Page 37 of Space Cowgirl: Houston, All Systems Go
I bark out a laugh before I can think better of it. Jules flinches.
Crap.
There’s an uncomfortable moment before Jules once again rallies.
“As you can see, the question isquitelaughable,” Jules says. But there’s an edge to her voice that wasn’t there before.
“Wait a minute,” I start.
But, with a wave of her hand, Jules ignores me. As do the reporters. “I’m sorry you dragged yourselves all the way out here, but you’ve only got a partial truth from your so-called source.”
“And which part is that?” a different woman asks, stepping up on the bottom rung of the fence to lean further in Jules’ direction.
“That the ranch house isgoing through renovations,” Jules says simply.
Her horse, Bess, an old rescue animal, shifts beneath her. Bess is a great horse to learn how to ride on, but no horse wants to be around a bunch of shouting adults, looking into camera flashes. Tucker and I know to hold the reins firmly in our hands, controlling our mounts. I’m thinking with the lazy way Jules is holding hers and the fact that Tucker put her on Bess to begin with, Jules doesn’t have much riding experience.
“Then what are you doing here, Jules?” a man asks, also jumping on the fence.
“Why, learning to ride a horse, obviously.” She winks at my ranch hand. “Isn’t that right, Tucker?”
Flushing a deep red, Tucker stutters a bit before nodding his head. “Yes, ma’am.”
Another camera flash and Bess shakes her head, jostling Jules in the saddle. Jules’ smile never wavers, but her eyes go wide as Bess attempts to settle.
“That’s enough.” Everyone’s eyes are on me again. “You’re on private property,” I say, motioning to the reporters on the fence. “If you don’t vacate the area, I’ll call the police.”
“Holt,” Jules mumbles in my direction. “Just let me hand—”
A loud crack booms as the fence rail splits.
Three things happen at once.
The reporters all collapse on the ground. Bess rears up. And Jules drops the reins.
Eleven
Crackerbox
Jules
I am not a damsel.I have never relied on a man to save me, and I donotwant to start now. But God damn, there isn’t a worse time for Bess to decide to be a skittish bitch.
“Fuuu…” I have mind enough to censor my language mid-scream, in case cameras are rolling, but that’s about all I have a mind to do. I hadn’t bothered asking Tucker what to do if Bess decided to go bronco and rear up, because honestly, she looked a few months away from the glue factory. But when my ass leaves the seat and I’m momentarily airborne before crashing back down, my hoo-ha bruised like a prize fighter’s eye, I seriously regret not asking.
To make matters worse, some idiot lying prone on the grass keeps clicking away on his camera. Bess decides cameras are the spawn of the devil and takes off at a run. Without the reins in my hands I’m completely untethered. And as any astronaut knows, that shit just ain’t safe.
I’m about to kick up and over and try sliding off onto the hard-pressed dirt in a tuck and roll that even the most badass gymnast would be proud of, when I’m lifted off the saddle and dropped onto a pair of hard, hot thighs. Something large and stiff pokes my ass, and it takes me a minute to realize it’s the pommel of the saddle and not an extra happy Holt.
Bess just keeps running down the main road back to the barn.
“Jules! Jules! Over here!”
The reporters are struggling up off the ground, cameras still at the ready. Like a hard punch to the gut, I realize I’ve given them the perfect front page shot.Me, astronaut extraordinaire, saved from a runaway horse by oil baron Holt West.
Fuck. Me.
Holt spurs his horse after Bess.
