Stick in the Mud Meets Spontaneity (Meet Your Match, book 3)

by Rachael Anderson

  “You brought me to a rodeo?” asked Sam as they passed street vendors selling everything from hot dogs and slushies to cowboy boot refrigerator magnets. She’d never seen so many cowboy hats, Wranglers, or big belt buckles.

  “You did say you wanted to ride a bull,” Colton said.

  For a second, fear seized Sam’s heart, until she remembered, “You have to be a professional to ride in a rodeo. Don’t you?” Please say yes.

  “This is just an amateur rodeo. Anyone can sign up.”

  Anyone? As in Sam—a twenty-three-year-old horseback-riding novice? Sam grabbed Colton’s arm and stepped in front of him, stopping their progress toward the arena. “Sign up? That’s something I should have done before now, isn’t it?”

  “Yep.” He clasped her elbow and steered her toward the arena. “Good thing I took the liberty of doing it for you. You’ll be riding a bull named Kabookie.”

  Kabookie? What sort of name was that? It sounded like a combination of crazy and mean, like a nickname for a serial killer. Sam glanced down at her clothes. Had she really worn this cute, turquoise top to get tossed and trampled by an animal named Kabookie?

  “Um… about that list,” said Sam. “I was actually planning to make a few, you know, revisions?”

  “I thought it was set in stone.”

  “Well, it is. But…” She bit her lip, wondering how to tell him that she’d dye her hair permanently purple before she’d ever strap her hand to the back of a bull. Yet he’d gone to the trouble of signing her up, asking her out, and bringing her here. Had he even paid an entrance fee for her to ride?

  “I thought you said I should move bull riding to the bottom of my list because—how did you put it? Oh, that’s right—I might die doing it?”

  “I was only joking about that,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Only about three people die every year from bull riding, so really there’s only a point-two percent chance that tonight will be the end of you.”

  “Did you really just say only?” said Sam. How could anyone use the word “only” in any sentence that included the word “die”? If a statistician were to take into account Sam’s level of experience—or lack thereof—she was certain that point-two would become ninety-six, with only a four percent chance of sheer dumb luck saving her.

  Colton put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “You’re not really afraid of a two-thousand pound animal with horns are you?”

  Horns! How had Sam forgotten about those? If she didn’t get trampled, she was sure to get skewered. Suddenly, her four percent chance of surviving dropped to zero.

  What sort of person decided bull riding should be a sport anyway? Probably a descendent of the person who thought the gladiator games would be a hoot. Both of them could have used a good psychologist.

  “Do you or don’t you want to check bull riding off your bucket list?” Colton had stopped in front of a red, white, and blue inflatable with a large mechanical bull in the center. A gaudy looking sign stood off to the side.

  RIDE KABOOKIE

  Only $10

  Sam looked from the sign to Colton as it all sank in. Kabookie was made of metal and gears, not two thousand pounds of flesh, blood, and muscle. There would be no hand tying, no horns piercing her middle, and no hoofs crushing her ribs and lungs. She would live another day.

  Sam sighed in relief, then immediately slapped Colton’s arm. “I can’t believe you did that to me. What kind of date are you?”

  He laughed the deep, reverberating laugh that made a bunch of people stop and take note. He didn’t seem to have any idea how good it sounded, how amazing he looked tonight, or how much Sam wanted to throw her arms around him and plant a kiss on those grinning lips.

  Colton handed the attendant a ten dollar bill and gestured for Sam to take her ride. She wobbled her way to the middle of the inflatable and crawled on the beast’s back.

  “What setting would you like it at, ma’am?” asked the man.

  “As high as you’ve got.” After freaking out about riding a real bull, Sam wasn’t about to let a mechanical version make her look even more wimpy.

  “You sure?” Colton said.

  “Positive.” She nodded toward the attendant. “All the way up.”

  “You asked for it.”

  Sam listened to a brief instructional, then held on tight as the bull began moving forward and back, spinning in slow circles. This is easy, she thought, her body moving with the machine. She was about to call out, Hey, is this all you’ve got? when the bull began to pick up speed. One jerk, two, and her fingers were ripped from the handholds. She flew through the air and landed in an awkward lump on the not-so-cushy plastic inflatable.

  Colton’s low chuckle sounded as she picked herself up, retrieved her hat, and adjusted her top. She wobbled her way back to Colton and, without saying anything, took her purse and rifled through it, finding another ten dollar bill. She handed it to the attendant. “It’s his turn now, and he also wants the highest setting.”

  “Oh no, that’s okay—” Colton started to argue.

  “You’re not afraid of a little mechanical bull, are you?” she challenged. After what he’d just put her through, he deserved to get tossed too.

  He shook his head and shrugged, then pressed his hat down over his head before walking across the inflatable with a lot more grace and swinging onto the back of the robotic bull. He waved off the man’s offer for a tutorial then rode the beast like it was a kiddy ride at the state fair. It didn’t matter which way the bull jerked, how fast it “bucked,” or which direction it spun, Colton made it look effortless. His arm waved behind him like a pro, his muscled torso kept him in place, and his hat stayed squarely on his head.

  Sam wanted to ask for her ten dollars back.

  Cheers and clapping broke out around them, and she realized Colton had acquired an audience. He jumped off the bull without appearing dizzy or out of breath and tipped his hat to the crowd. When he rejoined Sam, there was no gloating. Only, “Ready to go watch real bull riding now?”

  “You’re amazing,” Sam blurted, blinking up at him. He reminded her of one of those hidden picture puzzles in a Highlights magazine. At first glance, he was the image of a handsome cowboy front and center on the page, but inside that image were a lot of really cool traits just waiting to be found.

  A dormant part of Sam’s heart seemed to yawn and stretch and flutter its eyes.

  Sam frowned and looked away, trying to lull that part of her heart back to sleep. She didn’t want it to wake up. Not yet. It wasn’t time. “So, um… do you really think riding a mechanical bull counts towards my list?”

  “You didn’t specify a living, breathing bull, did you?”

  “No.”

  “Then it counts.”

  Colton held out his hand, and she took it tentatively, feeling a vulnerability she’d never experienced with a guy before. His fingers interlaced through hers, bringing more warmth, more depth, and more conflicting emotions. All she could think was that her hand had never fit so well in anyone else’s.

  They found their seats, and Colton sat snug beside her on the bench. Their shoulders bumped every time they moved, causing an echoing thump in her heart. It was difficult to concentrate on the rodeo with the scents of leather and soap in the air, the touch of his arm against hers, and the sight of the smile he flashed her way.

  “You’ve got to love the diversity of people who gather at rodeos,” Colton said, apparently not as affected as her.

  Sam forced her gaze to the stands surrounding the arena. There were old people and young people, dressed-up people and dressed-down people, blue-collars, white-collars, and rednecks. Babies hollered, kids squabbled, and adults chatted. It occurred to Sam that the rodeo was a place for anyone and everyone. She liked that. She liked the energy that buzzed through arena when the emcee’s voice sounded through the loudspeakers. And she liked her date. A lot.

  Colton was great about explaining each event, along with the judging p
rocess. Between events, they talked about life in college and how great it had been to grow up in Colorado Springs. They laughed at the clown and the wild cow-milking fiasco and sipped lemonade slushies during intermission. They gasped when riders were thrown from broncs or charged by bulls and sighed when the rodeo ended without contributing to the three deaths per year.

  Dust and the smell of livestock lingered in the air as Colton guided her through the crowds with his palm on the small of her back, and Sam felt like she’d never been on a more perfect date. As they crossed through the parking lot, his hand found hers again.

  During the drive home, he asked her about her family, and she asked him about what it was like to grow up in the country and go to school in the city. He pulled to a stop in front of her house, and they continued to talk about trivial things and serious things, funny things and nothing in particular.

  It wasn’t until Sam’s phone vibrated with a text from her mother that she realized how late—or early—it was.

  “Oh, wow. It’s already one o’clock. I’m so sorry I’ve kept you up so late.”

  “Don’t be,” said Colton. “I’m not.”

  “You’ll probably be singing a different tune when your alarm clock goes off in the morning.” She pushed the door open and hopped out. Colton met her outside and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they sauntered up the walk. On the porch, he pulled her into a tight bear hug, resting his chin on top of her head.

  The clean, leathery scent that had teased her all night long filled her nostrils, and his strong, warm body felt like a perfect complement to hers.

  What would tomorrow bring? Or the next day? Or the next? If he asked her out again, would she say yes?

  “Thanks for giving me an opportunity to ride a bull, and for being so upfront and honest about it.” Her palms slid from around his back to his chest, where they lingered. “I have to admit, you had me worried for a minute.”

  “I had you sweating, you mean.”

  “I never sweat. That’s not ladylike. I only perspire.” She tapped his chest with her finger then stepped out of his arms and into early morning air that felt cool and a little bit scratchy. Only a few hours earlier, the air had been perfect. Not too cold, not too hot. Just inviting, invigorating, and welcoming. Now, sans Colton, it had lost its coziness.

  The sound of her phone vibrating in her purse filled the silence, reminding Sam that she hadn’t texted her mother back. “That’s my mom. She’s a worrier. I should go.”

  Colton leaned in, and his lips hovered near hers for a moment before landing softly on her cheek at the side of her mouth. “Goodnight Samantha,” he whispered before walking away.

  Her cheek pulsed where he’d touched it, and her chest rose and fell as though he’d just left a searing kiss on her lips. She touched the spot tentatively and chided her emotions. It was a peck on the cheek! A peck! Something her grandma or father would have given her. Nothing to get all shaky over.

  But it hadn’t felt like a simple peck. It had felt like a beginning.

  Sam had been on good dates before. Even great dates. She’d crawled in bed with a smile on her face, thinking back on a particular guy and how fun he’d been or how great he’d kissed. Sometimes, she’d even dreamed about him.

  But until now, nobody had ever kept her from sleeping.

  Even though she hadn’t known Colton long—three weeks was nothing—Sam felt like the strands of her soul had snaked out and connected with someone else’s—a solid enough connection that it made her worry about the distance between Colorado and New York and how far that connection could be stretched before it broke.

  Years ago, on the night of Sam’s sixteenth birthday, her mother had walked into her room and pulled Sam’s journal from her bookcase. She’d plopped down at the foot of Sam’s bed and handed the journal to her daughter.

  “You’re moving into an important phase of your life where you’ll start thinking about the future and what kind of person you’ll want to walk down the aisle toward someday. I want you to date a lot—all different kinds of people—and every time you do, I want you to come home and write down the qualities of that person you liked or didn’t like—the qualities that are important to you in a future husband and father. Yes, attraction is important, but I want you to look deeper than that. Harder. Go beyond good hair, handsome faces, and great bodies and into minds and hearts. How does he treat other people? How does he treat you? Is he driven? Does he care about learning, about improving, about working hard and doing his best? Does he care about you and your opinions and how you feel? Does he have faith in God? Is he a good person? Does he see the real you?”

  Sam fingered the journal. Her mother was rarely this serious, and Sam wasn’t sure how to respond. “Wow, this is kind of a deep conversation for midnight.”

  Her mother had leaned forward and placed a hand on Sam’s knee. “The kind of guy you decide to date and eventually marry will affect the rest of your life. Whatever you do, don’t make that decision lightly. Take your time. Become the kind of person you’d want to marry and find someone whose strengths will make you better, someone whose weaknesses complement yours. Find someone you can really connect with—physically, emotionally, and intellectually. And then date him a long time to make sure.”

  Her mother gave her knee a squeeze. “Sam, you’re beautiful and spunky and confident. You’re going to attract all sorts of guys. Weed out the creeps, date the others, and keep a list. It will change and evolve as you grow and mature, but one day you’ll meet someone different—someone special—someone who has the most important qualities you’ve written down and throws in some extras that you hadn’t thought of before. He won’t be perfect, and neither will you, but he’ll be the sort of man you can count on to stick by your side through all the bumps and lumps of life. Be wise. It’s the most important decision you’ll ever make.”

  After her mother had left, Sam propped up her pillows, borrowed a pen from her nightstand, and tapped it against her lower lip as she considered her mother’s words. Then she began The List—one that had evolved over the years just like her mother had said it would. She’d crossed out some things, revised others, and added to it.

  The only time she hadn’t pulled out the journal after a date was tonight.

  Through the darkness, Sam could make out the white outlines of her bookcase. Even though she couldn’t see the journal, she knew exactly where it was located. It seemed to call out to her, telling her to open it up and take a look.

  But Sam didn’t need to open it up to see. She had The List memorized.

  Good sense of humor. Makes me smile and laugh.

  Someone I connect with

  Tall, dark, and handsome. (Meant as a joke in the beginning, then later changed to) Attractive

  Treats me with respect

  Loves kids, especially Adi and Kajsa. And Maxwell and Georgia.

  Is not obsessed with Taylor Swift (She eventually crossed this out because she couldn’t imagine meeting another guy with a room plastered in Taylor Swift paraphernalia. He’d only asked Sam out because she sort of looked like the teen icon. Gag.)

  Appreciates good art. (After she’d taken Damien to an art exhibit, she’d added,) Even if I have to explain why it’s good.

  Works hard

  A great kisser (Added after Milton had given her the goodnight kiss of all goodnight kisses. Who would have thought someone named Milton could have kissed like that?)

  Athletic. Into sports like basketball or running. Wants to be healthy and active. (Revised after dating Rex—a lover of yoga and long walks)

  Shows kindness to everyone, especially his family. (After Steven came to a summer barbeque and didn’t make an effort to get to know anyone, Sam added,) And mine

  Has to be willing to watch what I want to watch sometimes (Added after Clayton reluctantly agreed to watch The Princess Bride and ended up loving it)

  Cares about school and learning

  Supports me in my goals (Added after Wes
ton tried to talk her out of accepting what turned out to be a fantastic summer internship)

  Loves to have fun. (Then, after she dated the all-about-fun-and-nothing-else Brian, added,) But also has a serious side

  A great cook (Added after Beckett made her the most amazing fried tacos she’d ever tasted. If only he’d had some of the other qualities on her list.)

  Sam knew that if she pulled out that journal and let Colton factor in, her mother’s words, spoken so long ago, would be like an ancient prophesy that was finally coming true. One day you’ll meet someone different—someone special—someone who has the most important qualities you’ve written down and throws in some extras that you hadn’t thought of before. Sam began to think of all the extras.

  Rides mechanical bulls with finesse

  Tames wild horses

  Looks amazing in a cowboy hat and Wranglers.

  Has a laugh that stops people in their tracks. In a good way.

  Cares about animals

  Lives in the cutest little shack ever built

  Has the patience of Job

  Can win over my parents in a matter of minutes

  Someone I can talk to for hours, but it feels like only minutes

  The only problem was that Sam had another list—one that had been imbedded in her mind rather than scribbled on paper. It didn’t need adaptations or revisions. It had been the same ever since she decided what she wanted to be when she grew up.

  Get accepted to a good graphic design program

  Maintain at least a 3.75 GPA

  Land a competitive internship

  Graduate with honors

  Go to work for a premier design firm for at least two years

  Start my own company and make it successful

  Unlike The List, this one was numbered. Like stepping stones, each step brought her closer to her ultimate goal. And now she was almost there. Jason Brecken Design was ranked number four of the best graphic design companies in the world. Not just the US, the world.