I caught her
steal a glance at me over her shoulder as I trailed just slightly behind her.
“I just wanted to say sorry if I’ve come across as an ass.”

She
actually looked at me and paused for a second until I caught up. “I’m sorry,
too.”

“Really?”
I stammered, a little caught off guard. “I mean, hey, it’s alright. We just got
off on the wrong foot.”