44. Indie
Chapter 44
Indie
T he power comes back on sometime between us gorging ourselves on Tripp’s Cowboy Caviar and Beau jokingly roasting marshmallows in the fireplace. Thankfully, the heater kicks on and the whole house starts getting more comfortable, but we leave the fireplace going just in case.
The snow stops for a little while, but only enough for us to see just how much has built up around the house.
“I should probably go check on the bulls in the barn,” Tripp mutters. “No one else will be able to get there.”
“How far is that?” I ask.
“Ten-minute walk without the snow. Probably fifteen depending on the drifts,” he admits. “The barn is temperature controlled and has its own massive generator, but the bulls need food. The Barn Manager don’t live on the ranch, so no one will be able to get in until the roads are cleared.”
I stand up and dust off my jeans. “I’ll come with you,” I offer.
Beau raises his brows. “You’re not dressed for Wyoming winter, Indie bird. You’ll freeze your tits off out there.”
Tripp hesitates. “You can borrow some of my clothes. I have some spare jackets and stuff in the closet. They’ll be too big, but they’ll keep you warm.”
Ram crosses his arms, his expression tight. “Seems like an excuse to get the periodista alone. I don’t know what kind of danger is out there.”
Tripp shifts, his face turning red. “There’s no alcohol in the barn.”
I blink, realizing what Ram had been getting at. I hadn’t even thought about the potential for liquor being out there. Clearly, Ram doesn’t trust him to be alone with me and alcohol.
“You’re sure?” Ram asks, his eyes hard.
“There’s not,” Beau chips in. “I already checked the first day we were here.” When everyone cuts their eyes to him, he shrugs. “I wanted to visit the stall.”
“The one you holed up in at first?” I ask, frowning.
His eyes dance to me. “The one I lived in, Indie bird.”
My eyes widen in horror. “He made you live in the barn?”
He shrugs. “The Stray, remember? Besides, I had AC and heat and a warm bed. Can’t ask for more than that.”
“Why didn’t anyone else?—”
“He wouldn’t let them,” Tripp admits. “Anyone who adopted the stray got in trouble.” At my sharp look, he raises his hands. “Dad’s words. Not mine.”
I take a deep breath. “Okay. So, no alcohol in the barn. Let’s get over there and feed them before it gets dark.”
“You sure you’re gonna be okay?” Ram asks me.
“Yeah. We’ll be in and out before you know it,” I reassure him.
He tugs me close and presses a sweet kiss on my lips. He’d been sweet, making sure my neck doesn’t hurt, making sure I take care of myself and my hips don’t get too strained, but I’m not fragile. I’ve been shot before. A bruised neck isn’t gonna be the end of me. We’re just lucky he stopped before he damaged anything serious.
Tripp buries me in layers of his clothing. I wrap the Carhartt that smells like him around me and bury my hands in the pockets. Beau wraps a scarf around my neck while Ram shoves a pair of socks into the toes of his boots so I can wear them without them flopping around. Then he proceeds to cover my feet in four pairs of socks. By the time they’re done, I feel like the marshmallows we’d roasted.
“I’m gonna burn up before we ever get there,” I complain as Tripp puts on his own coat.
“At least you’ll be warm,” Tripp says before helping me over to the door. “It’s a short walk. We’ll be fine.”
Together, we kick through the wall of snow blocking the front door and make our way into the fresh snow. Luckily, besides the drifts, the snow isn’t so deep that we can’t walk through it, but it is up to our knees, so we have to wade through it. Tripp goes in front of me, clearing a path that as long as I keep the same path, it’s easier for me to walk. Which is good. Because it would be much harder walking through it with how many layers I’m wearing.
We don’t speak on the way there, mostly because I’d be huffing and puffing if we did. Clearly, I’m out of shape and my hip starts to hurt, but Tripp doesn’t faulter. I don’t expect him to. The man is in prime shape. He has to be to be a professional bull rider.
When we finally get to the barn, Tripp kicks all the snow away from the door before opening it and gesturing for me to enter before him. When I do, I realize just how big money this place is.
Fairview Acres does one thing and one thing only. Rodeo Bulls. While they have a small mixed herd to take part in something called the Green River Drift—Tripp hasn’t explained what that is yet—their main source of income is rodeo bulls. And clearly, with the Savage name attached to them, they’re doing damn good. The barn is massive and just like Tripp said, it’s temperature controlled. The bulls all seem perfectly content in their stalls, each of them looking at us curiously when we pass by.
“We just gotta drop a bucket of food into their feed troughs,” Tripp explains.
“If we’re gonna be hauling stuff, I gotta get some of these layers off,” I declare, pulling off what I can and draping it over a chair. It kind of makes me feel like an onion with how many layers I gotta shed until I get down to my jeans and t-shirt. I kick off the too large boots too and end up padding around in my four pairs of thick socks.
Together, we fill all forty troughs of food, so by the end of it, I’m sweating. “Fuck, this is a lot,” I grunt as we fill the last one.
“Usually there’s a whole team who takes care of them,” Tripp says apologetically. “Sorry to make you work so hard.”
“No, it’s okay,” I say. “I’m enjoying spending time with you.”
He glances at me. “Are you really?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I ask.
His eyes dance to the bruises on my neck and then away. “Just. . . I’m not usually considered great company.”
I take his hand. “Well, I think you are, Tripp Savage,” I argue, smiling up at him. “Anyone who thinks otherwise just hasn’t gotten to know you well enough.”
He smiles back and it changes his entire face. The man is insanely hot on a normal day, but when he smiles, he’s almost fucking angelic. No wonder he’s often somber. It’s for everyone else’s benefit so they’re not blinded. Clearly.
My eyes fall over to the mechanical bull at the end of the barn. “That what you trained on?”
He nods. “When I wasn’t on a bull, yeah, I was on that thing.” His eyes crinkle. “Wanna try it?”
“Oh, uh. . . I don’t know.”
“Come on,” he encourages. “It’ll be fun. Let’s see if you can ride a bull or not.”
“Pretty sure it’s gonna be not,” I laugh as he leads me over to it.
“Just gotta hold on for eight seconds is all,” he grins.
“Yeah, I’ve seen how long those eight seconds can be,” I fire back, shaking my head. But I bounce onto the padded floor and move over to the mechanical bull. “I just climb on?”
He nods and comes over to help me up with his hands on my waist. “Hold on here with your dominant hand. Your other one goes in the air.”
“Okay,” I say uncertainly. I do as he says and watch as he moves over the control panel.
“Ready?”
“Nope,” I say, “but go ahead anyway.”
He hits a button and the bull tilts forward gently. My hand falls and I grab at the leather strap. “Hand in the air,” he chastises.
I throw my arm back up, and the moment the bull tilts back, I go tumbling off to the pad, laughing at just how fast I fall off. “Yeah, that’s way harder than you made it seem like.”
He chuckles. “Here, let me show you.” He gestures for me to get back up on the bull and I do while he fiddles with the control panel. “I used to have to practice by myself so there’s a setting to delay the start and go on autopilot.” He taps it and hurries onto the padding before leaping onto the back of the bull behind me, pressing his chest to my back. His left arm comes around me to grab the leather. His right arm circles my waist. “Here we go,” he says when it beeps.
The bull starts again, tilting forward slowly before tilting back much faster. I shriek, but he holds me tightly, keeping us both on the bull as if this is a cake walk for him. It probably is.
It’s only when the bull bucks forward again that I become aware of just how close we are. He grinds against me, his hips moving with the mechanical movements as he presses me back against him. My awareness skyrockets and I’m suddenly solely focused on where we touch.
“Arm in the air, cowgirl,” he says in my hair, his voice husky, and I shiver despite the bull beginning to move far faster. “No bull rider has their hand down.”
He runs his arm up mine, forcing it in the air, holding me on the bull solely with the strength of his one arm and his thighs. My cheeks flush as the bull spins, drawing laughter from my lips at the adrenaline rush of it all.
The machine beeps and the bull begins to stop. “Eight seconds,” he murmurs in my ear, his body still pressed to mine. “That makes you a bull rider, Indie.”
“Hardly,” I laugh, turning my head to look in his eyes. When I get a look at him, I freeze. The tension skyrockets between us as we stare at each other, his pretty blue eyes tracing my face. “You can kiss me,” I whisper. “If you want to.”
His face tightens. “I don’t deserve to,” he rasps softly. “You deserve far better than the likes of me, Indie.”
I push his arm off and swing my leg over before swinging my other back over so that I’m facing him. There isn’t much room, so I end up having to drape my legs over his thighs and wrapping them around his waist. I wrap my arms around his shoulders.
“And what if I say I want you to kiss me anyway?” I ask, staring into his eyes. “What then?”
His hand traces down my face. “Then I’d say you’re crazy.”
“I’ve been called worse for being a war correspondent, Tripp Savage,” I say. “If you’re gonna give me an excuse not to kiss me, I expect better than that.”
His lips quirk up. “Nope,” he admits. “That’s the only warning I’m gonna give you. I’m too selfish to convince you otherwise.”
He presses me tighter against him with his hand on my back, and with fire and phantoms burning in his eyes, Tripp Savage presses his brutal lips against mine.