Page 51 of Bucked Hard

He’s still screaming.

The miracle dawns on me. A dead man doesn’t scream.

My skin prickles and my eyes burn and itch from the sprays of hay. But I am filled with the release of panic and heart pounding joy to know he’s still alive.

Chad gets to Enrique just as I do, pulls his white t-shirt over his head, catching his cowboy hat in mid-air and putting it right back on his head. Every muscle and vein in his neck and torso pumps, flushed with the power of a superhero.

“Put this on his head. I’m going to cut his shirt.”

Chad throws his white t-shirt my way applying it to the gash on Enrique’s head, watching the red blotches seep and spread over the white fabric.

“You’re okay…” I say gently next to Enrique.

His brown eyes blink, darting back and forth, wondering what is real and what might be imagination.

Chad pulls his knife from his front pocket, flips it open with one flick of his thumb. The silver metal glinting in the sunshine. Then there’s the sound of fabric tearing, like a pirate cutting a sail, and Chad frees Enrique from the loose fabric of the blue and red plaid shirt entwined in the metal jaws of the green machine. He was twisted in there so close, if Chad had let go of him for one moment, the machine would have taken his arm and then his life.

“Oh, God, Jesus, thank you! Thank you!” Enrique falls back from the intake, mumbling and crying. Chad helps him down onto the ground where the wheels of the giant machine have sunk into the soft earth and I follow behind kneeling down and saying a little prayer of thanks.

Time is moving slow. I stare at Chad and his blue eyes pierce the space between us, our breath unsteady and my mind filled with a loud buzzing.

“You okay?” Chad’s hand reaches out and touches the side of my head, his fingers rubbing against my cheek, slick with sweat.

I breathe hard, but I nod. “Yeah.” The words come only with each breath. “You?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, his perfect white teeth shining behind his upturned lips. His beige cowboy hat still sits snug on top of his dark hair.

Jeans, no shirt, cowboy hat, mud on his chest, sweat shining – we just saved someone’s life together…stick a fork in me ‘cause I’m done.

“God…Oh thank you…thank you!” Enrique calls out to the sky. I’m not sure if he’s talking to us or not.

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” Chad’s deep voice reassures his friend.

The white t-shirt fills with an ever growing red circle. Chad reaches down and lifts Enrique to his feet, a huge wave of guilt washing over me as I can’t keep my eyes from admiring every pulse of his six-pack abs and hard, broad pectoral muscles. The tendons in his shoulders strain as he lifts Enrique from what could so easily have been his end. Adrenaline pulses in my veins, and the thrill of the moment has my mind filled with thoughts of my hands all over that hard body.

“Come on, let’s take him back to the house.”

I keep my eyes on his sculpted body as we load Enrique back into the truck and turn it in a wide arc as we head back to the farmhouse and Jessie.

We don’t say a word on the drive back. I think Chad is still reeling from what’s just happened, and I am too, but I’m also horny as hell. I keep stealing glances at him as we crunch over the hard dirt.

Jessie’s cool as a cucumber when she sees Enrique limping out of the truck cab, listening as Chad and I try to recount the event.

“Oh, well now,” she says when we’re done, “you do just about anything to get yourself out of a bit of hard work, now don’t you?” She smiles and escorts Enrique inside the house.

Chad and I are left standing outside the back door in a stupor.

“He’s gonna be alright. You two clean yourselves up and go on back out there. Everybody still needs to eat and that lunch ain’t about to fetch itself!”

Jessie takes everything in stride. A tornado could touch down and she would just be telling everybody to go on and pick up the mess before supper time.

Chad and I look at each other as she hums and walks Enrique indoors, cool as a summer breeze. My mouth is still hanging open.

ChapterSeventeen

Rachel

Ithink we are both still in shock as we drive back to the field. His shirtless torso fills my eyes with a wonderful view. Chad’s forearms grip the steering wheel, veins popping out and his skin shiny with sweat.

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