BUCKED Box Set: A Bull Rider Western Romance (6 page)

Airport, here I come.

Chapter Five - Laci

I’ll be
the first to admit, I’m not great at taking orders. I’m just not a big fan of
being told what to do. But I understand when directions are there for a reason.
Like when the director needs to tell me how to act out a scene, or my teacher
has to instruct me, or a police officer turns on his blue light and tells me to
pull over. There are times when you just have to do what you’re told. Why some
people can’t get that is beyond me.

The pilot
is just one more example. His voice echoed from the overhead speaker and asked
everyone to fasten our seatbelts for the descent, and the guy next to me
actually said—out loud, may I add—“Why the hell would I do that? If the pilot’s
any good, we shouldn’t need to buckle our seatbelts to land.”

Are you
actually kidding me? What kind of moron blatantly disregards a simple
instruction like “Put your seatbelt on for your own safety?”

Keep it cool, Laci. If he falls out of his
seat and starts to complain, just pull his food tray down so he’ll smack his
head as he tries to get up.

I couldn’t
help but laugh at myself. I wouldn’t actually do such a thing, but it wouldn’t
be because the nitwit didn’t deserve it. The flight attendant finally got him
to comply as we started the descent.

Almost
three hours of flight time in a cramped seat did a number on my legs. I stuffed
my book into my carry-on bag and walked down the tunnel to the terminal. I
scanned the crowd gathered there for Sara or Jackson, but found neither of
them. Wondering if maybe I’d accidentally told her the wrong time for my flight
to land, I turned on my phone to check my texts. As soon as it turned on, a
little red number popped up over the messenger app, and I tapped it open. Right
there, from Aunt Sara, I had a message.

Hey, hun. Need 2 take Potter 2 the emergency
vet, the next door neighbor’s son will pick u up at the airport. His name’s
Noah,
i
think u will like him. Look for a
red t-shirt and a yellow ball cap on a REALLY cute guy a little older than u.
;)

I frowned.
Looking up from my phone and paying attention to the signs everyone was
holding. My name wasn’t on one of them. But there was a guy in a red shirt and
yellow hat. His hair curled out a little from beneath the cap—not long, but not
short, either. I couldn’t help but notice a shave wouldn’t have killed him. His
five o’clock shadow was pushing on eight o’clock, and he was wearing dusty
cowboy boots, ripped jeans, and a shirt that read, “Bull rider…because ‘badass’
isn’t an official job title.”
Great, a
country hick cowboy
wannabe
bull
rider.

Trying not
to be
too
judgmental right off the
bat, I walked up and gave him the warmest smile I could. “Hi, are you Noah?” I
asked. He looked me up and down, which frankly made me feel a little
violated
before he responded.

“Yep,
that’s me. And I’m guessin’
you’re
Laci?
Your aunt sent me to pick you up because she had to make sure her dog wasn’t
going to choke to death.”
Gee, what a
charmer. So sensitive.

“So I’ve
been told,” I replied.

“Umm, are
you aware that you’re going to a ranch?” he said, looking me up and down again.
He didn’t even try to hide it.

“Really?
And here I thought I was going to Disneyland,” I quipped.

“Well,
excuse me, princess. Forgive me for thinking that people generally don’t come
to a ranch in stilettos and a skirt. I’m surprised you don’t have a tiara on.”

“Hmph. I’m
surprised you’re cultured enough to know the proper term for stilettos,” I said
with a sarcastic clap.

He just
stood there with a stupid, crooked half smile on his face like he knew something
I didn’t.

“Are we
going to stand here while I look pretty and you look
dumbfounded
or are we going to get this show on the road?” I
finally asked.

“I kinda
thought I’d hang out here a while, watch the planes take off and land.”

Could he be a bigger asshole?
I turned and started to walk towards the
baggage claim. He jogged to catch up and added, “How are you going to get there
without me?”

“I’ll
catch a cab. It’s not like they’re in short supply around here.”

“Except,
you don’t know where the ranch is.”
Damn,
he had a point.
But I’m smarter than he clearly wants to give me credit for
and I refuse to let him win a battle of wits he isn’t armed
with
having.

“Everyone
in these small towns knows each other, I’m sure the cabbie will know how to get
there.”

“You don’t
know how this works at all, do you?” he asked, just staring at me.

Why was
this guy getting under my skin? I get along with everyone. Well, apparently
everyone but him. First time for everything.

“I don’t
appreciate your tone,” I said as politely as I could muster.

He raised
the pitch of his voice. “How’s this?” It took all I had in me not to punch him
right then and there, but I didn’t respond to his stupid, childish joke. I
spotted my bags, which I’d tied purple ribbons around so I could identify them,
and I snatched two of the bigger ones and dropped them at my feet then grabbed
the rest before they got out of reach. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t
carry them all.

I guess he
finally realized how frustrated I
was
because he picked them up for me and told me to follow him. I did, and we
walked up to a surprisingly nice pickup truck. I half expected it to be at
least thirty years old with paint chipped all to hell and look like it belonged
on the
Andy Griffith Show
. Instead,
it was maybe a year old and polished to
a shine.
Then again, I guess when it comes to a cowboy and his truck, nobody can expect
it to be anything but flawless. Maybe he caught me staring, but he seemed to
get pretty
defensive
.

“What, is
something wrong with my truck?” he demanded, throwing my bags into the back
without any gentleness whatsoever.

“I just
didn’t expect it to be so nice. You’re not the only one who can stereotype, you
know.” He feigned getting hit in the chest with an arrow and mimed pulling it
out.

“You got me!”

“You’re so
funny. By the way, my stuff has breakables in it.”

“Again,
you’re going to a ranch. What are you doing with breakables?”

“Keepsakes,”
I said with a shrug. That was the only explanation he was getting; he didn’t
deserve to know I had a delicate jewelry box from my recently deceased father
in my bag. I walked toward the front of the truck and waited for him to unlock
the door.
Maybe these shoes weren’t the
best choice, after all. And, this skirt is likely to give him a show.

He
unlocked the door and, to my surprise, opened it for me. “Umm. Turn around for
a second,” I told him.

“Why? What
now?”

“Just turn
around!”

“This is
the weirdest request ever, but okay,” he said, turning around.

I hopped
up and sat down, smoothing my skirt so it laid flat and crossed my legs. “Okay,
you can turn back around.” He shut the door with a sideways glance at me and
walked around to get
into
his side of the
truck.

“Are you
going to tell me what that was all about?” I didn’t want to give him the
satisfaction of me admitting he was right about my skirt and shoes, so I
shrugged again. “If you’re worried about being ladylike, rest assured that I
couldn’t care less.”

“Don’t
flatter yourself. I couldn’t care less what
you
think; I did that for me, not you.” I absentmindedly crossed my legs and
smoothed my skirt again. He made a face like he suddenly understood.

“Ah, I
see. You were afraid I’d upskirt you. Well, don’t flatter
yourself
,” he assured me. “You city girls aren’t my type.”

“Are you
going to drive or not?” By this point, it was almost one thirty, I hadn’t
eaten, and I was hot and tired. All I wanted was to get to the ranch, eat, take
a shower, and take a nap.

He bowed
his head. “As you wish, your highness.” Then he cranked the truck and rolled
down the windows, opened the
sunroof
, and
took off down the highway. I think he was expecting me to fuss about the
windows, but I have to admit, it felt amazing to have the wind in my hair.

He didn’t
speak (thank God) until we hit the twenty-minute mark. That’s when he looked
over and said he was going to turn some music on. He pushed the volume knob in
and the speakers
bound
to
life
with some song about a tractor breaking
down and a dog dying, complete with a harmonica and deep Texas drawl singing
the vocals. Don’t get me wrong, I like good country music, but this…this was
nothing like
good
country music.
“Good God, people actually listen to this crap?” I asked.

“You’re
damn right, we do!”

“Please
change it.”

“Driver
picks the music, it’s a cardinal rule.”

“Don’t
mind me, I’m only going to throw up.” He laughed at me, then turned it up and
started singing along. Another twenty minutes later, we finally arrived at my
family’s ranch and he pulled up in front of Aunt Sara’s house. When he turned
off the engine, I expected to feel my brain drip out of my ears. I wasn’t
looking forward to the awkward interaction that was sure to occur when he
started talking again, but Aunt Sara saved me from the horror by sweeping me up
in a massive hug the moment I slid down from my seat.

“Laci
Bug!”

I squeezed
her back and laughed. “It’s not like you didn’t just see me a few days ago.”

“I don’t
care, I missed you every second of it!” She led me to her house, each of us
carrying two bags and Noah carrying the rest. She had my room set up perfectly,
complete with a queen-size bed, a
plush
purple comforter, and a fluffy pillow. On one side of the room was a tall
dresser. Next to that was a vanity with three drawers and a huge, ornate mirror.
The room was completed with a small closet, a night stand with a touch lamp,
and a table with a small TV on it. “I hope it meets your expectations,” Aunt
Sara cooed.

“It’s
perfect,” I told her, throwing my arms around her neck. Noah thumped in and, once
again, dropped my bags without any regard to the items inside, even though I’d
warned him about it before. I seriously couldn’t believe just how much of a
jackass he was. Biting my tongue, I turned back to Sara and asked what was on
the agenda next.

“Well,
Grandma and Jackson are getting groceries to make a big supper tonight, so I
was thinking we’d pass the time by going
for
a ride.”

“What kind
of ride?”

“A
horseback ride, what else?”

My stomach
lurched.
Any time
I’d ever been riding,
it had been with my mom. The thought of doing it without her was horrifying, to
say the very least. I shook my head. “I didn’t bring any riding appropriate
clothes,” I lied.

“I don’t
believe that for a second,” Sara accused. “You’re not such a dummy that you’d
come to a ranch without riding clothes.”

Of course,
Noah felt the need to put his two cents’ worth in. “I don’t know. Judging by
what she wore to come here, I wouldn’t be so sure, Sara. Leave it to a city
girl to think she’s too good to ride a horse.” There was something in his voice
that seemed genuinely wounded by the thought, but I pushed the idea down,
telling myself it was absurd that even someone like him could be so obtuse as
to be offended by my lack of desire to ride a horse.

Sara
swatted him on the arm before continuing. “Come on, honey, you’ll love it.”

“No, Aunt
Sara, I don’t want to.”

Noah
sniffed and clucked his tongue quietly before turning to walk out. As if I
wasn’t already irritated with him to begin with, he just kept doing things to
piss me off. It was bad enough to insult what I’d worn and then drop my bag
with a precious heirloom from my dad, but implying that I was too snobby to
ride a horse when he didn’t even know my story or reasoning was the straw that
broke the camel’s back.

I drew a
deep breath. “I’m telling you, if that jerk comes near me again, I’m not going
to be as nice as I have been so far,” I warned Sara.

“I don’t
know what happened between you two on the drive from the airport, but
ya’ll
need to put it behind you. He’s going to
be around the whole time you’re here to give Jackson bull riding lessons.”

“Great,” I
said, trying to tamp down the sarcasm.

Chapter Six - Noah

I’ll be
the first to admit I’m not the best person in the world at taking orders, and
hearing that city girl boss me around really pissed me off. “Let’s go.” “Don’t
slam my bags.” “Change the music.” I didn’t know people could be so miserable
and snobbish. Not to mention the way she was dressed to come to a ranch. Don’t
get me wrong, her clothing choices looked great on her—if she
was
staying in the city. But she’s not. And the
fact that she refused to go for a ride
—
did
she really think she’d be spending two full months on a ranch without riding a
horse?

I walked
into my house still shaking my head when Dad called my name, “Oh, good, you’re
home! Do ya have your work clothes on?”

“Yeah,
Pop, why?” I hollered back.

“We got
stuff to
get done before supper over at
Sara’s!”

You’ve got to be kidding me. I just got away
from princess, and I have to go back for dinner?

“You know,
I’m not really feeling like going out again. It’s been a long day. Would it be
alright if I just skipped dinner?”

Leave it
to my mom’s hawk ears to hear that and swoop in. “No, it would not be alright,
Noah Alexander Tucker! We are going as a family to help that Laci
feel
welcome! She just lost her parents, and I
won’t have you making her feel worse! Now, get out there and help your daddy!”
Sheesh. My mom may be small, but she is not
one to be crossed.

In a
matter of three hours, I had helped my dad clean out the gutters and repaint
the porch before Mama commanded us to wash up and change into something
“presentable.” I didn’t think there was anything wrong with going to dinner in
my work clothes, but like I said, my mother is not someone you want to cross;
so, I took a shower and put on my favorite pair of unripped jeans and the
American Eagle t-shirt Jamie had given me for my birthday.
That’ll have to be good enough for Princess Laci.

Anytime
we went anywhere for
dinner, Mama always insisted we take something along, lest we
be
“rude for expecting them to do all the
cooking.” In good old Karen Tucker fashion, she baked an elaborate potato
casserole that had no less than ten ingredients.

When we
knocked on Sara’s door, she invited us in with a sweep of her arm. The first
thing I smelled was freshly-baked bread. Honestly, I couldn’t remember the last
time I’d had homemade bread, especially on the circuit. The second thing I
smelled was perfume as Princess Laci entered the dining room behind me. She may
have been a pain in the ass, but she smelled better than homemade bread.

The food
was as good as I expected. The conversation was
equally
as awkward as I’d expected, too. The first part of it was mainly small talk,
things like how much snow New York had gotten the previous winter and what
kinds of dogs were the smartest. When the small talk shifted to not-so-small
talk, things really started to get weird.

My mom’s
the one that kicked it off. “So, Laci, a young lady as gorgeous as you must
have someone special back home?” I think Laci almost choked on her food, it
wasn’t a question she was expecting. After turning all sorts of red, whether
from bashfulness or lack of oxygen, I couldn’t tell, she sputtered out a reply.

“Ahem. No,
Mrs. Tucker, I’m actually single. I’m an aspiring actress; I start work on a
film in August, and I just really want to focus on my career right now.”

“But you
do want to settle down?” God, my
mom
can
be nosey.

“Yes,
ma’am, I do. Eventually.”

“Well, you
know, Noah here’s available. Aren’t you, dear?” she asked, winking at me.
That’s when I choked on
my
food. When
I finally swallowed the chicken that was stuck in my throat, I responded.

“Mama, you
know city girls are too good for cowboys like me,” I sneered. Judging by the
looks on everyone’s faces, I realized a little too late that my snarky reply
might have been a bit harsh and probably out of line. A small part of me felt
like a jerk for saying it, but then again, I’d ridden nearly an hour in the
truck with her. I think my city girl evaluation was spot on. Besides, when
girls dress the way she was to go to a ranch, I can’t rightfully say they’re the
type of girls I want to get involved with.

“Noah
Alexander! I raised you better than that!” my mom gasped.

“It’s
okay, Mrs. Tucker.” Laci was boring a hole straight through me. “In my
experience, bull riders like Noah here are only ever loyal to their horses and
their mamas.” I don’t know if it was something in the tone of her voice or
what, but instead of dirty looks and gasps of disgust, her comment earned a
hearty laugh around the table. As far as I was concerned, what she said was
much more offensive, but what do I know? Seems Princess Laci has delivery on
her side as an actress, if nothing else.

Now, my
dad being a pretty good bull rider in his day was probably on my side in this
one because he seemed to be itching to change the subject. The subject he
picked, however, was far worse. Far, far worse. “So, Laci, I’m sorry to hear
about your parents.”
Are you kidding me?
The last thing you bring up when you want to have a pleasant night is someone’s
recently deceased parents. Bravo, Hank Tucker. Here come the waterworks.

“Umm,
thank you,” she murmured.

The Queen
of Awkward (a.k.a. Karen Tucker) joined in and egged the conversation on.

“Are you
holding up alright, dear?”

It was
clear Laci didn’t want to talk about it, and something inside me suddenly wanted
to shield her from the oncoming assault. I wanted nothing more than for the
subject to be changed, but just as I started to speak up, I was shushed and
scolded for “not allowing Laci the right to mourn.” I never said she couldn’t
mourn, but this was hardly a dinner table conversation. Laci’s grandmother
tried to help lighten things up a little bit, at least.

“I’ve
always been a firm believer that everything happens for a reason, you know?
Good times are wonderful, yes, but we wouldn’t be able to appreciate them for
how good they are if we didn’t have bad times to compare them to. Obviously,
this is a bad time. Nobody wants to lose loved ones, and I’m going to miss my
little girl more than words can say; the thing is, we can’t just let ourselves
be sad all the time. If there’s one person that I know would want us to have a
New Orleans style funeral for her, it would be Lisa.”

I had no
idea what that was and was genuinely interested. “What’s that?” I couldn’t help
but ask, though, for Laci’s sake, I probably shouldn’t have.

“What, a
New Orleans style funeral? Ain’t you ever hear of it? They play a slow march on
the way to the burial site and, after the burial’s done, they play upbeat jazz
to celebrate their life rather than mourn their death. I think it’s a downright
genius concept. More people ought to do it. I tell you what, if I could’ve come
up north for the funeral, I’d have made sure we did something like it.”

Thinking
of death in terms like that would’ve helped make things easier for me, but
apparently, it was the opposite for Laci. She slid her chair out with a
screech, excused herself politely, and thumped up the stairs. I heard a door
latch, and I didn’t see hide nor tail of her again that night. I just couldn’t
comprehend that city girl. It seemed like she was running away from the
positive light her grandma shined on the situation. Did she just want to be
sad? Don’t get me wrong, it can’t be easy to suddenly be an orphan (not that
I’d know), but you can’t run away from it, either.

When I
expressed that to my mom on the way home that night, she used my full name
again.

“Noah
Alexander Tucker! How dare you say a thing like that! Everyone’s allowed to
grieve in their own way, and her parents haven’t even been gone a week yet. She
can take all the time she needs to feel better, and if that involves wallowing
in her sadness for a while, then she should be allowed to do that without
pig-nosed men getting on her case about it. I’m surprised at you.”

“You’re
taking it the wrong way, Mama. I never said that she can’t feel sad or that she
had to get over it right away. What I’m saying is, it just seems like she’s
purposely trying to block out the positivity that her grandma’s trying to
inject into the situation. I get it, everyone’s process to getting over something
like that is different, and that’s fine, but I just think she should want to
get better.”

“Do you
really think she doesn’t
want
to get
better, son? Think of it this way: when you’ve had a bad day, say you got
bucked before your eight seconds at Nationals, do you want someone around
saying, ‘It’s okay, it happened for a reason,’ or do you want someone who says,
‘That sucks, tell me about what happened?’ Probably the second one, I’d bet.”

I nodded,
and she kept talking.

“So, this
whole situation is like one big awful day for her. She got bucked back to back
and her grandma’s telling her, ‘It’s okay, it happened for a reason,’ rather
than what she wants to hear. She just needs to mourn. She needs someone to just
let her feel how she feels, Noah.”

“Well, I
wouldn’t want to get involved, anyway. I wasn’t kidding when I said that city
girls act like they’re better than cowboys. I’ve encountered a bunch of girls
who come across just like her in the beginning, and every single one of them
has
ended up being too prissy to get down and
dirty from time to time. Then they stick their noses up in the air when it
comes to doing anything that matters outside of their makeup. I’m sorry she
lost her parents, but that doesn’t mean she has to look down her nose at me.”

Mama shook
her head. “You have a lot to learn about women, sweetheart.”

Maybe I
did, but I had no intentions of starting with Princess Laci.