Page 100 of Bucked Hard

Luther opens his mouth for another run at Ranger, but it’s too late. The first blow hits him on the left side of his jaw. His eyes pop, and he stumbles back. Ranger’s fists are balled at his sides, but he makes no move forward, giving Luther a moment to adjust to what’s just hit him. I sense that even now, Ranger doesn’t want this to go any further than it has to.

But this is clearly not Luther’s smartest day. He puffs up his chest and steps into Ranger’s airspace again with a fist aimed at Ranger’s gut.

In a blink, Ranger jumps easily away from Luther’s strike, and then with a half turn, he’s behind him, his long arm swinging in an arc. But instead of landing another punch, he’s got him in a choke hold.

“Apologize.” Ranger’s voice is calm. He is calm. Matter-of-fact.

“For what? This ismyplace—” Luther tries to choke out more words, but Ranger tenses his arm around Luther’s throat, cutting off his airway.

Ranger rolls his eyes, more frustrated than angry. “Apologize. This is not difficult.” His eyes light on mine, and all the hurt inside me fights with the draw this cowboy has. When he lifts an eyebrow and winks, I let out an exasperated breath. I have to keep in mind the reason we are out here in the parking lot to begin with…the thing that has left me near tears.

The knot in my stomach tightens, thinking of Jeanette’s words and the line of cut marks in the back of Ranger’s saddle.

“Sorry.” Luther’s survival instincts kick in.

“Not good enough. I’m not feeling it.” Ranger’s eyes are on me, his hold on Luther firm. My more-than-likely-former boss’s hands clench around Ranger’s forearm, but it seems like a child fighting with a grown man. There’s no contest here, and Luther knows it.

“I’m sorry, Maria. I. Am.” He grunts the last words before Ranger releases him with a shove, and Luther stumbles forward on a gasp.

Ranger growls. “Get inside. I’ll tell you if she’s still working here or not in a bit. You best make sure her shift is covered for the moment. Now, if you are not back inside in another two seconds, we can start this all over again.” He brushes some invisible filth off the front of his black T-shirt, but his eyes never leave me.

I barely notice as Luther slinks back through the door of the diner.

“You think you make the decisions? For me? I told you that day we met you were bossy…and more than that. I also knew you were too smooth for your own good. I should have listened to my instincts that day. It would have saved some time. Would have saved some heartache.” My voice is hard as Ranger’s face tightens in confusion.

He’s back in front of me as I back away, unsure of just where I was heading when I ran out the door of the diner. I’ve got no car, and my cell phone is back at the house. Ranger’s house.

But I’ll get a new one. I just need to be away from him.

I smack my palms into his chest as he gets close, fighting away the tears. Struggling to hold back the memory of how he tastes. The way his mouth felt on me. The way I came calling his name with visions of us riding off into the sunset.

Stupid girl.

“Hey.” His voice is thick with confusion as his hands latch on to my upper arms.

I twist, but he tightens.

“What the hell is going on, Maria?”

My fists bang halfheartedly on his chest, even as I lower my eyes.

“This is just not going to work. You don’t… You can’t…” My mind flips between the potential reasons that I could give—whether to use my scholarship or the revelations from Jeanette.

“You’re right.” I look up, wide-eyed, to see the sadness in his eyes. “And you’re wrong too.” He swallows, takes a long, slow breath, and I see his soul laid bare.

I soften. How could I not? But this is the end for us, it has to be.

“Look,” I start, gathering my courage. “I’m new in town, but it’s a small town. Doesn’t take long for word to get around. I’m not another notch on anyone’s saddle.” The words catch in my throat.

His eyes narrow in question and he lets my arms go, but he brings his hands instead to my cheeks. Suddenly, the tears I’ve been holding back spill over, running down onto his fingers as he swipes them away.

“What are you talking about?”

“The notches. In the back of your saddle. I know what they are now. You’ve had your fun. You got your next notch. Game over, no need to pretend anymore.” Even as I say the words, something in my heart argues that this is not who he is. That I couldn’t have been so wrong. That I know him.

“What’s going on with your PhD?” His voice is contained and cool, and the heat in my face flames. “Your dad called. Couldn’t get ahold of you on your phone. I saw the messages he sent…about your scholarship. About you leaving.”

My heart is beating a mile a minute. I know it’s the right thing, but why does it feel so bad?

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