Page 8 of Buck Me

Hey there, Danner Kingridge. I’ll hand it to you, you didn’t heed a single word of my warning. It didn’t take you long to make headlines, did it?

You roll into town with all your West Coast charm and conservation credentials, and suddenly you’re whispering sweet nothings to Becca Bellcourt. That’s right, folks, the mayor’s daughter. And might I add, the only woman in town who might be more complicated than the Kingridge family tree.

Word is, you two slipped out of the Farm-to-Table Gala together, and let’s just say it wasn’t to admire the herb garden. Bold move, cowboy. Especially considering her daddy’s been trying to carve up your ranch like it’s a Thanksgiving turkey.

She’s all wide-eyed innocence. Starry-eyed over the latest member of our small town royal family. Plus, daddy hates you; that checks out. You’re just her type. But why you would go for such a complicated situationship, I couldn’t figure out.

Who are you, Danner? Inquiring minds need to know, and I’m not one to disappoint. So I did some digging.

It looks like you’ve got an ex-wife in California. Turns out she had daddy issues, too. But that zip code must have come with a big price tag. So what happened? Is that what brought you all the way to Texas? Maybe this is what healing looks like… Or maybe it’s just a slow-motion trainwreck. You should know by now that we love those around here.

Honey, you’re hardly a Kingridge. I thought you might want to take this slowly. I liked you, Danner, I really did. But you insist on ignoring me, so consider yourself fair game.Whatever it is that you’re taking from Ms. Bellcourt, I’ll see it. I’ll listen for it and I’ll make sure everyone knows.

Stay tuned, folks, there ain’t no way I’m sleeping on the conclusion of this saga. Until next time, this has been your bitch with boots on the ground, signing off. But never signing out.

CHAPTER 6

BECCA

Present Day

I don’t know how the idea to apply for the grant manifested at exactly the right moment, but I’m sure glad it did. It’s given me the perfect excuse to spend an incredible amount of time with Danner in the last two weeks. We’ve been living for this application and working from sunup to sundown nearly every day.

We started the application process immediately, and somehow, his conviction has made him even more attractive. I had no idea that was even possible. But today Danner’s in an old T-shirt that clings to his chest and arms. It’s snug in all the places that should come with a warning label.

He truly doesn’t care what anyone thinks, and it’s so refreshing. HisFuck the Patriarchyhat is turned backward with a little sweat at the brim. At this point, it’s like he's daring the town to talk about him. Daring his brothers to disown him. It's ridiculous. And ridiculously hot.

We settle on the back steps of the old greenhouse while the sun sinks lower, turning the sky the color of ripe peaches. The glass panels are cracked and mossy in places, but there's beauty in the ruin.

This location feels like the perfect home base for the grant project. It’s ready to come alive again. Danner pulls out his phone and drops onto the bench beside me. The wood creaks under his weight, but the sound is comforting and steady, like him.

He scrolls for a second, then clears his throat and starts reading the grant application essay to me for what has to be the hundredth time. I don't mind. I love listening to him. I like the way his voice sharpens when he's passionate. I love how he gestures like he's sketching the future into thin air.

When he finishes reading, he turns to me, expression hopeful. "What do you think?"

"It sounds perfect," I say, and I mean it. "I can already see it. Arches between the garden beds. Twinkle lights strung between posts. An outdoor classroom where kids can learn without walls. It has to be a place where plants can grow wild the way they should, not constrained."

“I love your vision. "How'd you get so smart?" he asks, voice low and a little hoarse.

"Well... I had to raise my father. That has to count for something." I keep my tone light, but his use of the word love makes my face flush like a giddy teenager, and I turn away. When his phone vibrates, I’m grateful for the distraction. But Danner glances at his phone, and his face goes pale. My stomach sinks.

“What happened?”

"It looks like they moved up the site inspection to next week." He runs his hand through his hair. "We need months of growth documentation, and we have weeks at best. Plus, someone filed a complaint about our water usage permits." He looks at me grimly. "Your father's not playing around."

I raise an eyebrow. “That’s fine because neither are we.”

Danner doesn't say anything at first. Instead, he reaches over and puts his hand on my thigh. It’s large and calloused, but his touch is warm and confident. It’s everything I didn't know I was waiting for. Heat crawls through my entire body, blooming outward from the spot where he touches me.

When he starts to pull his hand away, I trap it there with mine before I can think better of it. I press it just enough to make my breath catch. His eyes darken in response, and I see the exact moment he realizes what I'm doing. The muscle in his jaw ticks. His thumb brushes once across my skin, and the touch sends liquid fire straight to my core.

"Becca," he says, my name rough with warning.

But I don't want warnings. I want his hands everywhere. I want my round curves pressed into his hard edges. He holds my gaze for a beat longer, then finally slips his fingers free. His touch brushes lightly over my skin as he goes, and the loss of contact leaves me aching.

Just like that, we’re back to work. Danner and I carry on like this. We push and pull. We draw lines and cross them. It’s pure bliss.

“I don’t think I’m doing it justice,” he says suddenly, swiping through his notes. “I need them toseeit. I want to show them how incredible this could be. The smell of the soil. The buzzing of bees. The way recycled sculptures lead into edible beds…” He turns to me, eyes bright. “You have to sketch it.”

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