Chapter Forty
Royce
I’ve spent all damn day thinking about waking up in Marina’s bed.
Which is a problem.
Mostly because every time my mind drifts back to this morning—how gorgeous she looked, the warmth of her body climbing on top of me, her needy whimpers as she rocked against my palm—I have to remind myself I’m surrounded by other people.
Micah and Cabe have noticed.
I’ve caught more than a few knowing looks today, followed by enough bullshit teasing to make me want to put both of them on a bull and see how long they can last.
Fuck.
That woman is sexy as hell, and apparently, my dick’s got the self-control of a teenage boy with his first Playboy magazine.
So, I hide.
The barn is quiet this time of day. The afternoon heat presses against the open doors while I lean against a stall and pretend I’m here for a reason other than to avoid those fuckers.
I hear boots behind me.
“Got a minute?”
I turn and find Bryce standing there. “Sure.”
He jerks his head toward the office. “Come on.”
I follow him across the barn and into the office, dropping into the chair in front of his desk. He sits down, wakes up his computer, then turns the screen toward me.
I study the drawing. “What am I looking at?”
“A facility.”
I glance at him.
He points to the screen. “Series of gates and pens. A system for handling and bucking livestock that can be operated easily by one person.”
I lean closer.
There are chutes, holding pens, alleyways, sorting gates. Everything seems connected, designed to move an animal from one place to another without needing a dozen people standing around, pulling chains and opening gates.
“What’s the plan?”
Bryce sits back. “I want to breed, raise, and sell bucking bulls. Host rough stock events locally. And mentor young riders year-round.”
My eyes lift to his.
“Not just two weeks at a time,” he adds. “I want them here. I want to build something they can grow with.” There’s a different kind of excitement in his voice now. The same kind I’ve heard when he talks about the academy, only bigger.
I look back at the plans.
“I was in Stephenville recently,” he says. “Spent some time talking to the guys down at BuckTown. Came back and started thinking maybe I’m ready to pull the trigger on this.”
BuckTown is a private ranch, training compound, and old-school bull riding venue that J.B. Mauney built after he retired.
I study the layout again. “Damn.”
He smiles faintly. “Good?”
“This is more than good.” I trace the path of the pens with my finger. “This system is slick. You could sort bulls without needing three or four men chasing them around. Feed them straight from their pens to the bucking chutes. Open one gate, close another, move the next animal through.”
I shake my head. “Hell, you could chute-train bulls with minimal staff. Once everybody knows the system, one guy could manage a lot of this.”
“That’s the idea.”
“It’s a hell of an idea.”
Bryce watches me for a second.
“You got Matty on board?” I ask.
He exhales. “I’m working on it.”
That makes me grin. “Good luck with that.”
The ranch has experienced a shit ton of growth over the last couple of years. All good, but each carrying its own level of risk. Matty’s smart, but she’s also conservative, which is one of the things that makes her a great ranch manager. She doesn’t let her emotions influence her decisions.
He laughs. “I’ve still got three hundred undeveloped acres of the land she originally gave us for the academy. I figure we can start there and hopefully convince her to let us branch out as we grow. I’ve been talking to Porter.”
My eyebrows rise.
“About his grandfather’s old place. Silver Spur Ranch.”
I know the place. Everybody around here does.
“That place has been sitting unused for years.”
“Exactly. It’s on the outskirts of town. Could be a backup location. Maybe even a second facility eventually.”
I sit back and look at the plans again.
It’s ambitious, but I can see it.
A place where kids can train year-round. Where bulls are raised specifically for the sport. Where young riders aren’t getting tossed onto practice bulls for ten minutes and sent home. Where they can learn how to ride, how to read an animal, how to handle themselves around livestock.
And the practice-bull market alone is worth chasing. There’s a demand for good practice bulls, and the right ones can bring serious money.
“You’ve got something here,” I tell him. “It’s a big project, but I think it could work.”
Bryce nods, his expression easing. “That’s what I needed to hear from someone who wasn’t blowing smoke up my ass.” He turns back toward the computer. “I appreciate the input.”
I stand, pushing the chair back. “Anytime.”
I’m halfway to the door when Bryce calls after me, “Oh, before you go.”
I turn.
“You tried Buck’n Diesel Energy yet?”
I grin. “Yeah.”
“What do you think?”
I reach for the door, looking back at him. “It’s named appropriately.”
Bryce bursts out laughing. “That’s what I thought too.”
I shake my head and walk out of the office.
I glance down at my wrist. Only six more hours until I’m done for the day and I can make good on my promise.
Charli sent me into town to pick up the fabric and quilting cotton she ordered for the staff cabins and student bunks. Apparently, she and the girls have decided everybody needs festive holiday bedding this year.
Six rolls of fabric and enough cotton to cover half the county later, I’m carrying the last stack through the back door.
I take it straight to Grandma Evelyn’s sewing room and set everything down where she tells me.
“There,” I say, dusting my hands off. “Your delivery.”
Grandma looks up from her sewing machine with a smile. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
Momma is sitting in the chair by the window, sipping coffee.
I walk over and wrap an arm around her, kissing her cheek before doing the same to Grandma.
“Hey, Momma.”
“Hey, baby.”
I’m halfway to the door when Momma says, “So … a little birdie told me my boy might be falling in love.”
That stops me in my tracks.
I turn around slowly. “In love?”
The words sound foreign, coming out of my mouth.
Momma’s smile widens.
I look between her and Grandma. “Which one of my brothers is the snitch?”
Grandma chuckles. “Both of them.”
I groan.
“And Jovie,” Momma adds.
“Shelby,” Grandma says.
“Harleigh,” Momma continues.
“And …”
I hold up a hand. “Damn. So, it’s a whole nest full of birdies.”
They laugh.
Momma sets her coffee down. “Is it true?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out because the second I actually think about it, I realize it is.
Fuck.
It is. I don’t know what I thought I was chasing the past few weeks, but I didn’t think it was that.
I drag a hand over the back of my neck. “I mean …” I glance toward the window. “We’ve only spent a little time together, and most of it hasn’t really been alone. Or even enjoyable, now that I think about it.”
Momma gives me the look. The one she’s perfected over the years. “You don’t have to spend a lifetime with somebody to know how you feel about them.”
I look down at the floor. “Okay,” I admit. “Say I am …”
Grandma raises an eyebrow. “Say you are?”
“Falling in love.”
She smiles like she already knew the answer.
“How do I tell Marina?”
Grandma reaches for her scissors, snipping a thread before setting them aside. “You take her on a nice date and spill your heart.”
I blink. “A date?”
“Yes, Royce. A date.”
“I mean, we haven’t exactly done that.”
Momma gasps. “What have you done?”
I close my eyes and shake my head. She does not want to know what all we have done.
“We’ve been to The Soused Cow, but that was with everybody. I drove her to some sketchy guy’s trailer in Moran, but that was to look at a truck.”
They glance at one another.
“Oh, I did cook dinner for her last night. She wasn’t home yet and was exhausted when she did make it home. And I’d already eaten.”
Grandma Evelyn lets out an exasperated breath. “That’s the problem with you boys. Always trying to polish the buckle before the ride even starts.”
I can’t help but grin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re so busy trying to get to the finish line that you forget there’s supposed to be a ride.”
I lean against the doorframe, listening.
“You’d be amazed, but there’s a reason so many of those old-fashioned romantic things have stood the test of time.”
“Like what?”
“Flowers. Candlelight. Slow dancing.” She gives me a pointed look. “Take her somewhere nice besides that dingy old bar in town you boys are so fond of. It may be fun, but it’s not intimate. Romance the girl.”
Something about the way she says it makes me straighten.
“From what her mother says, Marina has never really had much of that.”
That lands harder than I expected.
I think about Marina. How fiercely independent she is. How quick she is to insist she doesn’t need anybody. How carefully she keeps people at arm’s length.
She may not need somebody to rescue her, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve somebody willing to show her she’s worth choosing.
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
I give them both another kiss before heading for the door.
Romance.
Never been my thing.
I’ve spent most of my life thinking flowers were something you bought for funerals.
Marina isn’t some woman I want to impress for one night.
She’s the woman I woke up beside this morning and couldn’t stop thinking about all damn day.
Maybe Grandma’s right.
Maybe it’s time I stopped trying to polish the buckle before the ride even starts.
I should learn how to properly date, and I ought to learn the nuances of this woman in particular.
I know where to start.
I walk past my truck and toward the wood line.
Time to talk to Ginger.