The Cowboy’s Game (A Pride and Pranks #3)

The Montage

Shelby

“Jake Nancy Evans!”

Jake and I froze, our hands quite literally in a cookie jar, as our mud-soaked bodies dripped dirty brown water all over his mom’s kitchen floor.

“And coming through my house like that. I should tan both of your hides.”

Jake let out a shaky breath, sneaking me a cookie from behind his back. “Oh, hi, Mom.”

“Hi, Mom?” Brenda Evans repeated, hands on her hips. “Don’t you smile at me like that. After you two hose off, you will be coming back inside to scrub my floors.”

Her stern eyes found mine, exasperation etched in her voice. “And you, Shelby May Tucker. I swear. Your dad’s going to fire me. What am I going to do with you two all summer? You'd better hope to marry each other one day, ‘cause I’m not sure who else will take you.”

On cue, Jake’s and my faces went from mild apprehension to the depths of stupefied horror.

Marry Jake Evans? I’d rather marry my dog, and he only had three legs and was blind in one eye.

I wasn’t exactly sure what being married entailed, because I only had a dad, but I assumed it was bad.

I once watched a TV show where the mom and dad kissed each other. On. The. Lips.

I couldn’t imagine anything worse.

10 years old

The score was tied up.

My heart pounded in my ears as I dribbled the ball to the edge of the concrete driveway of my house. I had never beaten Jake in basketball before. He flipped his hat backward and narrowed his eyes at me. I wanted this so badly.

Game point.

My gaze flickered toward the basket hanging between the garage doors, lit up by the yellow lights that hung between slabs of brown siding.

I’d never sunk a three-pointer in a game before.

I had never been strong enough to send it flying that far.

We’d never measured the distance exactly, but I was standing past the jagged crack in the concrete, well within our defined range of a three-point shot.

“You have to win by two,” Jake reminded me, darting toward me to swipe at the ball. I held him off with my left arm, keeping control and eyeing the distance once more.

When he saw what I was about, he grinned and backed off slightly.

“You should go for that three-pointer,” he goaded. “I’ll grab your rebound and dunk it for the win.”

His comment spurred me to action. I now knew what I was going to do. Big risk, big reward. But also…big risk.

“You need me to get my dad’s ladder so you can try dunking it again?” I retaliated, all talk and clammy hands.

I faked a move, like I was going to run toward the basket. Just as I’d hoped, Jake fell for it, taking off backward at a run. I stopped abruptly and squared up to the basket. Jake attempted to reverse, yelping in his way, which usually made me laugh, but I kept my focus. I had made my choice.

The ball left my hands and soared toward the basket. It looked good. Great, even. I held my breath. And when I sank my first three-pointer for the win, I raised my arms in triumph while Jake dropped to the ground, his head in his hands.

15 years old

I found Jake right where I figured he’d be.

We were too old to use the fort much these days, but Jake could usually be found there after any sort of incident with his dad.

After the famous Cole Evans failed to show up to watch his son’s roping competition like he’d been promising for months, it was no surprise to find him here.

It was located behind Jake’s house, in a tree overlooking a hay field.

We had built it one summer together. It wasn’t a looker, just a few slats of boards between three different branches on a tree, but it was ours.

“Hey,” I said, dropping down next to him. He was lying against the uneven flooring, his brown cowboy hat covering his face, legs sprawled out in front of him, with his arms folded across his chest.

“Hey,” he said, his voice deep and low.

“What was it this time?” I lay as close to him as I could get away with. He stiffened slightly as my shoulders brushed against his, but he didn’t move away, and it felt like I had won a small victory. “Did his brand-new truck break down on the drive over?”

He snorted softly.

“He was supposed to fly here. He had a press tour he forgot about.” Jake popped his knuckles before readjusting his hat, bringing it off his face.

If I were turned toward him, I’d be able to see his eyes.

But I knew Jake didn’t want me to see him like that.

So I stared upward into the branches of the maple tree.

His dad had made it big in the rodeo circuit since he left Jake and his mom a few years back.

At first, it was exciting to watch someone we knew ride a bull on TV, until we realized that the only difference his newfound fame had on our lives was that he was now unable to attend any of his son’s events.

I was also missing a parent in my life, but watching Jake made me glad that mine hadn’t left me by choice.

Jake sat up. “Let’s go. I’m tired of sitting up here.”

“Shotgun or pistols?”

He looked interested. “Did you bring both?”

I met his eyes with a sudden grin. “Yeah. And my dad’s bag of empty pop cans from the shop. I figured you’d want to shoot something.”

The heavy darkness etched across his face lightened as a smile began to form. “Well, I’d hate to embarrass you again.”

“I let you win.”

“How nice of you to let me win every time we shoot.” His voice sounded smug, and rightly so, but I had to keep going.

“It is nice of me. But not this time.”

“What’s on the table?” he asked, looking like all was right again in his world.

I really didn’t care about any bet today, but the spark was back in Jake’s eyes, which meant I’d do whatever he wanted.

“If I win, you gotta do my math homework tonight.”

He scoffed. “Your teacher’s going to know something’s up when you bring home an A.”

I jabbed him in the ribs. “What’s yours?”

“When I win, you have to clean my room.”

“Nope,” I declared as we dropped from the tree house. “That’s way worse than math.”

“I thought you were going to win, so you won’t have to worry about it.”

Unable to admit my extremely probable defeat, I tried a different tactic. “Let’s play basketball instead.”

Jake laughed, dropping an arm around my shoulders. “Nope.”

17 years old

“You want to do what?” I gaped at Jake, appalled at his suggestion, even as my cheeks flooded with heat.

“It’s not a big deal,” Jake insisted, jabbing at the hay with his pitchfork, launching it toward the cows grunting in front of us.

The sun was setting, leaving a cozy orange glow in the air.

I had come to Jake for help with my math homework and ended the night helping him feed the cattle behind his house.

“That’s because you’ve probably kissed a million girls already. You’d be getting my first.” I bent over to pick up a chunk of hay and tossed it into the manger. The dry strands jabbed into my bare hands.

“You don’t have to count it.” He raised his hands to his hips, his brown hair laying messy across his forehead. “Although, you’ll probably want to.”

At my dark look, Jake just laughed and held up his hands. “We don’t have to do it. I didn’t know you’d freak out so much.”

Instantly, I bristled. “I’m not freaking out.”

“Okay.”

“I just…” I trailed off. “Why do you need me to kiss you?” I asked, scratching at my eyes, remembering suddenly that my allergies and hay didn’t mix.

This time, it was Jake’s turn to duck his head.

“Hey! Tell me!” I said.

“Fine. I’m taking Lacey Jones out in a couple of days, and we both have braces.”

“So?”

“So, Dusty’s been getting in my head about our braces getting stuck.”

I scoffed. “That’s a myth.”

“Tell that to the internet filled with horror stories.”

“Dusty’s just getting in your head.” Dusty had moved to Eugene two years earlier from Wyoming and had infiltrated our friend group perfectly, though he and Jake acted more like brothers most of the time.

“Probably, but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure—since you have braces too.”

When I still wavered, he leaned closer. “It’s just for practice. It might be good for you too.” He grinned. “Just think how many girls would pay to be you right now.”

I gave him a withering glare that only made him laugh.

“What if I’m so good at it that you fall in love with me?” I retorted, really just curious to know what he’d say to that.

I watched as Jake bent over to cut the twine tied around another bale of hay with his pocketknife, his strong arms gleaming in the last glow of sunset.

“Sorry, Tuck. Can’t happen. I know too much.”

I punched his shoulder.

He laughed, brushing hay off his gloves. “You’re the hangout friend. Not the make-out friend. And an overall pain in the butt.”

There it was. The subtle rejection Jake had given me all my life. Not that I wanted things to change. We had been raised like siblings, but it was just…sometimes a girl wanted to be wanted, and it stung a little when my best friend had never even looked at me in that way.

I sneezed before I felt my face heating.

We both knew I would eventually cave. Looks like I’d be getting my first kiss tonight.

I wasn’t in love with my best friend. But I also wasn’t dead.

And it wasn’t like I had guys lined up around the block to date me.

I played sports with guys. I shot guns with guys.

I hung out with guys. I definitely didn’t kiss guys.

In all of my seventeen years of life, the most action I’d ever gotten was a slap on the butt during a game of pick-up football.

I was the only girl on the field, and our friend Mike had gotten carried away slapping the butts of the rest of the team, and he’d forgotten.

He’d forgotten I was a girl.