Grace
Three Weeks and Six Days until the Rodeo
When Carson and I arrive at the diner, Rhett and Whitney are already seated at a table, accompanied by a man I don’t recognize.
It’s obvious from here that he’s tall, with broad shoulders to match.
The edges of a traditional-type tattoo peek out from beneath the sleeve of his polo and on his chest, where the buttons are undone.
His hair is a deep, almost black, brown, and is cropped close to his head all over.
He’s probably the dictionary definition of tall, dark, and handsome.
Going through the names of the cowboys in the rodeo lineup, I land on the only one I haven’t met yet—Tāne.
I recall Whit telling me he’s from New Zealand and moved here a couple years ago, and the pieces suddenly fall into place.
“Are all the men in this town bred hot? You’ve been holding out on me, G.” Carson nudges me as she whispers, her eyes bouncing between Rhett and the other man.
As we approach the table, Rhett stands and smiles at us awkwardly, so it comes across almost grimace-like. Whit and the other man glance at him with raised brows, the former stifling a smile behind her palm.
“Hey, y’all,” I say, eyeing the spare seats around the six-seater table. There’s one beside Rhett, who has the as-yet-unidentified-man on his other side, and two on Whit’s side. Before I can pick one, Carson slides into the seat beside the still-standing Rhett.
“Decided if we’re friends yet?” she asks, looking up at Rhett and batting her eyelashes. Good lord, she might actually kill him if she keeps this up.
“Carson, don’t be a tease.” I take a seat next to Whitney, who gives me a side hug.
“I don’t believe we’ve met yet,” I say to maybe Tāne, reaching my hand across the table. He takes it and gives it a firm shake. “I’m Grace, and the sassy brunette down the end is Carson.” Cars raises her brows and waggles her fingers at Tāne in the cheesiest wave I’ve ever seen.
He returns Carson’s oddball gesture before looking back at me, his face lit up. “Ah, so you’re Tucker’s girl. Tāne. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Turns out all I needed to do was wait until Tāne opened his mouth, because the accent gives his identity away immediately.
As if on cue, Tucker strolls through the door and to our table.
While he stands and says his hellos to the group, I’m afforded the luxury of taking him in at leisure.
The light blue jeans and white tee give off a more casual look than I’ve seen him in so far, but it’s definitely working for him.
At this point, I’m convinced the man could wear a potato sack and I’d still be obsessed with him.
He’s sans-hat of any kind today, allowing his wavy locks to sit perfectly atop his head.
He probably didn’t even have to brush it, just rolled out of bed like that. God, men have it so easy.
Tucker slides gracefully into the seat beside me and places a quick kiss on my cheek.
I was not expecting that. A quick glance around the table at several stunned expressions tells me that nobody else was, either.
Before I can think too much about it, I’m wrapped in Tucker’s scent and being transported back to a mix of old and new memories—all of which are far too intimate to be thinking about at a table full of most of his siblings.
He faces me, beaming. “Were they talkin’ about me, Gracie? Don’t listen to a word.” It’s as though the peck on the cheek was just a normal, everyday thing for him, which brings an unexpected warmth oozing into my chest.
“Nothing I haven’t heard before,” I reply sweetly, which gets a laugh from around the table.
Tucker eyes each of us suspiciously, but with a shake of his head, he decides to drop it. As everyone settles, Whit pulls out our list of agenda items and kicks things off.
I try to look around equally at everyone as we continue through the list and they each talk through the points, but it’s futile.
Tucker is like a magnet with a pull I can’t escape.
I’m painfully aware of how close he is when he leans in to inspect an image Whit is showing, and I have to uncross and cross my legs to distract myself.
When he leans back into his chair, his foot grazes my thigh under the table.
Glancing down, I see he’s crossed his legs in the opposite direction, so his foot sits mere inches from my upper thigh. Goddamnit.
Out the corner of my eye, I watch Tucker watching the group, until a smirk tugs ever so slightly at his lips and the tip of his boot grazes my thigh once more. This time, I knock my thigh back against his foot. Tucker is thrown off by the unexpected movement, and his leg hits the table leg. Loudly.
“Any chance y’all could quit making eyes at each other for like ten minutes? The sooner we finish this meeting, the sooner you can get to whatever the hell you wish you were doin’.”
I’m so glad I don’t have a mouthful of drink right now, because it would be all over Rhett if I did. It wouldn’t be undeserved though, considering those words just came out of his mouth. Instead, I swallow, choking on my own saliva.
“Rhett, what the fuck, man?” Tucker says, his eyes darting to me. “You good?” he asks loud enough for only my ears. I nod, clearing my throat with a small cough.
“I hate to agree with a man—no offense,” Carson says with a glance in Rhett’s direction—is he blushing?—“but he’s got a point, G. I don’t think you’ve heard anything the first time it’s been said for the past fifteen minutes.”
Now it’s me who’s blushing, because there’s no word of a lie in what she’s saying.
I’ve asked almost everyone to repeat themselves when they’ve asked me a question, apparently too caught up in the feeling of Tucker’s calf leaning against my shin under the table, and his hand brushing against my crossed leg as it invades his space.
But, like the fool I am, I choose to feign ignorance.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say with my head held high.
Incredibly, Rhett and Carson snicker in tandem.
There’s no question about it now—Rhett is definitely blushing, his gaze lingering on Carson just a second longer than appropriate.
Judging by the smug look on Tucker’s face as he watches his brother, he’s noticed it, too.
Carson looks at me across the table when Rhett turns toward Tāne and Whit, the faintest of smirks resting on her lips.
“Oh, how the tables have turned.” Tucker leans back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest and sporting a huge grin.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so smug, especially where his older brother is concerned.
He’s loving himself sick right now, lapping up every second of Rhett’s discomfort.
I’d feel bad for him if he hadn’t started it. “You good over there, big guy?”
A fresh flush of color seeps into Rhett’s cheeks and neck. “Shut up, dick.” Rhett clears his throat, aimlessly shuffling around the stack of papers in front of him. “Anyway, where were we?”
I lean an elbow on the table, resting my chin in my palm.
It’s the best I can do to disguise the smile I’m fighting.
Poor Rhett; I kinda do feel a little sorry for him now.
When I knew him in his youth, he’d never been one to blush or look flustered.
He was normally the opposite, being the cause of other people’s blushing and general flustered-ness—particularly girls—but I’d hazard a guess that he’s affected by the whirlwind that is Carson.
When my eyes connect with Carson’s again, she’s hiding a matching smile. I’ll be grabbing her immediately after this ends to find out what the hell is going on here.
“You were about to take us through the lineup of cowboys,” Carson says, flashing a grin in Rhett’s direction. He fumbles the sheets of paper. I reach over and grab the athlete profiles that were right under his nose, sliding them into his slightly shaky fingers.
“Athletes, Cars,” I correct, giving her a knowing look. She can be such a shit stirrer sometimes, and right now, it almost feels like she’s encouraging whatever this reaction is from Rhett.
“Ah, of course—athletes. My mistake.” There isn’t a hint of apology in her wicked grin, or in the way she mimics my posture, tapping her long, red nails against her cheek.
Rhett manages to stay composed and returns to his usual gruff self for the remainder of the meeting, probably due to Carson finally laying off.
She sits quietly, a small smile on her face as she listens to Rhett run through the athlete lineup for the saddle bronc and bull riding portions of the rodeo.
The only time she pipes up is when Rhett mentions the bareback rider who had to pull out due to a schedule clash—naturally, she can’t help but make a comment about pulling out not being a reliable option for those who ride bare, which results in mixed reactions around the table—Tucker and I choke on laughs, Whit outright cackles, and Rhett’s eyes go wide and he mumbles something about being done.
Several share-plates and sodas later, I glance at my watch. Wildly, it’s nearing six o’clock. “Shit, Cars, we better get home so you can finish packing and I can sort dinner for Dad.”
“Ah crap,” Whit says, looking at the notes we’d made in preparation for this meeting. “How’d we manage to skip the auction stuff?”
Carson whips her head around to Whit. “There ain’t no way I’ve missed the best part of this Rodeo Fest lineup.”
This gets a few laughs from around the table, but noticeably, not from Rhett. He’s awfully interested in the table, pink tinging his cheeks the longer he keeps his stare downcast.
“Gosh, it’s been so nice meeting all y’all.
I’m back to Chicago tomorrow, but I’ll see you in a couple weeks!
” Cars addresses the group as she says her goodbyes.
When she reaches Tucker, she pulls him in close and whispers loud enough for me to hear.
“I’m sure I don’t have to say this, but look after my girl, alright? ”
“Tucker, you’ll text me if there’s anything else I need to know?” I ask.
Whitney’s head flicks up as she gapes at me.
Realizing what she’s doing, she snaps her jaw shut and busies herself with her list instead.
I don’t need her to say anything to know what she’s suggesting—previously I’ve always asked her to let me know about Rodeo Festival things, so asking Tucker makes a statement.
It was intentional, of course. I can’t quite tell if we’re at the texting ‘just because’ stage, but I didn’t want to leave here without knowing if I’ll hear from him again today.
Considering Whit and I are the forces behind the cowboy auction, I guarantee there’ll be things I need to be told.
I bid farewell to the group, but my eyes never leave Tucker.