Page 119 of Bucked Hard

“Whoa! Don’t overreact, sweetheart.” He laughs, looking around at his friend, who steps forward smiling. “She’s got spirit.”

The muscles in my core tense and tunnel vision takes over. I twist my arm, but he furrows his brow and holds steady.

“You have three seconds before I knock your teeth out with your balls, because I’m going to kick them so hard, they will fly out of your mouth.”

“Sorta bitchy.” His friend offers as I let loose.

I jerk my arm back from his grip while cocking my other fist back and tense my muscle ready to knock his stupid nose crooked. I’m ready for the impact, but suddenly my body is lifted away, leaving my punch undelivered when another hand takes hold of that arm from behind.

Squirming and twisting, I’m just about ready to knock heads together when both my arms are released, and Garrett steps in between me and the pair of losers.

“Get your stuff,” he orders, puffing up to the two men. “You’re leaving.”

“What?” Whiskey guy chuckles. “I’m not fuckin’ leaving. We just got here. Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m the guy that is going to show you a Montana beatdown if you aren’t in your cabin packing your shit before I count to five.”

“I got this.” I inch forward and step to the side, then stop when I see the fury in Garrett’s eyes.

He grumbles toward me. “Yeaup, well you may have, but this is my place, so I’ve got it now.” He turns back to the two. “We can play this out two ways. This is my place. If I feel you are a danger of any kind to anyone here, any animal or my property, I have the right to kick your asses off, and I am exercising that right. Check the agreement you signed. And I am more than happy to assist in that ass-kicking in more ways than one.”

They look from Garrett to Buck, who is now standing at Garrett’s shoulder, hovering about four inches above him and holding about another hundred pounds. He’s the definition of the silent type; I haven’t seen or heard him speak since I arrived, but he makes a very clear statement without words.

The guy who grabbed me glares at them both but raise his hands in retreat. “It’s cool. No more problems, we’ll just eat our dinner and—”

“Nope.” Garrett cuts him off, shaking his head. “The van will be running and ready to take you to the airport in twenty minutes. You better be standing out front, or I’ll drag you from the back of my horse all the way there. Now go. Get your shit packed. I’m not fucking kidding.”

I hear Buck clear his throat and glance over to see him cross his arms. I thought Garrett was big, but Buck makes him look average. Buck wears a beige cowboy hat that covers his sandy colored hair. His face is more square than Garrett’s, with a protruding brow and a crooked scar on his chin. He looks like the kind of man that could crush a skull in one hand and pet a kitten with the other.

The two guys look at each other, spit out some expletives, but move down the trail toward their cabin.

Garrett turns to Buck, tipping his head in their direction. “Make sure they stick to the task. I’ll tell Jessie to get the van. You got your phone?” Buck nods, and Garrett finishes. “Book the next flight out for them.”

With that, my heart is pounding, and Garrett reaches down and takes my hand, gripping my fingers hard.

“Hey,” I protest. “I didn’t need the whole white knight, cowboy superhero thing, you know. Nothing was going to happen. I’ve traveled all over the world. I’ve taken care of myself in a lot worse situations than that.”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls me along, stopping for a moment to lean down and give Jessie the instructions to get the van around front for a run to the airport. She nods, takes a last bite of the meal on her plate and makes her way toward the parking area in front of the dining hall.

With my hand in his, he guides us behind the dining hall, down a dirt trail and inside the back door of the big main house at the top of the hill.

“I’m hungry,” I snap, because it’s true and when I’m hungry my fuse is short. “I need to eat dinner.”

“You’ll get your dinner.” He leads me inside. When I glance at him, I see the veins in his neck standing out. “But you’re not eating in front of everyone dressed like that.”

“What?” I snatch my hand from his as he closes the door behind us. “So, you’re telling me how to dress now?”

Inside, the kitchen is big and open. A long wooden table centers the room and cabinets line the walls in a soft, warm wood. An enormous cast iron stove anchors one wall. As I look through the room, it opens into a living area with a high ceiling and a stone wall. Hanging on the wall are probably twenty old leather saddles and pictures of what must be Garrett and his family on horseback, with cattle, sitting at the same long table, eating and smiling at the camera.

“You’re beautiful. But I’m an old-fashioned guy. Some of you is for my eyes only. And what you are showing off with this outfit?” He shakes his head, reaching up to push his black hat back on his head. “That’s mine and not for everyone’s eyes.”

I start to clap back and tell him off, but the way he says it doesn’t sound misogynistic, more paternal. And, truth is, I’d never have dressed like this anywhere else. It was for him, it just backfired.

I roll my eyes but drop the fight. “You think you overreacted a little bit? With those guys?”

“They can’t be gentleman, neither will I.” He must sense my retreat because his voice lowers, and he reaches out to twirl some of my hair in his fingers. “Okay. Now, I’m going to get you a shirt to put over that. Then we’re going to go back and eat dinner.” His blue eyes sparkle. “I’m sorry, baby. You bring out the animal in me.”

* * *

---