Page 5 of Buck Me

“I know,” she snaps, voice sharper now. “Iknowthat.” Her chest rises and falls as she breathes through it, fingers tightening around the seed pods. “But where would I go? He’s the only family I have. Some family is better than no family, don’t you think?”

There’s a beat of silence, and I swallow a lump in my throat. It’s a shared truth that’s bitter and binding at the same time.

Becca turns and walks towards me. I take in the sway of her hips with each step she takes. When she leans against the fence beside me, the ghost of a smile plays on her lips. “How old are you?”

“What?”

“How old are you?” Her eyes flick over me, serious, searching, and unafraid. Her lashes flutter. Her voice is soft but steady, and I swear this woman is more composed in a sequined dress than most people are in full body armor.

The red backless dress. The curves. Her quiet confidence. She’s too young to be in such control of her power. And yet, here she is.

“Too old to be sitting this close to you,” I murmur. “I’m thirty-one.”

Her eyes crinkle, but I don’t feel any judgment behind it. “So you’re an adult. And why do you put up with your family’s bullshit?”

I huff out a laugh, not because it’s funny, but because it’s fair. “I suppose… they’re all I’ve got. I just met most of them not too long ago. No matter how messy it gets, they’re still mine.”

She doesn’t respond at first. Just drops the seed pods into the soil beneath her feet and then points toward the shallow ceramic saucer nestled in the dirt.

“We need to add pebbles to that.”

I blink. “What?”

“That’s a perfect bee bath for way out here, but if we don’t add pebbles, they'll drown,” she says, crouching beside it. “You know, give them a place to rest.”

“There shouldn’t be so much overgrowth here anyway,” I mutter, more to myself than her. ‘I’ve been pushing these guys to plant a cover crop, get the nitrogen sorted out. God forbid they compost something.”

Becca looks up, a spark of challenge in her eyes as she lets out a giggle. “Right? Somehow, the save the bees message hasn’t reached middle-of-nowhere Texas, not even with all these farms.”

“Yeah, bros don’t recycle. Didn’t you get the memo?”

“Trying to save the planet? Yuck.” She adds a scoop of pebbles to the saucer and stands back with a nod.

The moonlight outlines her silhouette, and I can’t help but get lost in her. It’s like the rest of the world fades into static. The chaos, the damage, the noise of that damn gala… we left it behind the second we stepped into this garden. And somehow, I already know I’m not walking out the same.

“Where were you before this?” She tilts her head slightly, curiosity warming her features.

“I hate to be unpopular, but I’m from California.”

She laughs. “Ah, it isn’t that bad. I’ve been at UC Berkeley for years. What were you doing out there before you decided to come here and play cowboy?”

Here you go, the moment you should run, Becca.

“I was getting married and trying to prove myself, I guess. I was living near my mom and sister. I was trying to piece together what my life could have looked like if things didn’t end up the way they did with all these brothers. I could've been a proper rancher, you know.”

“You might still get there.” Becca bites her bottom lip, seemingly unfazed by the mention of my divorce. “I can see you roping and riding. Maybe on the back of a bucking stallion.”

She leans into me, and the press of her skin against mine makes me bubble with heat. “So why come now?”

“She’s passed now.” I try to keep my voice even, but the words still land like a rock in my throat.

The ache flickers in my chest like it always does. It’s dull but permanent like a phantom pain. I couldn’t save my mom fromcancer. Couldn’t save my marriage, either. No matter how hard I worked. No matter how many paychecks I brought home. Turns out money doesn't heal the kind of hurt that eats from the inside.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Becca leans away from me slightly. Then something unreadable crosses her face. “Wait, is it your mom, your sister, or your wife who passed?”

The hesitation in her voice pulls a laugh from me, unexpected and sharp around the edges. “My mom,” I say. “But… my marriage, too, I guess.”

She lets out a breathy giggle, and damn if it doesn’t hit me right in the ribs. It’s light and real and far from the polished, performance-laughs I’ve heard from her all night.

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