by Sasha Gold
Kept by the Bull Rider
Sasha Gold
Please note that this is a work of adult fiction and contains graphic descriptions of sexual activity. It is intended for mature readers aged 18 and over.
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Chapter One
Grace
My younger sister, the former Miss San Felipe, likes to call every day to tell me all about her busy life as a spokesmodel. After she won the town pageant, she left with not much more than a backwards glance. Vivian doesn't understand that I have a ranch to run and fences to build.
As if that’s not aggravating enough, now she’s been talking about getting married. A month ago, she started dating a guy she met online. Jeffrey’s a lawyer.
I already hate him.
Vivian has always wanted to sell the ranch, and Jeffrey agrees. Or so I’ve heard. I haven’t actually met him. If they get married, they can force me to put our family’s place on the market. Right now, Vivian has one vote and I have one vote. We're at a stalemate. Big surprise. My grandfather, in a bid to encourage us to marry, stated explicitly in his will that our future husbands get a vote. With Jeffrey on board, it will be two against one.
"All I'm asking for is an appraisal," Vivian says.
I can hear her puffing on a cigarette. My sister can never just call and talk. She’s always doing something while we’re on the phone. Either smoking, or talking to others, or tapping on her keyboard as she updates whatever social media site she’s in love with today.
She exhales deeply. "Jeffrey’s interested in the ranch."
I’ll just bet. "He's never even seen our place."
I'm walking back and forth on the porch, because this is the only place I can get telephone reception. That and anytime I talk to Vivian I have the sudden need to pace. I suppose I’m the same as her. Always doing something while we talk.
"Exactly,” Vivian says. “And he needs to know more about our family's property."
"Why don't you come back for a visit? I’ve done a lot to the place. Last year I put a new roof on the ranch house. I got Gran’s garden planted in the spring.”
Pain squeezes my heart. I haven’t seen Vivian since Granddad passed away last year. Part of me thinks that if she comes back and sees how great the ranch looks, she won’t harp on selling. Her demands to sell have gotten louder over the past year.
And her methods have gotten more devious.
She’s sent realtors. She’s tried calling my bank to see if I’ve borrowed against the land. Sometimes I even think she’s hacked my computer. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but Vivian is pretty persistent. My older sister’s all beauty queen on the outside, but on the inside, she’s a pit viper.
The ranch is spectacular, but she refuses to see it. Last fall, Roy Guthrie shot a music video in the grove of oak trees by the barn. Every spring, I have brides begging to shoot bridal portraits, usually right here on the porch, framed by the gingerbread trim. The old barn is popular too. Everyone loves Granddad’s ranch.
Except my sister.
She grumbles. "Maybe. If I have time. I have a photo shoot starting tomorrow. And in three weeks, Jeffrey’s being honored by some local bar association. I still haven’t found anything decent to wear."
She’s always got some reason she can’t come home. This is probably the reason Granddad wrote his will this way. While Vivian practiced walking with books on her head and talked about leaving San Felipe, I was riding my horse, and telling everyone how I never wanted to get married. After all, marriage hadn’t exactly worked out for my parents.
“I need a formal dress,” she pretends to sound exasperated. Like shopping is such a nuisance. I don’t bother with shopping. It’s jeans and boots for me. I’ll admit I have a pretty good cowboy boot collection, but I can justify the occasional purchase. Boots are a work requirement. The ranch is rugged, and I need boots to protect me from brush and snakes. I figure my boots might as well be cute as well as practical.
A little embroidery never hurt anybody.
Vivian drones on about her dress. “It needs to be formal, but conservative. And I need heels, but I don’t want to be taller than Jeffrey. I’m telling you, it’s a problem.”
"Well, I have to build a fence. If I can finish the side pasture, I can board horses and make a little money."
"Sounds fascinating. I wish I could come and help."
Her voice drips with disdain. Her interest in the ranch comes exactly once a year. On January fifteenth, I finalize the year’s accounts and send her the spreadsheet. I took over when Granddad died. I’m making ends meet but just barely. The land is worth a pretty penny, but I’ve had to sink a lot of money into rebuilding. I’m sure that, with the improvements, I’ll be able to turn things around.
I glance across the barnyard to the paddock. I have two quarter horse yearlings grazing. There's not much left for them to eat there, but once I get the back fences up, I’ll be able to offer them much better.
"I don't need your help with the fences, you’ll be glad to know. I'm hiring a guy to finish the fences. I expect him any minute now."
"And how are you going to pay him?"
I don't miss the snide tone in my sister's voice. If she knew I waitressed all last year to bring in extra money, she’d lose her shit. My occasional part-time jobs, that I take to cover the bills, would add fuel to her arguments. The ranch makes a tiny bit of money, but not enough of a profit to suit her.
"I fixed up the extra cabin. I'm offering him a room. He's bringing one or two horses, and he's getting free board."
"Huh."
"What do you mean by huh?"
"Not much. Who is he?"
“Ben Calhoun.”
“Huh, never heard of him.”
That’s because she left Texas four years ago. Ask anyone in San Felipe, Ben’s the good Lord’s gift to bull riding. If you ask Ben, he’ll tell you he’s God’s gift to womankind.
I met him face-to-face once, when he asked me to dance at the local honky-tonk last year, just before New Year’s. Since I don’t know how to dance, at least not very well, I turned him down. He didn’t take it well. Or maybe he took it as a challenge. Since then he’s called, texted, sent flowers. He seems incredulous that I turned him down.
On Valentine’s Day, he sent me a dozen red roses. He’d done that before, but this time he included a poem. Actually, it was a limerick.
But I’m not telling Vivian that. Ben’s come to San Felipe after a glittering career on the circuit. Vivian likes to name-drop but wouldn’t bother with anyone from our town. If they’re from San Felipe, they’re nobody.
"So you're not paying him anything, just room and board?" she asks.
"I'm offering him $700 for the week. He's only staying a week."
I squirm at the thought of Ben Calhoun living here on the ranch, but when he offered to help with the fence, I was too desperate to turn him down. He promised to be a perfect gentleman.
I hear her take another puff of her cigarette, almost picture the wheels spinning in her head. She's wondering where I got the money. And she's wondering how much more I have. This isn’t the right time to mention the reason I need the fences up, because I’ve gotten an amazing deal on four broodmares. The mares will set me on my path to turning the Hopkins land into a small quarter horse breeding farm. With the side-gig of boarding horses, I’ve got an actual business plan.
A plume of dust rises on the horizon. That must be my fence builder. My heart stutters. This is the first time I’ve seen Ben since I turned him down at the Midnight Oasis.
She grumbles. "Gracie, don't make me beg for something that’s part mine anyway. Things are getting serious between me and Jeffrey. We’re going to sit down with his accountant and discuss personal finances. I'd like to bring something to the table."
I watch the truck approach. It’s a big beast of a vehicle, moving along the ruts of the washed-out driveway like it’s cruising Main Street. I know all about Ben Calhoun even if Vivian doesn’t. He’s a heartbreaker. A rodeo playboy.
"Jeffrey is marrying the former Miss San Felipe,” I say absent-mindedly. “What else could he want?"
She scoffs. “That’s not going to pay the bills and Jeffrey wants to put a down payment on a penthouse.”
A penthouse? That comment jerks me out of my wandering thoughts. Good grief. This is bad. They’re buying property together? They haven’t even set a date for their wedding and they’re setting up house?
My heart sinks. "I have to go. Fence Guy is here."
"Get references. You can't just let any ol’ guy move into the cabin a stone’s throw from the main house."
Every so often her San Felipe drawl creeps back into her voice. Normally her reference to “any ol’ guy” would give me a reason to tease her, but not today. Now, the pressure to sell the ranch feels real. In the days before he passed away, my Granddad made me promise not to sell. I don’t know if he recalled how he’d worded the will or not, but I vowed I would make sure the land stayed in the family. What else could I say to the man who was like a father to me?
"I’ll make sure he’s not an ax murderer. Janet at the feed store vouched for him when I put up the ad on her bulletin board. He can’t be too dangerous."
I just need to be friendly. That’s all. Just not too friendly.
I end the call just as the truck comes over the hill. It's a big red dually. The sun catches the shiny new paint. His truck probably costs more than the ranch made in the last ten years combined. I don’t know what sort of money bull riders make, but I bet it’s a little more than waitresses with an associate’s in equine training.
After a few days on the Hopkins Ranch that gleaming paint will be a memory. Everything around here is covered in dust and grit. The truck comes to a stop. The door opens, and my first and only ranch hand eases his tall frame out of the truck.
He takes his hat from the dash, slams the door and ambles over to the steps, a smile curving his mouth. To say he’s handsome is like saying July is warm in San Felipe. Ben looks like some of the guys in Vivian’s photo shoots. Not quite that pretty, but something about him makes me wonder right off how I’m going to act like this guy’s boss. He’s got ten years on me. And a swagger to beat the bank.
He stretches his arms wide. “Sweetheart, you finally came to your senses?”
His voice is deep and gravelly and hits my mid-section, stealing my breath.
“The only reason I agreed to this is because I’m at the end of my rope.”
“I think it’s because you’ve been crushing on me for the last seventy-five days.”
I blink with surprise. Seventy-five days? “You’ve counted the days since that night at Midnight Oasis?”
He scoffs. “Like you haven’t.”
“Ben, I’m desperate. I think my sister wants to sell the ranch out from under me. Please tell me you can keep this professional.”
His smile fades. “If she wants to sell, y’all need to sell to me. My great-grandfather owned this ranch. I should get the right of first refusal.”
Yeah, I’ve heard the stories. My great-grandfather and his got snockered on whiskey and started playing poker. On the final hand, Great-Grandpa Hopkins won. There might have been a brawl if you believe some of the stories, or gunshots if you believe the others. Either way, the land passed from the Calhouns to the Hopkins.
“If it comes to that, Ben, I’ll make sure to tell you before it goes on the market. But you need to help me.”
He nods, gives me an appraising look and offers his hand. In Texas, a handshake can mean different things, like hello, nice to meet you, or we’ve got a deal. People shake hands and bypass legal agreements, and things usually turn out fine. Usually. “Of course I’ll help you, Gracie.”
The arrogance from a moment before is gone.
I take his hand, not saying a word because I’m too struck by the way his smile shows off his dimple. He’s head and shoulders taller than me and his hand engulfs mine. The touch of his hand sends a thread of awareness across my palm and up my arm.
I half-expect him to say something suggestive, but he doesn’t.
“I’ve come back to San Felipe because I’m planning on retiring from the rodeo circuit. I’m in the market for some land.” He drops my hand. “I plan to look around while I’m here. I’ve got one last rodeo in a little better than a week. So I won’t be here long.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. He sounds more business-like. If he can dial down the flirting, we might just be able to work together.
“Wonder if I could take a look at the barn? I’ve got two roping horses. A buddy of mine is bringing them later on today.”
“Sure.” I glance at his truck. The gleaming paint is almost blinding. A sticker adorns the wind shield. “Is that a new truck?”
“Just bought that beauty in Abilene,” he says. “I still need to get a trailer hitch put on.”
“Nice wheels,” I say, feeling a little wistful. “I need a truck too. Can’t haul hay bales in a Mini Cooper.”
He laughs, like I’m joking.
“You’re more interested in seeing the horse barn than the cabin?” I ask. “I’ve painted the little kitchen. Bought a new fridge. Sewed curtains. Don’t you want to take a look at where you’ll be staying?” Ugh. I sound eager, but I’m not even sure this is going to work. I add in a casual remark to tone it down a little. “Assuming I offer you the job, that is.”
“There you go, hurting my feelings again. Acting like I don’t have this job squared away.”
His tone is playful, but there’s a gentle nature too. I guess telling him that I was desperate makes him feel sorry for me. Or maybe he’s working the right of first refusal angle.
I tilt my head toward the cabin. It sits down the hill at the end of the driveway. It’s a sweet little clapboard house that my grandparents lived in when they first married. They built it on a little clearing down the hill, with a view of the San Felipe River.
But he couldn’t care less about his lodging. Turning away, he scans the barnyard and the pastures.
I stare at Ben while he’s unaware. I can’t believe he’s here and he’s going to help me. I don’t have many options. I’ve tried to hire high school kids before, just to do odd jobs around the ranch. I can do a lot, but some jobs require another pair of hands, and a strong back. The kids were cheap, but I couldn’t depend on them.
“Let me show you the barn.”
As we cross the barnyard, the yearlings watch from the corral. Both of them stick their heads over the rail and prick their ears. They look like carbon copies of each other aside from their markings. They’re dark bay, but Bonnie has a star, and Clyde has a blaze.
“Pretty little pair of youngsters,” Ben says. “Any plans for them?”
“I thought about barrel racing, but the filly likes to jump. She’ll just hop over a rail or log for the fun of it. I might try putting an English saddle on her when the time comes.”
Ben opens the barn door for me. His gallantry sets off a few shy butterflies. This is a bad idea. I’m more certain by the minute. He hasn’t done anything wrong, but how am I going to boss this man around? With a simple, lingering gaze, his gray eyes make me stammer and act stupid.
“This is a nice barn,” he says.
The skin on the back of my neck prickles. “Just to be clear. This place isn’t for sale.”
He winks. “The
y don’t make them like this anymore.”
“Thank you.” I say slowly, watching him.
He knocks on the side of the central support beam. “Sounds solid.”
“I promised my grandfather I’d keep the ranch in the family.”
He doesn’t bat an eye. Instead he strolls around, peering into stalls and eyeing the latches on the stall doors. His footsteps echo in the quiet barn.
“I promise I’m not trying to buy it from you, Grace.”
“But you are trying to buy a place in the area?”
“I don’t know exactly. Maybe I’ll start playing poker and see if I get lucky. Maybe I’ll get what I want without spending a dime.”
Warning bells clang, but when he shakes his head, my suspicions scatter. He’s just messing with me. Surely.
With that he steps into the feed room. I assume he wants to see what I feed my horses. I might not have a lot of extra cash right now. Or ever. But I always buy the best grain and hay that I can. It shows too. The vet always remarks on the yearling’s glossy coats.
I follow him to the door, but he’s not looking at the feed sacks. He’s looking out the window.
“I don’t think people bet the farm anymore,” I say with a hint of challenge in my voice.
“You never know.”
His voice is lower, softer, and I get that prickle on the back of my neck once more, only this time I shiver a little. I go back to what Janet said about Ben, that he’s one of the best guys she knows. That she wouldn’t let just anyone come help me. She didn’t know a thing about Ben’s and my history. I’m sure Ben didn’t tell her anything either.
He’s probably a big flirt with everyone. A lady’s man.
But still, I need to find someone who will take orders, not hit on me. A kid, preferably, not a man who’s older and wiser.
“I thought this would be a chance for us to, you know…”
“For us to what?” He closes the distance between us. His voice is low and sexy and unnerving.
“Move past this feud. Put this behind us.” I fold my arms across my chest. “To finally bury the hatchet.”
