Stick in the Mud Meets Spontaneity (Meet Your Match, book 3) (4 page)

“I’ll gladly take you up on that offer another time when you don’t have so much going on.”

Up ahead, Colton said something in Kajsa’s ear and pointed, making her face glow with a happiness brighter than any of the trips to the lake or sidewalk chalk had ever done. Sam felt a moment’s prick of jealousy before she replaced it with gratitude for Colton and his family. They’d welcomed Kajsa with open arms and hearts. Maybe they’d do the same for her.

“I think that’s enough lollygagging for one day, boys,” said Mr. McCoy. “It’s time to get some work done around here. Dustin, why don’t you get Marley out of the barn so we can start working with him, and Spence, you help Kajsa ready a new stall for the mustang.”

“Can I watch a little longer?” begged Kajsa. “Please, Uncle Mike?”

His lips screwed to the side as he considered her plea. “I’ll give you five more minutes. Any longer than that and we won’t have time to do any riding today.”

“Thank you!” She gave him a quick hug before climbing the fence to watch the horse.

Mr. McCoy stopped next to Sam on his way back to the barn, turning those frown lines on her. “And who might you be, young lady?”

“This is Sam,” answered Mrs. McCoy.

“Ah,” he said, as though needing no further explanation. He tipped his hat. “Welcome.” Then he strode toward the barn without saying anything else. Evidently he was a man of few words.

“You really are welcome anytime,” added Mrs. McCoy. “I have some stuff to do inside, but let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

“I will.” Sam moved next to Kajsa, who was now standing on one of the rails in the fence, draping her little arms over the top as she stared at the mustang that was finally settling down. Sam leaned her shoulder against the fence and cocked her head at Colton.

“One hundred days, huh?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“Ever trained a wild horse before?”

“Nope.”

“How do you plan to do it?”

He flicked a glance her way before returning his attention to the horse. “Not sure yet. Guess I’ll take it one day at a time and see what happens.”

Sam laughed. “According to Kajsa you can do anything, so I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“That so, Kaj?” A hint of a smile appeared on Colton’s mouth.

“You trained Maverick, didn’t you?”

“Maverick was a baby. That’s different than being raised in the wild.”

Sam twisted around and rested her back against the fence, folding her arms as she looked over the property. The ranch-style house was older, but appeared in good condition. The barn, on the other hand, had seen better days. The wood had aged to the point that it had buckled away from the posts in some places, leaving large gaps and holes. But against the backdrop of the mountains and shrubbery, it had an antique charm that a new building could never compete with. Sam decided she liked the barn just the way it was. She liked the ranch. And so far, she liked the family—especially one cowboy in particular.

“Watch out!” Kajsa jumped from the fence, and Sam glanced behind her to see the horse barreling toward her. Colton snagged her around the waist and jerked her away before the horse crashed into the fence where she’d just stood. A sharp pain pierced the heel of her right foot, causing her to latch on to Colton’s arm to keep her balance.

“Oh, wow, that hurt.” She tried not to grimace.

“You okay?” said Colton.

She tentatively put weight on her foot again, but quickly lifted it when she felt another stab of pain. “I think my heel slipped off my sandal and landed on something sharp. I’m pretty sure it’s still in there.” She let her sandal drop to the ground and lifted her foot to find a gnarly goat-head sticker jabbed in her heel. She quickly pulled it out and placed her thumb over the large drop of blood oozing from the hole.

“Kajsa, be a sweetheart and ask my mom for a Band Aid, will ya?” said Colton.

“I have one in the glove compartment in my car,” said Sam.

Kajsa nodded and darted toward the car, leaving Sam still latched on to Colton’s arm, feeling silly. “You must think I’m one of those high-maintenance girls who wears high heels to rodeos just so I can look pretty.”

“The word ‘prissy’ never entered my mind,” he said with a half smile.

Sam lifted her thumb from her heel. It still oozed a little blood, but she didn’t care. She could clean her sandals later. She dropped her foot and wriggled her toes back into her sandal. “I think I’m good now.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.” Time to go before she stepped on something else and embarrassed herself further.

Sam released his arm and hobbled across the dirt drive, her heel still throbbing like she’d been stung by a wasp. Kajsa was in the car, apparently still searching for the elusive first-aid kit. Sweet girl. Instead of oohing and ahhing over the new mustang, she was wasting her precious five minutes helping Sam.

“Will you be driving Kajsa every day?” asked Colton as he walked beside her.

Sam opened her door and said, “I’m okay, Kajsa,” before turning back to Colton. “No. I’m just filling in while Cassie’s gone. You’ll see Sunshine the second come and go for the next two weeks and that’s it. So enjoy my bright and happy car while you can.”

“I like the touch of neon.” He nodded toward her steering wheel.

“Me too,” agreed Sam. “It’s incredibly soft. You should get one for your truck.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. Is that a tennis ball over your gear shift?”

Sam nodded. “A souvenir from one of my roommates. We gave each other going away gifts at the end of the year. I got the steering wheel cover from the dancer, that ball from the tennis player, the charm from the jewelry designer, and a cute headband at home from the knitter, who also happens to be studying zoology—go figure. I’m just grateful she didn’t give me a dead bug from her bug collection.”

Colton leaned against her car and casually folded his arms. “What gift did you give?”

“A bottle of dish soap.”

One of his dark eyebrows lifted in question. “Do you like washing dishes or something?”

“Hate it,” said Sam. “One night I dragged all of them to the store, bought several bottles of dish soap, and sneakily dumped them into a fountain on the corner of an intersection. Within twenty minutes bubbles were everywhere, even crossing the street. From that point on I got nicknamed the bubble girl. Hence the dish soap. Plus we had a budget of only five dollars, so I didn’t have too many options.”

Colton chuckled and met her gaze with something resembling respect and interest. “So all the stories about you are true, huh?”

“What stories?” said Sam, trying to think of what tales the Mackies might have told.

Colton opened his mouth to say something when Kajsa’s voice interrupted. “Sam, what does ‘fling’ mean?”

“Huh?”

“It’s another way of saying throw,” Colton answered. “Like I’m going to fling a rock at the fence or something like that.”

A pause, and then, “How do you throw summer?”

Colton looked as confused as Sam felt. “What do you mean?”

Kajsa pointed to a notebook in her lap—
Sam’s
notebook. The one containing her freshly written bucket list.

Oh no.

“This says, ‘Have a summer fling.’”

At least she left out the “with a cowboy” part.

Sam leaned in to take the list away but whacked her shin against the frame of the car instead. She grabbed hold of her hurt leg, and in so doing, slammed her forehead against the top of the open car door before flopping down on the seat.

Unbelievable.

“Are you okay?” Kajsa asked.

“Fine.” Now Sam’s forehead, shin, and heel throbbed. She had the presence of mind to grab her notebook and flip it over on her lap.

“Easy there,” Colton said, sounding like he was trying not to laugh. “This isn’t how we like our guests to leave—covered in bumps, bruises, and puncture wounds.”

In Sam’s mind, the operative word had been leave—something she should have done fifteen minutes earlier, before the goat head, bruised shin, headache, and summer fling.

“Are you really going to ride a bull?” Kajsa asked, apparently not understanding the reason Sam took the notebook away.

“No,” said Sam.
Stupid bucket list.
She no longer wanted to ride a horse, have a fling, or learn how to make lemon meringue either. All she wanted to do was shut the car door and drive away.

“What’s a bucket list?” Kajsa was relentless.

“How about we talk about it later? I think your Uncle Mike is probably wondering what’s taking you so long.”

“Oh, right.” That was all the reminder that Kajsa needed. She was out the door and gone in seconds, leaving the passenger door wide open.

Sam gingerly touched her tender forehead as she stared at the door, willing it to close on its own.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get that for you.” Colton didn’t give her a chance to argue. He quickly jogged around to the other side. Only instead of “getting” the door, he folded his tall body into Sam’s little car without even the brim of his hat touching the frame.

How did he do that?

Her notebook was off her lap and in his hands before she had a chance to react.

Sam lunged for the notebook, but Colton held it out of her reach. “A summer bucket list, huh?” he read, looking it over.

“Give that back.”

“Hold your horses.”

“I will not hold my horses.” She continued to fight for her notebook. Who was this guy, anyway? She made a mental note to never let him anywhere near her journal.

“I’ve never made a bucket list before. This is interesting.”

“
Now,
Colton.”

He didn’t obey. Instead he held it up, squinting against the morning sun as he continued to read. “Ride a horse, huh? I can give you a few lessons starting tomorrow if you want.” He glanced at her, brow raised in question.

“What?” Sam stopped fighting and gaped at him instead. There was a gleam in his eyes that she couldn’t figure out. A hint of tease with a dollop of cockiness, topped with sprinkles of sincerity.

“It says here you want to ride a horse before the summer’s out, and I can make that happen. So? Do you want a few lessons or not? Tomorrow morning works for me.”

Sam had no words. “Um… sure?”

“Great.” He returned his gaze to the list. “You should move bull riding to the bottom.”

“Why?”

“My father always says the only reason to ride a bull is to meet a nurse. Or a coffin. And from what I’ve seen, you don’t need help finding excuses to meet nurses. And a coffin—well, you’re still young.”

Sam frowned. “I’m not typically so accident-prone.”

But he’d already moved on and was squinting at the list again. “Have a summer fling.” He paused. “It’s a good thing you crossed off ‘with a cowboy.’”

“Why?”

He raised an eyebrow as though he couldn’t believe he had to explain. “Because cowboys don’t have flings. It’s all or nothing for us. For me, a fling would be like Kajsa first thought—throwing my summer away. What’s the point of a fling, anyway?”

“I don’t know. Something to put on a bucket list, I guess.”
Something to put on a bucket list?
Sam groaned inwardly at herself. What was wrong with her? The purpose of a fling was to have a romantic adventure free from complications, entanglements, hurt feelings, and define-the-relationship talks. Simply put, it was for
fun
.

Why couldn’t she have said that instead? Apparently a man who adopted wild horses, didn’t do flings, and looked way too good in a cowboy hat had turned Sam’s mind into a black hole.

At least “Something to put on a bucket list” was more than one-word answer. She gave herself credit for that.

“
Run
a triathlon?” Colton had returned to her list. “Isn’t biking and swimming involved as well? I mean, you can’t exactly run in a pool or on a bike.”

“Give me that.” Sam reached for her list, only to be denied. Again.

“Skydiving?” He whistled. “Do you have a death wish or something?”

Sam dropped her head against the back of the headrest and folded her arms. “I like to think of it as an adventurous spirit.”

“You’re really prepared to jump out of a plane in the spirit of adventure?”

“Yes.”

“What if your chute doesn’t open?”

“I’ll die a quick death and leave the rest of my bucket list to you in my will.”

“Then it will probably remain unfinished, since apparently I don’t have an adventurous spirit.”

“You wouldn’t jump out of a plane on my behalf?”

“I wouldn’t jump out of a plane on anyone’s behalf—not that I’d need to since you would have already done it.”

Sam shifted positions, wishing she’d never written the stupid list. All she wanted to do was drive home and soak her body in a warm bath.

“You really want to learn to waltz?” he asked.

“What’s wrong with that? As far as I know, nobody has ever died from waltzing.”

“Nope, just the boredom of it.”

“Can you please hurry and finish reading so I can leave?” she grumbled.

“Donate blood. I approve of that one.”

“How kind.”

“Create an ice sculpture?” He shook his head in a poor-naïve-you sort of way. “You know they use chainsaws to do that, right?”