Chapter 19 #2
She smiles, but there’s still doubt there, and fear, and I wish I could kiss it away. But she glances up, and I follow her gaze to the open farm gate we’re approaching. A sign reads CRAWFORD FARM in faded letters.
Later, I promise myself. Tonight, I’ll show her.
I ease the Mustang through the gate and up the long driveway toward a weathered ranch house surrounded by outbuildings.
The property is sprawling with acres of pasture, a big red barn, various animal pens scattered across the landscape.
Movement catches my eye near the back of the house, and I spot a figure in the distance.
I park near the main house and kill the engine. The sudden silence feels heavy after the rumble of the motor.
“Ready to meet your old friend?” I ask.
June takes a breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
We climb out of the car, and I round to her side, taking her hand automatically. Her fingers lace through mine, and the simple gesture warms me.
“This way,” I state, leading her around the side of the house. “When I called Farmer Crawford earlier, he said Brutus is usually in the back pasture this time of day.”
“What if he’s out?” She’s scanning the area nervously. “What if he’s escaped again?”
“Then you run inside and I deal with him.”
“That’s not comforting, Kai.”
“Wasn’t meant to be, doll.”
She laughs despite herself, squeezing my hand.
We round the corner and find Farmer Crawford near a vegetable garden, watering some crops with a hose. He’s an older guy, maybe sixty, with sun-weathered skin and a trucker cap pulled low over his eyes.
“Hey there!” I call out. “Appreciate you letting us come by.”
He straightens up, nodding in greeting. “Brutus is back that way, grazing behind the fence.” He gestures toward a large paddock about fifty yards away. “Head on up, and I’ll join you in a minute.”
June and I make our way toward the paddock, and I spot him immediately.
Brutus is huge, even bigger than I remembered from our terrifying encounter on the road.
Black as midnight, with a chest like a barrel and horns that could impale a man without effort.
He’s grazing near the far side of the enclosure, seemingly peaceful, but the moment we get close, his head snaps up.
His nostrils flare. His hooves stamp the ground. A low snort escapes him, a warning.
“Yep,” June says quietly. “Doesn’t look like he’s happy to see us.”
I step closer to the fence, keeping my movements slow and deliberate. I’ve worked with bulls my entire career. I know their body language, their signals, the subtle cues that tell you when they’re about to charge versus when they’re just posturing.
“Easy, boy,” I murmur, using the same calm tone I use in the arena. “Nobody’s here to hurt you.”
Brutus eyes me with what can only be described as contempt. Another snort. Another stamp.
And then, slowly, he starts moving toward us.
My heart rate picks up, but I hold my ground. This is what I wanted, to see him up close, to get a read on him before I have to climb onto his back in front of thousands of people.
But Brutus doesn’t come to me.
He walks right past the section of fence where I’m standing and moves instead toward June.
She freezes.
“Hold still,” I say, watching, fascinated, as Brutus stops directly in front of her. He tilts his head, nostrils flaring as he inhales the air. His demeanor has changed, the aggression fading into something almost… curious.
June takes a tentative step closer to the fence. “Hey, Brutus.” Her voice is soft, gentle. “Do you remember me? Because I remember you.”
Brutus lowers his head. A soft sound escapes him, not a snort, but something gentler. Almost a huff.
“That’s a very passive move,” I say, impressed despite myself. “He likes you.”
She moves a bit closer, still wary. “You’re not tricking me, are you? Luring me in so you can take my arm off?”
Brutus doesn’t move. His head lowers further, and he makes that soft sound again.
Very slowly, very carefully, June reaches out and touches the top of his head. I’m tense, ready to move in a split second if needed.
Nothing happens.
She strokes his massive skull, and Brutus just stands there, accepting it. If a bull could purr, I swear he would be.
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” We both turn to see Farmer Crawford approaching, his eyes wide with disbelief. “That’s a first,” he says, stopping a few feet away. “That bull doesn’t let anyone touch him but me. Tries to kill most folks who get within arm’s reach.”
“She bottle-fed him when he was a calf,” I explain. “Guess he remembers.”
“Must be.” Crawford shakes his head, still looking stunned. “Thirty years of working with animals, and I’ve never seen anything like it.”
I grin at June. “Well, he has a new favorite person. And honestly? I can’t blame him. She is pretty amazing.”
June shoots me a look, half embarrassed, half pleased, before turning back to Farmer Crawford. “I helped take care of him when he was just a few weeks old. We bonded, I guess.”
“It seems so.”
Brutus suddenly pulls his head back, and June quickly steps away from the fence. The bull’s attention swings toward me, and all that gentleness vanishes in an instant.
His nostrils flare, hooves stamp. He snorts so aggressively that spittle flies from his mouth, and his eyes lock on to me with unmistakable murder.
“Sure hope this fence is going to hold,” June says nervously. “Because he has definite murder in his eyes for you.”
I move toward her instinctively, wrapping my arms around her from behind and pulling her against my chest. She fits perfectly, her back against my front, and I rest my chin on top of her head.
Brutus goes absolutely still.
“Damn,” I say, watching him. “He’s giving me the worst stink eye I’ve ever seen. And I’ve been kicked by a bronco, so that’s saying something.”
“I think he wants you dead.” June holds on to my arms where they’re wrapped around her waist. “Maybe reconsider riding him?”
“Nah. Where’s the fun in that?”
“The fun is in not being gored to death.”
I laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, and Brutus snorts so hard his whole body shakes, nostrils flaring wide, hooves striking the ground like he’s trying to dig his way through the earth. His head tosses, horns catching the fading light.
“Maybe he doesn’t like me touching you,” I muse, kissing her head again just to see what happens.
Another furious snort. Brutus takes a step toward the fence.
June elbows me. “Stop antagonizing the murder bull!”
“What? I’m just giving you affection.”
“You’re going to get us both killed!”
Farmer Crawford is laughing so hard he’s bent over, slapping his knee. “Oh, that’s rich. Never thought I’d see the day Brutus got jealous over a woman.”
“Jealous?” June raises an eyebrow at the bull.
“You got a crush, big guy? Sorry to tell you, but she’s taken,” I state.
Brutus tilts his head to the side, and I swear he’s trying to figure out how to get through the fence.
“Okay, okay.” Crawford straightens up, still chuckling, and grabs a big bucket from nearby. “Let me go calm him down before he has a heart attack.”
He carries the bucket into the paddock—Brutus tracks his movement but doesn’t charge—and dumps the contents into a wooden feeding bay. Brutus hesitates, clearly torn between his desire to murder me and his desire for food.
Food wins.
He moves to the bay and starts eating, though he keeps shooting me dirty looks between mouthfuls.
Farmer Crawford comes back out and latches the gate behind him. “Tell you what,” he says to me. “If you come by every day before the event, it might help him get used to you. Make the ride a little less deadly.”
“Appreciate it.” I shake his hand. “Thanks for letting him compete.”
Crawford snorts like it’s nothing. “Hell, I’m just glad someone’s brave enough to try.” His grin widens. “Good luck, son. You’re going to need it.”
The sky is streaked pink and orange by the time we climb back into the Mustang. I start the engine and pull out, tires crunching on the gravel as the farm falls behind us and the main road opens up ahead.
June goes quiet for a minute, eyes on the rolling fields.
Then she turns to me. “You’re really going to do this, aren’t you? Ride him.”
“Yeah.” I glance over, catching the worry in her face. “Does that bother you?”
“It terrifies me.” She doesn’t soften it, doesn’t joke it off. “He looked at you like he wanted to tear you apart, Kai.”
“Most bulls do,” I say. “That’s the job.”
“This felt different.”
“Maybe.” I reach over and rub my thumb over her knuckles, because I can feel her tension sitting right under her skin.
“But I’ve been around bulls my whole life.
I know what they do right before they blow.
I know what the shift looks like when they’re about to try to kill you.
Brutus is mean, but mean doesn’t scare me. Mean is predictable.”
Her gaze stays on me, sharp, like she’s trying to decide if I’m full of it.
“I don’t take stupid risks. Not anymore.”
That gets a tiny change in her expression. Not relief, not yet, but she hears me.
“And,” I say, letting the corner of my mouth lift, “now I know his weakness.”
She blinks. “What’s that?”
“You.” I look at her long enough to make her cheeks warm. “He clocked you the second you walked up. Tried to act like he didn’t. He did.”
She frowns. “That’s not comforting.”
“It should be.” My grip tightens just a little, a reminder. “I’ll keep you out of his way at the event. You can be near, but not close enough for him to get ideas.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re talking like you’re in charge.”
“I am in charge of my ride.” I pause, then add, more bluntly, “And keep you safe while I do it.”
June exhales like she wants to argue, but her fingers curl around mine instead. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” I say, and my gaze slides to her mouth before I force it back to the road. “You still like me.”
She makes a disbelieving sound, but I catch the twitch at the corner of her lips.
I lift her hand and press my mouth to her knuckles, slowly enough to make it feel deliberate, before I let go and take hold of the gear stick. It takes effort not to turn my head and drag her into a kiss that would make her forget what we’re talking about.
“Where are you taking me?” she asks, and there’s a cautious curiosity in her voice. “You said something about a surprise.”
I turn at the next intersection, heading across town instead of back toward the town. “It’s time.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Depends.” I glance at her again. “Do you hate fun?”
She giggles, and I love seeing her so laid-back and happy, like she belongs in the passenger seat of my life.
“I don’t know how to answer that coming from you,” she says.
I grin. “You’ll figure it out. And you’re going to look real pretty when you do.”