Buckin’ Around (Heartland Cowboys #2)

Chapter 1

Spencer

The clip-clop of shod hooves over concrete echoes through the stable complex, a frequent sound that doesn’t usually register. This morning, however, that particular gait, from that particular horse, has me sigh and close the door of the stall I’m inspecting.

I turn back to watch as Mrs. Princeton, a long-standing member of the stables, walks beside her gelding, her smile growing as she sees me.

Oh, goodie.

Far be it for me to complain about the silver spoon I was born with, but living in cougarville—albeit a gold-encrusted one—and being one of the only younger eligible bachelors in this part of the ’burbs, sends my skin crawling.

Mrs. Princeton comes to a halt just inches from me, her Chanel No.5 fencing me to the stall door, veneers and wrinkles looming closer. She pops a hip awkwardly, slapping her riding crop against her tall black riding boot.

“Spencer, darling, how are you this morning?”

“Morning, Mrs. Princeton. How was your ride?”

“Oh.” She leans in, her bony hand catching my jaw. “I’ll tell you after.”

I clear my throat and sidestep, taking her gelding’s reins. She gives me a look I’m pretty sure she thinks is akin to a proposition. I shudder, barely concealing it, something like a python shedding its unwanted skin.

“Let me get this old fella washed down and put away for you, ma’am.”

She waves a hand, brows falling. “How many times do I have to tell you? Ma’am makes me feel old. And I’m not a single day over thirty-five, young man.” She turns on her heel and stalks for the front doors. Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she winks at me.

It wouldn’t be the first time I wished I had a girlfriend, if only to rid myself of unwanted advances of the likes of Mrs. Princeton.

Who am I kidding? I nepo-babied my way to this managerial position, and sometimes I wish I hadn’t.

I’d rather earn the job I want, but until the day arrives that I figure out what that is, I’m stuck here.

I’m supposed to be in the office, doing staff rosters and overseeing our new payroll accounts personnel.

All things I have no right, or experience, doing.

But I have managed to pick up the essentials and not screw up too many times.

I prefer the horses.

“You’ll never hit on me, hey bud?” I rub the gelding’s face and lead him to the tack room.

We’re barely a hoof and foot inside before Gretchen bounces over, her five-foot-nothing frame clad in our stable uniform for the hands that take care of the horses, her blonde hair bouncing in her ponytail. “Oh, Spence, you don’t have to do that. That’s what you have me for.”

She tugs the reins from my hand, and the gelding follows her toward the saddle rack, like even he got the memo: I’m supposed to be managing, not doing.

“Thanks, Gret.”

Her blue eyes sparkle as she turns her attention to the gelding.

This is why I live for the circuit.

The dirt and grit make me feel more like the real me. Not the nepo-version of myself I live with during the week. Oh, poor little rich guy . . .

I know what I sound like, but I’m too comfortable to change.

Too scared, more like it.

After watching Gretchen with the gelding for a beat, I walk into another stall and let the half door click closed before letting out a breath.

There’s not one brave or ambitious bone in this man’s body. Bar getting on a spinning bull every weekend, which is more crazy than brave, I’m all out of personality or a reason to give a shit these days.

“Boss man!” Glenda, our head stable hand, calls from the back door by the office. “Your new recruit is here.”

“Be there in a second.”

I rub my hands over my face. Another person to people with. Fan-fuckin-tastic.

“Absolutely not.” I lean back in my office chair like I’ve earned it. My arms fold over my chest, biceps stretching out the polo shirt.

Glenda frowns. “Just meet with him, he comes highly recommended.”

Him, the guy in reception that facades as a member lounge, is applying to be the trainer for every single person who comes to Silver Valley Equine Lodge. Should they sign up for the classes.

“And he looks like he’s never seen an atom of dirt. The answer is no. I’m not wasting my time with staff who won’t work and only want our name on their résumé.”

My longest standing staffer sighs with a nod.

“We will need another trainer around here, even if it’s a fresh grad. The horses deserve that. Besides, it’s in the contract every paying member signs, remember?”

How could I forget?

I had the displeasure of sitting through the creation of the damn thing. Three days of my life I will never get back.

“I know that, G. I’ll find someone.”

“Thomas leaves in two weeks. How are you going to get someone on such short notice?”

The phone on the desk buzzes, and I pay it a fleeting glance before returning my attention to Glenda. Hell, if anyone had earned the chair I currently sit in, it would be her.

My phone rings.

Stacey.

Stace, if I ignored your messages, that usually means I’m not going to answer your calls, little sis.

“I’ll leave you to Miss Stacey.”

Urgh, it’s like the silver spoon is still hanging out of my damn mouth for everyone to see. My sister’s, too.

I lean forward, tapping decline. “No, it’s—”

A knock rattles my door.

“Come.” I haul in a breath. What next?

Thomas steps through my door and pulls his hat from his head, holding it between both hands.

I stand. “Thomas, what can I do for you?”

Glenda slips out the door with a forced smile and closes it behind her.

“Ah, I’m wondering if I’m able to move my leaving date forward. The new job had a change of start date. If I miss it, they will give it to the next guy, or gal, in line. And with the baby on the way, and the move across provinces—”

I hold up a hand.

“Sure, bud. Take whatever you need. You can’t miss this opportunity.”

Thomas tilts his head, his brows dropping. “You sure, Spence? I’d hate to leave you shorthanded.”

“I’ll cover you. I mean, I’ll find someone. That’s not a problem.”

Thomas straightens, a soft smile pushing up the corners of his mouth. “You got a friend on the circuit, hey?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

Actually, I don’t.

I round the desk and shake his hand. Losing Thomas, our head trainer for the last ten years, is a hard blow. Not everyone thrives in this kind of environment. Expectations are high—like, really high. Comes with all the money these ponies are attached to.

“Thanks, Spence. I hope my next boss is as great as you.”

I scoff and shake my head.

“Sure he’ll be much better.”

“Well, thanks again.”

He leaves the office, closing the door behind him, and I lose a sigh.

Fuck, what is with today? If it was Friday, I’d change it to Sigh-day. But since it’s a fucking Tuesday, I can’t even be witty.

My forehead hits the desk, rattling the few items on it.

Thank god the circuit starts back up this weekend. I’m mere inches away from losing my sanity without it.

“Lockwood! You’re on chute four!” Levi calls out, his stone-faced frown telling me this is not the first time he’s called me. The night is crisp.

Okay, it’s cold. Damn cold. I jump on the spot for a minute before making my way to chute four.

Tonight is the first ride of the season. The circuit is alive with renewed energy. And the old, too, I see.

Knox and Hadley are going at it over something.

Maggie, Hadley’s girl, is on one knee, shooting the event.

Behind the chutes, above the chutes, in the arena.

You name it, that girl shoots it. She became a bit of a legend around here after last years’ dramatic end and Hadley’s last ride.

She almost did Montgomery out a job with her little stunt.

We all thought she’d quit the gig, but she fills in for the new photographer every so often.

And this event happens to be one she’s filling in on.

Dragging my attention to our favorite bullfighter, who is dressed in neon tights, a skirt made of literal ripped up rags, and bright-red braces that match his painted-on smile under that Stetson of his, I am reminded how good it is to belong here.

With that thought, I scale the rails of chute four. When I reach the top, the long black back of Midnight Ryder moves side to side in the chute. His sawn-off horns almost reach the sides of the chute.

The butterflies kick in. My gut flips.

“Now, Lockwood,” Levi prompts.

Hesitation always strangles me at this point. Self-doubt kicks my ass until I get it handed to me by Levi and come to my senses. Tonight is no different. “Come on, Lockwood. It’s now or never, Cowboy Ken.”

Huh, going with the Barbie and Ken references tonight.

That’s fine. Not entirely undeserved.

I move over the rail and lower myself onto two tons of chaos. Midnight tosses his head the second my seat makes contact with his back. I grip the rails, hard.

Hands hover over my shoulders, by my arms. Ready to haul me up and out to safety if they have to.

“Strap in, Ken doll. Your ride tonight might even earn you a draw.”

Levi is looking up at me through the rails. His clipboard is hugged to his chest, earpiece tight in his left ear. “Spin right with him, seat centered, and round you go, remember?” His gruff voice makes it past the thundering in my head, just.

How could anyone forget?

The first time you ride eight is like nothing else.

It’s like invincibility. It’s freedom.

It’s so far removed from my normal life; it’s the drug I will never give up.

My rope circumnavigates Midnight’s chest, and I slide my hand in, clamping my fingers down before pummeling my free hand over the digits. The resin is sticky from before. The rope tightens as the chute cowboys work with precision and speed.

Double-checking my helmet is secured tight, I give the nod.

“Give him hell, Spence!” Brady yells from chute three, where he’s perched, watching.

The chute gate flies open, and the bull leaps forward before settling into a spin to the right. Just as Levi said.

I spur him round with my left leg, hand held high. The arena spins around us fast.

One Mississippi.

Spur . . . spin.

Two Mississippi.

Spur . . . spin.

Three—

The bull dives forward.

I lurch after him, chest slamming into his hump.

Stars invade my peripherals.

Gasping for air, I force myself back upright as the empty space in my lungs burns.

Make the eight, Spencer.

Come on.

This is where I push myself. This is where I prove to the world I’m not the polished, privileged rich boy they all perceive me to be.

Steeling myself against the bull’s now erratic tossing and turning, I spur him left again. He dips his head and hauls ass to the right.

That’s right, fucker.

I run this show tonight.

The buzzer blares, and I loose my hand the instant I can before leaping to the ground.

Montgomery and his crew are between me and the bull as I stagger for the rails on jelly legs.

They have the bull back to the return chute as my score of 88.15 flashes over the screen in green.

Fuck yeah!

“Yeah baby!” I unclip my helmet and send it into the air.

The small crowd that showed up for the first event of the season cheers.

I give them a wave before heading back to the chutes. My silver chaps, complete with tassels, flap against my legs, and I don’t even care that Brades and Hadley bought them for me last fall as a joke. I’ll wear them every single time.

Move over, boys, Cowboy Ken is back on the circuit.

“Woohoo!” Maggie whistles, giving me a grin.

Brady pushes a fist bump my way from the chute he’s standing over. Levi’s hand meets my back. “Now that’s how you ride down your first bull of the season, Lockwood. Damn, bud.”

“Thanks, Levi.”

A chuckle comes from behind me.

Knox.

“Someone peaked way too early.”

I roll my eyes at him. Honestly, we have come to expect that sort of shit talk from Knox.

If he wasn’t so good at what he does, I’d say he’s compensating for something. But between Hadley and Knox, the podium only ever meant second or third for the rest of us. It’s anyone’s guess who’ll challenge Knox now that Hadley’s out.

It doesn’t bother me one bit. I had my glory days five years ago.

Right now, I’m going to celebrate my comeback to the circuit the only way I know how.

Buckle bunny time.