Stick in the Mud Meets Spontaneity (Meet Your Match, book 3) (13 page)

Years ago, her mother had invented the “At Least” game for times such as these, when a situation called for pessimism and they wanted to turn it around. Sam had used it so much it had become second nature.

At least these jeans have a cute design on the back pockets. At least I can wear my hair down. At least this top is a little dressier than normal—or, as dressy as I can pull off with jeans.

The pessimistic thoughts remained, so she tried again.

At least I’m going out with Colton McCoy.

Her lips lifted into a smile as she donned her tattered straw hat. That’s what she needed to remember. Colton.

The doorbell rang, and Sam’s gaze flew to her clock. He was ten minutes early. Who came ten minutes early to a date?

She grabbed her purse and keys and trotted downstairs to find not one, but both of her parents at the front door.

Her mother was doing the talking. “I’m Becky, and this is my husband, Justin. You must be Colton. We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Pleasure to meet you both,” answered Colton, his gaze locking on Sam as she landed at the bottom of the stairs, slightly out of breath.

“Would you like to come in for a moment?” her mother said.

Sam pushed her way through her parents to find Colton wearing black jeans, a fitted, gray and blue plaid, button-down shirt, and a matching black hat. How did he look so much better than every other day when he was wearing the same cowboy garb? Not fair.

She slipped her arm through his and tugged him toward the door. “We really need to be going, don’t we?”

Colton was either clueless or contrary because he wouldn’t budge. “Not yet. I would love to come in, if that’s okay.”

“You really don’t have to,” said Sam. “They bite.”

“So do horses.” He winked, pulling her toward the door.

“Finally,” her mother said as they passed, lifting her hands to the heavens. “A man who can stand up to Sam. We like you already, Colton.”

“That was easy,” he whispered in Sam’s ear.

“Just remember, you brought this on yourself.” She settled on the loveseat next to him, feeling strangely nervous. It had been a long time since she’d had to take part in a pre-date get-to-know-you session with her parents. Roommates were so much less invasive.

“So tell me, Colton,” her father began. “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

“Dad!” Samantha protested, glaring at her father. “He’s joking,” she added to Colton.

“Am I?” her father said.

“Yes,” answered her mother. “You are.”

Colton actually chuckled. “I don’t mind answering the question, sir.”

“Really?” Her father looked surprised, maybe even a little impressed. And who could blame him? Sam was pretty impressed herself.

“I guess I see myself doing much the same thing as I did today. Feed and train horses, clean out the tack room, teach a few young people how to ride, and repair some fencing. Our ranch is land-locked and too small for the cattle business, so there aren’t many opportunities for growth. One day I hope to take over, just not anytime soon.”

“So you plan to stay here in
Colorado
,” her mother emphasized, shooting a pointed glance at her daughter.

“Yes, ma’am.” Colton looked confused. He was probably thinking,
Isn’t that what I just said?

“Are you planning to take over the ranch because you want to?” asked her father.

“Yes, sir. I love working with my hands and with animals and being outdoors. It’s a dream job for me.”

More questions came from both of Sam’s parents. They asked about the history of the ranch, about Colton’s family, and about how the training was going with the wild mustang. Colton answered them all with confidence and wit, always addressing her parents as ma’am and sir. Sam’s nerves settled, and she relaxed against the back of the loveseat, wondering what she’d been worried about. Colton was a pro at this, as though he’d done it a million times before.

Sam frowned at that thought.

“Tell me, Colton,” her father finally said. “Does Maj really hate Sam as much as she says?”

Colton grinned. “Yes, sir. According to Kajsa, the mustang is very jealous of your daughter.”

“Jealous?” asked her mother.

“The horse likes to be the center of attention, and—” Colton looked at Sam in a way that made her heart leap, prance, and canter. “Well, let’s just say that when your daughter’s around, the horse doesn’t get nearly as much attention. Samantha’s like the sun—cheery, bright, and warm. Kind of hard to resist that, and Maj knows it.”

Sam’s heart triple-thumped, and a rich, heavenly sensation spread through her body. Three sentences and Maj not liking her became a compliment instead of a flaw. She could have hugged Colton for that.

“Sam does have a very sunny personality,” said her mom. “We used to call her Sunny when she was a toddler.”

“Sunny, huh?” Colton chuckled, and Sam rolled her eyes. That was one nickname she wished her mother had kept to herself.

“What sort of things do you do for fun on the ranch?” her father’s voice came again.

“Lots of things, but the big event happens at the end of July. Every year, my parents host a small, family-and-friends style rodeo. One neighbor brings over a bronc or two, another some cows for roping, and another some sheep for mutton busting. My brother, Spence, dresses up as a clown, and I play the part of the emcee. Then Cider and Whisper—two of our horses—are used for barrel racing. My dad barbeques hamburgers and hot dogs, and my mom whips up the tastiest fruit salad and mint brownies you’ve ever eaten.”

Her father’s expression became very interested. “Did you just say mint brownies?”

“You’re more than welcome to join us, sir. You too, ma’am.”

“And you’re welcome at our house anytime,” added her mom.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Colton stood and replaced his hat, then offered his hand to Sam. “We’d better get going or we’ll be late. It was a pleasure to meet you both.”

“Have fun tonight,” said her mother.

After a moment of hesitation, Sam clasped his hand. It felt warm and rough and wonderful, just like she knew it would. On their way out, she envisioned her mother doing a happy dance the moment they closed the door. Because if anyone could convince her daughter that going to New York was a bad idea, it was Colton McCoy.

“You brought me to a rodeo?” asked Sam as they passed street vendors selling everything from hot dogs and slushies to cowboy boot refrigerator magnets. She’d never seen so many cowboy hats, Wranglers, or big belt buckles.

“You did say you wanted to ride a bull,” Colton said.

For a second, fear seized Sam’s heart, until she remembered, “You have to be a professional to ride in a rodeo. Don’t you?”
Please say yes.

“This is just an amateur rodeo. Anyone can sign up.”

Anyone? As in
Sam
—a twenty-three-year-old horseback-riding novice? Sam grabbed Colton’s arm and stepped in front of him, stopping their progress toward the arena. “Sign up? That’s something I should have done before now, isn’t it?”

“Yep.” He clasped her elbow and steered her toward the arena. “Good thing I took the liberty of doing it for you. You’ll be riding a bull named Kabookie.”

Kabookie?
What sort of name was that? It sounded like a combination of crazy and mean, like a nickname for a serial killer. Sam glanced down at her clothes. Had she really worn this cute, turquoise top to get tossed and trampled by an animal named Kabookie?

“Um… about that list,” said Sam. “I was actually planning to make a few, you know, revisions?”

“I thought it was set in stone.”

“Well, it is. But…” She bit her lip, wondering how to tell him that she’d dye her hair permanently purple before she’d ever strap her hand to the back of a bull. Yet he’d gone to the trouble of signing her up, asking her out, and bringing her here. Had he even paid an entrance fee for her to ride?

“I thought you said I should move bull riding to the bottom of my list because—how did you put it? Oh, that’s right—I might
die
doing it?”

“I was only joking about that,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Only about three people die every year from bull riding, so really there’s only a point-two percent chance that tonight will be the end of you.”

“Did you really just say
only
?” said Sam. How could anyone use the word “only” in any sentence that included the word “die”? If a statistician were to take into account Sam’s level of experience—or lack thereof—she was certain that point-two would become ninety-six, with only a four percent chance of sheer dumb luck saving her.

Colton put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “You’re not really afraid of a two-thousand pound animal with horns are you?”

Horns! How had Sam forgotten about those? If she didn’t get trampled, she was sure to get skewered. Suddenly, her four percent chance of surviving dropped to zero.

What sort of person decided bull riding should be a sport anyway? Probably a descendent of the person who thought the gladiator games would be a hoot. Both of them could have used a good psychologist.

“Do you or don’t you want to check bull riding off your bucket list?” Colton had stopped in front of a red, white, and blue inflatable with a large mechanical bull in the center. A gaudy looking sign stood off to the side.

RIDE KABOOKIE

Only $10

Sam looked from the sign to Colton as it all sank in. Kabookie was made of metal and gears, not two thousand pounds of flesh, blood, and muscle. There would be no hand tying, no horns piercing her middle, and no hoofs crushing her ribs and lungs. She would live another day.

Sam sighed in relief, then immediately slapped Colton’s arm. “I can’t believe you did that to me. What kind of date are you?”

He laughed the deep, reverberating laugh that made a bunch of people stop and take note. He didn’t seem to have any idea how good it sounded, how amazing he looked tonight, or how much Sam wanted to throw her arms around him and plant a kiss on those grinning lips.

Colton handed the attendant a ten dollar bill and gestured for Sam to take her ride. She wobbled her way to the middle of the inflatable and crawled on the beast’s back.

“What setting would you like it at, ma’am?” asked the man.

“As high as you’ve got.” After freaking out about riding a real bull, Sam wasn’t about to let a mechanical version make her look even more wimpy.

“You sure?” Colton said.

“Positive.” She nodded toward the attendant. “All the way up.”

“You asked for it.”

Sam listened to a brief instructional, then held on tight as the bull began moving forward and back, spinning in slow circles.
This is easy
, she thought, her body moving with the machine. She was about to call out,
Hey, is this all you’ve got?
when the bull began to pick up speed. One jerk, two, and her fingers were ripped from the handholds. She flew through the air and landed in an awkward lump on the not-so-cushy plastic inflatable.

Colton’s low chuckle sounded as she picked herself up, retrieved her hat, and adjusted her top. She wobbled her way back to Colton and, without saying anything, took her purse and rifled through it, finding another ten dollar bill. She handed it to the attendant. “It’s his turn now, and he also wants the highest setting.”

“Oh no, that’s okay—” Colton started to argue.

“You’re not afraid of a little mechanical bull, are you?” she challenged. After what he’d just put her through, he deserved to get tossed too.

He shook his head and shrugged, then pressed his hat down over his head before walking across the inflatable with a lot more grace and swinging onto the back of the robotic bull. He waved off the man’s offer for a tutorial then rode the beast like it was a kiddy ride at the state fair. It didn’t matter which way the bull jerked, how fast it “bucked,” or which direction it spun, Colton made it look effortless. His arm waved behind him like a pro, his muscled torso kept him in place, and his hat stayed squarely on his head.

Sam wanted to ask for her ten dollars back.

Cheers and clapping broke out around them, and she realized Colton had acquired an audience. He jumped off the bull without appearing dizzy or out of breath and tipped his hat to the crowd. When he rejoined Sam, there was no gloating. Only, “Ready to go watch real bull riding now?”

“You’re amazing,” Sam blurted, blinking up at him. He reminded her of one of those hidden picture puzzles in a
Highlights
magazine. At first glance, he was the image of a handsome cowboy front and center on the page, but inside that image were a lot of really cool traits just waiting to be found.

A dormant part of Sam’s heart seemed to yawn and stretch and flutter its eyes.

Sam frowned and looked away, trying to lull that part of her heart back to sleep. She didn’t want it to wake up. Not yet. It wasn’t time. “So, um… do you really think riding a mechanical bull counts towards my list?”

“You didn’t specify a living, breathing bull, did you?”

“No.”

“Then it counts.”

Colton held out his hand, and she took it tentatively, feeling a vulnerability she’d never experienced with a guy before. His fingers interlaced through hers, bringing more warmth, more depth, and more conflicting emotions. All she could think was that her hand had never fit so well in anyone else’s.