Bucked (5 page)

“Do you want something else? Ice cream maybe?”

Memories of when he’d had his tonsils out years ago and his mother had given him all the ice cream he wanted had Mustang grinning. “No thanks, Ma. I’m fine.”

“I’m just going to get a start on dinner then. You rest.”

Apparently she was going to feed him until his arm either healed or he got so fat he couldn’t ride bulls anymore.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Recuperation on his mama’s couch hadn’t been as bad as Mustang anticipated so far. Then again, he’d only been released from the hospital for a few hours and his father hadn’t gotten home from work yet. He glanced at his watch. He still had another hour or so of peace and quiet. He intended on taking advantage of it.

He’d barely closed his eyes for a little mid-afternoon snooze when there was a light tap on the back door followed by a voice Mustang recognized immediately greeting his mother.

“Can I get you something to drink, darlin’?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Jackson.”

“You let me know if you change your mind. Michael’s right inside.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Smiling, he waited for her to come around the corner from the kitchen and when she did, his grin got wider.

“Hey there, Little Bit.” Damn she looked good in that blue dress. Mustang’s ass was dragging after the surgery, but now she was in the room he felt wide awake.

“How are you feeling?” She kept her voice low, he supposed in deference to his recuperation.

“I’m good.” Even better now that she was there.

“You don’t have a cast on?” Perched on the edge of the chair next to the couch, she eyed his bandaged arm in the sling.

“Nope. The steel plate or whatever kind of space-age metal they put in me does the job of the cast. I just need the ace bandages and sling for the next few months or so to support it.” Hopefully she’d keep visiting regularly and make those months more bearable. “I have to go back in a week and get the staples yanked out of the incision though.”

She cringed. Apparently she felt about staples the way he felt about needles. “You know, if you need a ride anywhere while you’re here, just give me a call. I’d be happy to drive you wherever you need me to.”

He pulled his eyes away from where the neckline of her dress had gaped so he could just see the lacey edge of her bra. “I think I might take you up on that offer.”

Sure the doc had said he could drive himself, but having Sage drive him would sure be nice, especially if she was wearing that little number she had on now.

“Okay. Great. I’ll give you my cell-phone number.” She grabbed the pen from the table where his mother had left it after they’d done the crossword puzzle in the paper together and looked around for something to write on.

Mustang felt in his jeans pocket and came out with a fuel receipt from when he’d filled up on the highway between Trenton and Magnolia. Had it only been a few days ago that he’d left the circuit and headed home? It felt like a million years, though spending time with his father always felt like that.

He handed the small scrap of paper to her. She jotted down her number and then gave it back to him. Perhaps having that new cell phone wasn’t such a bad thing after all. He’d program her number right in, if he could figure out how.

“Thank you, Little Bit.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you ever going to stop calling me that?”

“Nope.” He grinned. If she only knew she had been starring in his painkiller-induced daydreams ever since their meal together.

“Hmm. Maybe I should start calling you Michael again then.”

Mustang laughed. “Darlin’, you can call me whatever you want.”

That offer came out a bit more flirty than it should have considering he’d decided Sage would be off-limits while he was home.

Although, what harm could a little innocent flirting do?

One dark eyebrow shot up. “I’ll remember that.”

“I hope you do.” Damn, she could go from innocent to vixen at the drop of a hat. He liked it. Mustang wondered briefly what she’d call him, what terms of endearment she’d use with him in bed. His conscience poked at him. Sage was off-limits.

“I found the video on the Internet from when you broke your arm.” Luckily, she changed the subject to safe territory. She touched his good arm lightly. “I’m sorry. I know you’re out of competition until the fall.”

“How do you know that?” He hadn’t even told his parents exactly how long he’d be out of competition, for obvious reasons. If he needed to make an escape from the paternal torture or life as a prison guard, he’d just pretend he was going back to join up with the circuit.

She blushed and lowered her eyes. “I read it on the pro-bull-riders injury report online.”

He frowned. “There’s an injury report?”

“Yeah. On the Internet.” She nodded.

One day he would most likely have to give in and at least learn about computers, if not actually get one. But what was more amazing than his injury being all over the web was Sage. She had actually taken the time to research him online.

Sage was interested and Mustang found that very interesting. She sat so close he could easily admire her dark eyes, inherited from her Mexican grandmother. Then there were those lips, perfectly shaped for kissing. Not to mention those hips he’d love to grab and hold on to tightly while he took them both on a wild ride.

He shook off that thought. “Well, while I’m here, however long that is, it’s nice catching up with you again. You and Grams are good people. The kind of people I miss when I’m away.”

“And Rosemary too?” She said it and watched him closely, almost like she was waiting for his reaction. “Do you miss her?”

He hadn’t exactly been thinking about Rosemary when he was talking about the good people of Magnolia. “Sure. Her too.”

Rosemary had always treated Sage like an annoying little sister, when she wasn’t outright ignoring her. He supposed he was guilty of ignoring her too a few times near the end. Right before high school graduation when Sage was hanging around them constantly and all he wanted to do was find an opportunity to get his hand in Rosemary’s shorts. He’d ended up getting more than his hand in there.

Mustang raised his good arm and brushed a finger down one side of Sage’s suddenly somber face. “You sure have grown up.

Going to college and working as a teacher. Rosemary has nothing on you.”

She finally met his gaze. “There’s a thing or two I don’t have that she has.”

“Are you are talking about a husband and a kid?” He’d learned all about Rosemary marrying Bobby over dinner. Not that Sage had come out and said her sister had trapped her husband into marriage by getting pregnant, but Mustang had read between the lines of Sage’s tone and expression. “I wouldn’t be so quick to rush into that if I were you. You’ve got a lot of living to do before all that.”

Sage studied him closely for a moment. “You’re right. I do have some living to do.”

Then she leaned in…

The moment her lips neared his, his body tensed, ready to pounce. When her mouth pressed against his, if he hadn’t been in his parents’ living room with his mama mere feet away in the next room, he would have had Sage on that couch beneath him before she could say
Woah, Mustang
. Sling be damned.

He wasn’t supposed to be kissing Sage. He’d made a deal with himself to steer clear of her while he was home. Maybe if he’d had some clue of what she was about to do, he would have been able to stop it.

Yeah, right. Who was he kidding?

As it was, even with his mother just in the kitchen, Mustang couldn’t stop himself from tangling his hand in Sage’s hair and holding her mouth tighter against his. He didn’t think twice as he tilted his head and plunged his tongue into her mouth. He nearly came in his jeans when she moaned softly against him as her tongue met his.

Then it was over. She pulled away and when he could concentrate again, he heard his father’s footsteps on the stairs outside.

His mother appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Do you want to stay and eat with us, Sage? Nothing as good as what you’re used to after Maria’s cooking, mind you.”

With that interruption the moment was gone, but the thrill inside him remained.

“Stay,” he whispered, still breathing heavier than normal.

Sage’s gaze met his. He saw a need that matched his own there. It seemed like forever before her eyes finally broke away and she answered his mother. “Thank you, Mrs. Jackson. I’d love to.”

The front door opened and his father stepped through, his gaze zeroing in on Mustang. “Hmmph. I see you’re fine.”

Pleasant as ever. “Yes, sir. I am.”

“Myra, when’s dinner?”

Apparently that was all the concern Mustang was going to get from the man, which was fine with him. Sage was there and that was enough of a distraction to make him forget even about his father.

“In about an hour.”

“I’m going to cut the grass quick. Yell when the food’s done.” His father shot him a look, as if Mustang had been too lazy to cut the grass when he’d gotten home from surgery. Then again, maybe Mustang was just overreacting. He’d had such a chip on his shoulder for most of his life, his father could have brought him a dozen yellow roses in the recovery room and he’d still doubt the man’s sincerity.

He sighed and felt Sage’s touch on his arm. “My grandmother said to tell you that you better come over and visit her. If you tell me when you feel well enough to go out, I’ll come pick you up after I get off work. Any day you want.”

Mustang smiled. “How about tomorrow?”

She raised a brow in surprise. “Really? So soon? Will you feel up to it?”

He heard the mower start. An angry sound, though that could have been a reflection of Mustang’s own biased opinion. Either way, he didn’t want to be around tomorrow evening when his father got home.

Avoiding a confrontation wasn’t the only reason Mustang had for wanting to go to the Beckett house the next day. He glanced at Sage, her cheeks still pink and her eyes bright from the intensity of their kiss.

Mustang nodded. “Tomorrow’s perfect.”

It didn’t take long for his father to bring up the subject of the job waiting for him at the prison. A whole day.

Actually, that was longer than Mustang figured it would take. He’d assumed the topic would be raised immediately after he got released from the hospital. The most likely reason it hadn’t been was Sage’s presence. Then tonight Mustang had pulled a disappearing act and gone to her house. It didn’t stop his father from hitting him with the question the moment he got home though.

He knew he should have stayed later instead of leaving right after Grams’ dessert of fried bananas and ice cream. The food at Sage’s house had been as tempting as their one and only kiss. Even if he didn’t get the opportunity to repeat it, the heat of the memory was almost enough to make him forget the shitty promise he’d finally made about the job.

Mustang had given in to his father’s pressure and agreed to the one thing he thought he’d never do. After he saw the surgeon again next week and got the okay, Mustang would start the daily commute to Huntsville Prison.

His arm felt okay, considering, so of course he’d get the go-ahead to start light work. Wouldn’t that be fun? He and his father.

Commuting together. Working together. Mustang resisted the strong urge to beat his head against the wall at the idea. Instead, he stared at himself in the mirror above the wooden bureau in his childhood bedroom.

“Three months,” he told his reflection. By then he’d either have made enough money working to cover the payments on the trailer until he could get back into competition, or he would have strangled his father on the highway somewhere between Magnolia and Huntsville.

Either way, he was out of here after twelve weeks. Shit. Calculating his time in weeks still sounded worse than it did in months no matter how often he tried it out.

It didn’t matter. He could do it, he
would
do it. A man could withstand anything for a limited amount of time. He proved that every time he rode a ton of bucking bovine to the buzzer.

Thoughts of riding again caused Mustang to sigh. Missing life on the road with the pro circuit, he eyed his cell phone on the dresser. He supposed he could call Slade, though that would only make him miss it more.

Calling Sage now was probably out of the question too. They’d just seen each other less than an hour before.

How pitiful was he? Debating on whether to call a girl. Usually he was in and out, literally, but Sage was different. She was a friend as well as a girl who made him stand up and take notice. As his head warred with his dick, he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Could a woman be both to a man?

His brain was too tired to think anymore tonight, even though it was still early. Time to get undressed and hit the hay. What else could he do? Sit on the couch between his mother and father and watch television like when he was a kid? He definitely should have stayed later at Sage’s.

Too late now.

Pulling his wallet out of his jeans pocket, Mustang tossed it on top of the bureau. It skidded across the wood, coming to rest against the base of the lamp as a white card slipped out of the fold. He frowned. Whose business card would he have in his wallet?

Mustang read the name and smiled. Guy the sports photographer. He’d forgotten all about him. What had Chase said that job paid? A couple of hundred an hour or something like that. Hell, that was way better than what he’d get being tortured by his father at the prison. But shit, this guy was in New Jersey.

He knew he should have stayed on the East Coast. Maybe Mustang could contact him and set up some shoots in a week or two. If the guy promised him a guaranteed income, maybe he wouldn’t have to work with his father at all. He could recuperate for a few weeks then drive back to Jersey.

Mustang grabbed his phone, vowing never to admit to either Slade or Jenna how dependant he’d become on it.

It was pretty late in New Jersey for a business to be open, but he could leave a message. The photographer could call him back in the morning. He punched in the numbers and listened to the ring. Mustang jumped when a live voice rather than a machine greeted him.

“Guy Little.”

He stumbled over his tongue at having to talk to a person when he was expecting to leave a voicemail. “Hey, um, yeah. I have your card here. About the sports modeling.”

Modeling. Who would have thought he’d ever willingly do that? But hell, he was a decent-looking man, even with the assorted scars. Why not make some money off it? Desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Great. Tell me a little about yourself.”

“Um. Okay. I’m a bull rider. Um, just about six feet tall. A hundred seventy pounds, give or take. Light brown hair. Blue eyes.”

“How old are you.”

“Twenty-six.” Was that too old for a sports model? Mustang didn’t know. In fact, he knew shit about this whole deal.

“Okay. Good. Tell me, do you have a problem with nudity?”

Mustang stopped dead mid-pace across his room. “Mine, or someone else’s?”

Maybe they were going to have some scantily clad female in a thong hanging on him while he was dressed in his gear. That would be cool.

The man laughed. “Yours, but I like how you think.”

“What? Wait, I’d be naked?”

“Partially. We do artistic nudes.”

Whatever the hell that meant.

He’d said partially. They probably just wanted some pictures with his shirt off. That was fine. His muscles weren’t huge but he was fit. He’d have to figure out how to hide the incision from the operation though.

“That’s all right, I guess.”

“I’d want some with you dressed in your bull-riding stuff too. Do you own a pair of chaps?”

“Sure.” More than one actually, thanks to the new pair he’d won in a bet against Slade last year.

“And boots and a cowboy hat?”

“Yeah.” What self-respecting Texan didn’t own boots and a hat? Then again, this guy was in New Jersey so Mustang gave him a pass.

“Great. Bring that all with you when you come in.”

“Well, you see, that’s the problem. I’m not in New Jersey anymore—” Mustang rushed to add, “—but I can get back there if you just give me some time.”

“Where are you now?”

“Texas?”

“That’s fine. I’ve got a photographer who works with me out there. Can you get to Houston?”

“Hell, yeah. No problem.”

He heard the sound of papers rustling. “Perfect, I’ll have him call you. His name is Joe. Let me get your name and number.”

“It’s Mustang Jackson.”

The man laughed. “Mustang, huh? Perfect. I love it. Should he call you at this number or a different one?”

Mustang’s spirits soared. This could work. This crazy scheme could save his sanity and prevent him from having to work with his father. “This number is good. Uh, can I ask you what the pay is?”

“One hundred and fifty an hour, flat fee and you’ll have to sign a full release. You have a problem with that?”

“No, that’s fine.” He had to sign releases all the time saying he wouldn’t sue the arena if he got hurt riding. That was pretty standard. Though how he’d get hurt modeling he didn’t know.

“Okay, we’re set then.”

Yes, they were and he couldn’t be happier. After saying goodbye and disconnecting with Guy, Mustang glanced down at the phone in his hand and couldn’t resist sharing his happiness. He found Sage’s cell-phone number easily in his very short contact list and called, waiting for her sweet, “Hello?”

Mustang grinned just from the sound of her voice. “Hey, Little Bit.”

“Mustang. Hi.” He could hear her smile.

“Guess what?”

“What?”

“I got a job modeling.” He would rather die than admit what he was doing to any of the guys or to his parents, but for some reason telling Sage felt right.

“Modeling?” Her voice rose to a squeak.

He laughed, really laughed. Deep from his belly. “Yup and don’t sound so shocked. I’m a good-looking guy. Aren’t I?”

“Yes, and so modest too.” She laughed.

“Actually, the photographer’s never seen me so I may be sent packing before he even takes one picture. Besides, it’s for a sports website, not GQ Magazine or anything fancy like that.” Mustang stretched out on his bed, relaxing. It felt good to have the pressure of the sling no longer weighing around his neck.

“I don’t know. You could be in GQ if you wanted, I think. I saw you dressed up for the prom.” Sage’s voice softened.

Mustang held the phone closer to his ear so he could enjoy every nuance of every sound. “Yeah, I guess I do clean up pretty good.”

“Mmm, hmm. You do. I remember you in your tuxedo with your black cowboy boots.”

He laughed again. “Those new boots cost me a fortune and all your sister did was complain I wasn’t wearing real shoes. She wanted me to get those stupid lace-up black things they had at the tux rental place.”

“I liked your boots. You looked perfect.”

Mustang’s breath caught in his throat at the sincerity with which she’d delivered that incredibly touching compliment. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I should let you go. You probably have stuff to do that I’m keeping you from.” Though the last thing he wanted to do was hang up with her.

“No, not really.”

He heard the lie in her voice. She’d always been the worst liar. “No homework? You sure?”

“Well, maybe a little.”

“I thought so.” Still, he didn’t say the words good bye.

“Mustang?”

“Yeah?” His voice sounded husky in his own ears and he cleared his throat.

“I really liked our kiss the other night.”

His pulse sped. “Me too.”

One more statement like that out of her and he’d be over there and sneaking into her bedroom window in a heart beat.

“Do you want to come over again for dinner sometime this week? Maybe tomorrow or the next night?”

“Yes.” Tomorrow and the next night and every night after that…until he left. The thought of leaving and not being able to see Sage twisted his gut. He swallowed hard.

He was in deep shit.