Page 78 of Bucked Hard

“Naw. I’ve seen you teach. I’m good.” Reggie’s grinning, maintaining some of his dignity, and that’s fine, but I know he’s got the hint. I’m not joking either. One more comment like that and he can get his ass on down the road.

“Good.”

The dust ball is solidifying now as it draws near, revealing a blue Ford among the cloud. Not a new one but not old either, hauling a flatbed trailer behind.

Kind of a flatbed a city guy would bring for a hundred bales of hay. Shit. Not gonna be big enough.

I’ll say a brief hello, make sure he knows he’s welcome, but then I’ll get away and let Reggie do the loading. I’ve got ten thousand other things calling for my attention. That’s farm life, but it’s also my life, and it’s damn good one. Once the essential chores are over, then my time’s my own. I’ve got a new rescue gelding I’ve been working with, and that’s where my mind is at. My passion is saving the hard cases. The unwanted or hopeless. The ones with that certain look in their eye. Something that catches me by the heart and tells me something about their soul. It’s always been about the eyes for me.

I’m itching to get the new chestnut under saddle today, pretty certain he’s ready for it. I’ve been working this farm and had my leg over a horse as far back as my memory goes. Never felt that sort of joy doing anything else, to tell you the truth.

Not that I haven’t had my fill of the rest of the world. I took off for a few years after high school, went to college, got some experience of somewhere other than Cooper’s Mill. Not so much because I had a burning desire, it was more that it made my parents fucking proud. Neither of them graduated high school, so they wanted that for me and Paul. They managed to build a hell of a business with this place, though. Took a struggling family farm and turned it into six hundred acres of hay, wheat, and quarter horses. Some livestock too. But it’s the horses that have always been my love.

The pickup slows as it gets nearer to the farm buildings, so I give a wave to let McGowan know where we are. A hand extends out the window of the cab, and he waves back in acknowledgment, then picks up a bit of speed again.

My head is starting to pound now, but that’s not unusual by about this time. I need water and food, lots of it. I eat about a trough worth of food a day and thank goodness I’ve got the budget for it, but I’ve got to get Reggie started on this first. I take a few deep breaths to calm my stomach. The majority of my crew is out harvesting the second cutting round bales of hay today, the gentle rumble of the machinery almost unnoticed as background static. But with them out of action, that leaves only me to get this done.

“Hey.” Reggie stops hauling the bales, stretches up for a breather, and puts his fists on his hips. “You gonna come to Barlett’s tonight? Rest of us are all going to town. Light it up. Jimmy said there’s a bachelorette party coming in. Should be easy pickins, even for an ugly bastard like you.” He chuckles, but my stomach immediately tightens.

“No,” I answer, flat and solid. “Why do you even ask me that shit, still? You know I’m not interested.”

“I know, just thought I’d offer is all.” Reggie shakes his head with that backward-ass grin. “Knew you’d turn it down.” He’s poking the bear, and I’m not sure if it’s just stupidity or he’s testing me. Neither of which will end well for him if he keeps it up.

Jimmy Bartlett owns the only nightlife spot in town. It’s a decent enough place, food is greasy as an oil change, but it’s cheap and the beer selection is starting to move into the twenty-first century. But picking up women in a bar? Nope, nope. Not my thing.

I like my life here. Quiet, orderly. It doesn’t lack its own kind of excitement. Yeah, sure, my bed is empty, and some nights I feel that pull. But I guess I’m just not blessed in that department. Of the two of us, Paul was always the one who chased after the next bit of tail. Not me. I can’t just have meaningless hookups to get my rocks off. It doesn’t work for me, and I’ve never met a woman who struck me in the heart.

So that’s the way it is, and I’ve made my peace with it.

In college, I dated. Certainly wasn’t a monk. Figured out what body parts went where, but that’s about it. After that, I’ve been solo pretty much. And it’s okay. I’ll live.

“I’ve been here going on six months,” Reggie continues, as much to himself as to me. “You never go out. I’ve never seen you even raise an eyebrow at a piece of—” He stops himself as I drop my arms and cross them over my chest, glaring at him. “A nice femaleperson.Girl. Woman. Whatever, man. What’s the deal?”

“No fucking deal. No fucking business of yours either. You’re paid to work, not ask me about this shit. Now get them loaded. I told McGowan what he owed, so take his money, be polite, show him how to stack and get him gone. I’m going to drive back and check on the crew. Then I’m taking that new gelding into the round pen, see what he’s got.”

I stare him down, in case he’s thinking about talking shit back, but he finally takes the hint and gets back to shifting bales with his mouth shut. When he turns away, I draw another deep breath, loving the scent of the fresh-cut hay spinning around. I’m a bit itchy from the bits sticking to me, but a good splash in the creek will sort that out.

I’m friendly with the guys I hire, but I keep my distance. Fuck, if I think about it, I wouldn’t call any of them a friend. Even the ones who have been with the family for years. I’m not antisocial, but I just don’t connect with a lot of what interests them, especially since mostly what interests them are hookups and getting drunk.

As for me, being alone isn’t so bad. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

It’s not that I don’t like women. I sometimes imagine having a good woman sharing my bed with me. I love how they smell. The softness of their curves. The little things they do, like how they put their hair up into one of those crazy messy knots on the top of their head like it’s nothing. Or they put a finger between their teeth and bite down when they’re thinking. I don’t think of any woman in particular, but I guess deep down there’s a part of me still hanging on to a shred of hope that someday my one will find me. And I’ll claim her.

Stretching my back brings me out of my thoughts. The letter from Paul is back at the house, and I’ll deal with it when I’m good and ready. Right now, there’s work to do. The navy-blue Ford is pulling right up now, the driver with his arm out the window, raising his hand in a friendly gesture. I’ll give him a friendly greeting, then I’ll get gone.

I reach up to the nail where my black Stetson is hanging and retrieve it, putting it in its usual place on my head. Then I take a moment longer than most folks would find necessary to adjust it back and forth, finding just the right spot, exactly where it should be. For me, there’s only one perfect place where my hat will sit, and I can’t relax until it’s in place.

The next breeze makes me stop. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle and stand on end.

I stare at the truck as it turns in a wide circle and backs in with the trailer settling by the pile of hay, Reggie flagging him in from behind.

I stand, arms crossed, and I don’t fucking get it, but my heart clicks in my chest. There’s something besides the hay scent on that breeze, and with the next summer gust, I blink and focus, my eyes zeroing in on the passenger seat of the truck.

Another arm hangs out that window, as well as a tendril of the shiniest black hair I’ve ever seen. It’s spinning in the wind around a bare shoulder. A feminine shoulder. Skin the color of sweet tea, and I see a rainbow-colored beaded bracelet on a tiny wrist.

As the truck backs slowly into place, I grunt out a few expletives. Her hair whips around, and she leans out the window to look back toward Reggie. From my vantage point, I can see green eyes and a face that even my uncultured ass knows deserves to be painted in oil, framed, and hanging in the Louvre.

My blood turns hot, rushing south and filling the length of my dick in a heartbeat.

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