Page 108 of Bucked Hard

Travel the world and get paid for it.

Every dream I’ve ever had revolves around traveling. Figuring out how to bring that joy to others through my writing is living my very best life, and I’m not even twenty-one.

Only, having fun in the mountains of Montana doesn’t begin to explain what’s happened to me since I got out of the van from the airport and looked smack dab into the blue eyes of a cowboy who has stolen part of my heart with barely a word.

For two days I’ve barely been able to eat. Forget about sleep.

In the evening, I walk into the tack room of the barn and run my hands along the smooth leather of his saddle, thinking that his manhood is just on the other side of his jeans when he sits here. I lean in and breathe in the scent of leather, swearing to myself there’s a bit more. That there’s the scent of him.

I see him looking at me now. I’m on Rooster, the horse I’ve been riding since I arrived, waiting.

Because today it’s going to be just the two of us. The thought has me pressing my soft parts down onto the hard saddle looking for relief, but it eludes me—as it has since I arrived.

In my cabin at night, all I can think of is the cowboy that’s barely tipped his hat my way since I got here.

But his eyes… God, those blue eyes seem to be on me whenever I glance his way. I’m like a little girl at night, kissing my pillow and playing scenarios in my mind where he finds his way to me. Somehow, his lips working down my neck….

I want to feel his weight on me. To feel the brush of him the first time he centers himself between my legs and eases forward.

Gah. I’m going to soak through my panties and jeans before we even leave the corral.

My heart is in my throat as I see him mount his spotted gray gelding and click in his teeth as he eases his mount my way.

My attraction to him has surprised me. Relationships and the whole happily ever after with someone has never been my thing. I think about my father and my life growing up. He was professional, controlled, everything planned out, living comfortably in the suburbs where nothing exciting ever happens, but you have a sense that you’ve arrived. That you’re safe.

Then, there’s my mom. She’s great, but she’s June Cleaver and Martha Stewart on Prozac. She made a great wife to my dad and a fantastic mom to my twin brother and me, just always questioned my own wanderlust. I always wanted togo.

Be places. Have experiences. Not things.

And going to the mall and having my nails done every week was my definition of prison. I have ants in my pants, she would always say—a need to move around and explore.

My best friend is my twin brother Benjamin, and he’s my greatest fan and encourager. Somehow, he had the same need to go out into the world as I did, but things didn’t work that way for him, so he lives vicariously through me.

He’s a single dad to Malory, who is three now. Benjamin had a girlfriend toward the end of high school, and they had an oops. She didn’t want the baby, threatened to have an abortion, but Benjamin talked her into keeping it, and then she signed away her rights. He always dreamed of being in the Coast Guard, had even qualified to go to basic training, but his life took a turn.

They say twins have a special bond and with us, it’s true. I can sense when he needs me to call, and he’s the same with me, but more than that we both build each other up every chance we get.

He’s an amazing dad, but I see how he looks at me when I talk about my travels, my freedom, and his life is not what he had planned. He was the high-school quarterback. He was hot then, and he’s hot now, even as his sister I know it’s true.

He’s always been a magnet for girls and women, reminding me of a dark-haired Chris Hemsworth type, but to his credit he doesn’t partake in the buffet of pussy that is thrown his way. We look alike in our hair and eyes, but size wise he’s a linebacker to my pixie.

I skim just under five foot three, and he’s just over six feet four.

As Garrett now approaches, one hand goes to the top of his black hat and he tips it upward, nodding at me, forcing my stomach into a tailspin. When I look at him, I see a man unlike any I’ve encountered. He’s wild, yet at the same time calm and quiet. There is a lack of polish and civility about him, and it only adds to the pull I feel like a tether in my gut.

I’m drawn into his orbit, but the truth is I have no idea what I would do with a man like him.

He stops his horse just a foot away from mine.

“Ma’am.” He licks his lips.

Perfect. Kissable lips.

Oh, and he’solder. Just the right kind of older.

He’s carved from fresh air and hard work. His face is balanced but real, with full lips and a set jaw that tells me he could take a punch if needed and throw more back if called for.

“Sir,” I reply with playfulness in my voice, nodding as his horse snorts.

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