Bucked

This cowboy is looking for more than just an eight-second ride.

Studs in Spurs, Book 2

Mustang Jackson does two things well—ride bulls and love women. So the injury that takes him out of the arena leaves him only one way to make a living. Unfortunately, getting paid to be a stud in front of the camera isn’t as fun as private conquests. When he catches sight of little Sage Beckett, minus the glasses, braces and pigtails he remembers, doing time in his hometown suddenly gets a lot more interesting.

Sage had a crush on Michael long before he started using that ridiculous nickname “Mustang”. Though from what she’s overheard about his string of buckle bunnies, the man more than lives up to it. In the past he always looked right through her. Now that he’s home again, she’s determined to capture and tame this wild stallion, no matter what it takes.

She intends to satisfy her curiosity and move on, but with every touch she’s less sure she’ll ever purge him from her system. Once corralled in her arms, Mustang finds himself thinking that domestication may not be so bad after all.

Except, once she finds out about his side job, she may not stick for the next go-round.

Warning: Contains one well-hung cowboy riding much more than just bulls, some ménage action in front of and behind the camera, some whips and chains and some red-hot cowboy loving.

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They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

Macon GA 31201

Bucked

Copyright © 2010 by Cat Johnson

ISBN: 978-1-60504-900-7

Edited by Heidi Moore

Cover by Amanda Kelsey

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: February 2010

www.samhainpublishing.com

Bucked

Cat Johnson

Nikki—who loves Mustang and Chase as much as I do.

Mike—for his help, inspiration, patient computer tech support, sympathetic ear and steady belief in me and for allowing me to borrow the details of his real-life bull-riding injury for my story.

Gary—for being my beta reader no matter what the genre and my unfailing supporter in both work and life.

As with all my works of fiction, any liberties taken with the facts or mistakes made are purely my own.

Sage Beckett dropped to her knees and peered past the dust bunnies beneath the bed. Pushing aside the white eyelet dust ruffle, she squinted into the darkness searching for what she knew was there somewhere.

“Hey there, Little Bit. Whatcha doing under there?”

The sound of a familiar voice had her heart pounding and not only because he’d startled her. Sage’s pulse routinely raced from simply thinking about the boy who lived on the next street over.

She swiveled her head to find those piercing blue eyes that melted her from the inside out focused on her.

“Um. Nothing.” Guiltily, she let the bedcovers fall back into place and jumped to her feet.

“Where’s Rosemary? Do you know?” Michael leaned casually against the doorframe as if he had no clue what his mere presence did to her pubescent body.

Of course, he had no idea how he affected her, how she felt about him. To him she was just Rosemary’s little sister, the middle schooler who followed them around the house and who they were forced to let tag along to their high school games. Michael would never see her as a woman, would never know the very real and adult feelings she had for him. Not as long as Rosemary was around anyway.

“I don’t know. She’s not home from school yet.” Which was why Sage had been under her sister’s bed looking for Rosemary’s diary. Her sister would never tell her what was happening with Michael, but that diary did.

“Do you think your grandmother has any of those empanadas she made yesterday left in the fridge?” Michael’s devilish grin drew Sage’s gaze to his perfectly shaped lips and made her immediately think what it would feel like to kiss them.

Rosemary had kissed those lips. In fact, her sister and the object of Sage’s secret affection had not only kissed. They’d done more than that already and Sage had read every heartbreaking detail.

She pressed a hand to her churning stomach. The pain of what she’d read the last time she’d snooped in Rosemary’s diary was still very present. The fear of what she’d read next made her ill.

Her eyes dropped to his hand braced on the door molding. What she’d give to feel that hand touching her own breasts.

Ha! What breasts? Rosemary was the sister who had the boobs in the family. Sage had nothing. Nothing that could attract Michael compared to what Rosemary had.

“Little Bit, you feeling okay?”

His words kicked her into action. What was the good in wallowing in self-pity? He was here. Rosemary wasn’t. For now at least he was all hers. “Yeah. I’m fine. Come on to the kitchen. I’ll heat up those empanadas for you.”

His face broke into a wide smile. “You’re the best.”

As she led the way to the other room, Sage prayed one day soon Michael would realize
that
was the absolute truth and forget all about Rosemary.

Reaching into the fridge, Sage pushed aside the lettuce and grabbed the foil packet she’d stashed there the night before.

She always remembered to hide some empanadas for Michael, knowing he’d be there looking for leftovers the next day. On the other hand, Rosemary obviously couldn’t remember to even come home right after class. It was pretty apparent to Sage which one of them deserved him more and it wasn’t her older sister.

Michael scraped the kitchen chair across the floor and straddled it so he faced her while she reheated the food.

Knowing he was watching, Sage wished even more keenly her body would mature and catch up with the rest of her. She was doing advanced schoolwork that put her on the level with kids two years older than her. Emotionally she was an adult, capable of caring for him far better than her selfish sister. So why didn’t her teeth get straight already so the braces could come off? And when would she be old enough to get contact lenses and ditch her ugly glasses? Some boobs would be nice too. Not huge, but enough to catch Michael’s attention.

“Did I tell you? I got that summer job.”

Sage spun away from the counter to face him. “You did? The one on the ranch?”

“Yup. That’s the one.”

“That’s so great. I know you really wanted it.”

He laughed. “Oh yeah. I was desperate. My father was looking into getting me a job working with him every day for the summer.”

“That would have been bad.” Sage cringed at the thought. She couldn’t count the number of times Michael had shown up at their back door red-faced and sullen after a fight with his father.

“Yeah, tell me about it. Anyway, some of the job will be stuff like cleaning out the barn, but I’ll also get to learn how to handle the stock. And the guys I’ll be working with said they’ll teach me how to ride bulls like they do.”

“Really? They ride bulls?”

He leaned forward, the excitement evident in the expression on his sun-browned face. “Hell, yeah. Do you know how much money they make? One guy rode in a competition last weekend and won. He got five thousand bucks and this really cool belt buckle.”

“Five thousand. Wow. That’s really good.”

“I know.” His head bobbed with an enthusiastic nod. “I could work all summer with my father and not make even near that.”

Michael’s entire body visibly vibrated with his excitement. So much so she hated to bring up the next question. “Have you told your parents about getting the job yet?”

Eyes lowered, he began picking at a chip in the edge of the kitchen table. “No. I guess I have to soon though. I’m supposed to start work this weekend.”

Sage’s mood fell right along with his. Her guilt at having smothered his good mood with the mention of his parents overwhelmed her.

The toaster oven dinged and the aroma of her grandmother’s home cooking filled the kitchen, telling her the leftovers were done heating. Grateful for the distraction, Sage grabbed a potholder and pulled the hot tray of meat-filled pastries out. She slid them onto a plate and turned toward Michael, hoping the sight of his favorite food would cheer him up again after she’d depressed him.

Putting the dish on the table, she resisted the urge to brush her hand over his.

“Hey. Do you want to come over for dinner after your first day of work? Maybe Grams can make something special and we can celebrate.”

His eyes lifted. “Okay.”

“Celebrate what?” Rosemary blew in through the screen door and dropped her bag on the table, narrowly missing the plate of food.

“Michael got a job working with bulls at a ranch.” Sage shared that news with the enthusiasm it deserved, knowing how much Michael had wanted that job.

She only hoped his father would let him keep it when he heard what he’d be doing. His son cleaning stalls and handling farm stock would not make Mr. Jackson happy. Riding bulls would be even worse. Sage knew the man enough to know that for a fact.

“A ranch? Doing what? Shoveling manure? Lovely.” Rosemary let out a snort. “Bobby’s working at his father’s company for the summer.”

Popping in a big mouthful of food, Michael chewed and swallowed. “Wearing a business suit, talking on the phone while trapped inside in an office all day selling insurance? Yeah, that sounds like a really fun way to spend the summer.”

“Whatever.” Her sister rolled her eyes before they narrowed in on the last empanada as it disappeared into Michael’s mouth.

Rosemary spun to face Sage. “I thought there were no leftovers last night. I wanted seconds and when I asked you, you said they were all gone.”

Maybe if her lazy sister had gotten up from the table and actually walked to the stove to look for herself she would have found them. As it was, Sage was glad she hadn’t so she could save these for Michael. “Um, I found a few on another tray Grams left warming in the oven. Sorry.”

Behind Rosemary, Michael smiled and rose. “Sorry, Rose. All gone. You ready to go study for that test?”

“Yeah. Grab my book bag, will you?” Rosemary breezed out of the kitchen empty-handed and headed down the hall toward her room without a backward glance.

“Sure thing.” Grabbing the bag, Michael winked at Sage. “Thanks, Little Bit. Those hit the spot.”

She felt her cheeks grow warm. “You’re welcome.”

Then he was gone too. She heard Rosemary’s bedroom door close behind him. No doubt they’d lock it and there would be more than studying going on. Sage swallowed to rid herself of the acid taste in her throat.

Life simply wasn’t fair.

Mustang Jackson tightened the buckle on the last of the six leather chap straps wrapped around his thighs. Straightening, he glanced at the chutes. One of the younger kids was getting situated on the back of a particularly rank bull. The animal kept hopping, banging against the metal rails. Judging by the expression on the rider’s face the animal’s behavior was starting to unnerve him.

Normally Mustang would jump right up there and try to help. As a seasoned rider with many years in the pro circuit under his belt he tried to mentor the younger guys whenever he could, but right now he had his own ride to get ready for.

Eventually, a stock contractor climbed up to deal with the animal and Mustang could stop worrying about the other rider and concentrate on himself.

He pulled a leather glove onto his riding hand and wrapped a strip of tape tightly around the top of the glove at his wrist. Tearing off the length of adhesive with his teeth, Mustang glanced at the action in the chute again. The rider was up off the bull, straddling the rails as the stock guy adjusted the flank strap around the animal’s hindquarters.

Slade wandered over as Mustang stretched out his triceps one at a time while watching the proceedings.

“You up next?”

“One more after him, then me.” Anxious to get on his bull and get this ride over with, Mustang let out a long, frustration-filled breath of air. “It looks like this one could take awhile.”

“Yup, it sure does.” Slade nodded. “You ready to take on Ballbreaker?”

“I’m always ready.” Mustang hooked the heel of one booted foot on the bottom rail while he waited for God knew how long. He winced as he felt the painful tug of muscles in an area he’d rather not have pain.

“That groin pull from last week still giving you trouble, or did you reinjure yourself during last night’s activities?”

Mustang never could hide shit from Slade, which was one reason he never played poker against him.

“For your information, smart ass, there were no ‘activities’ last night.” Unfortunately, because he could sure go for some activity in that department. “The groin’s just a little tender still. I’ll be fine.”

Slade shot him a sidelong glance. “I hope so.”

So did Mustang. They both knew he had better be on the top of his game to ride last season’s Bull of the Year.

Ballbreaker may have dumped Mustang in the dirt after two seconds the one and only time he’d been on him, but the animal had given Slade a lot worse during their matchup.

Mustang glanced again at the chutes and saw the rider still wasn’t ready. He let his gaze roam the crowd while he waited. “Did Jenna get a good seat?”

“Yeah. She’s not in the front row but at least she’s in the VIP section. When I left her she was trying to ask one of the Brazilian rider’s wives questions for research for her next book.”

He laughed. “That sounds like typical Jenna. Curious as ever.”

“Yup, only Jenna was trying to talk to her in what sounded like Spanish she learned in high school. I didn’t have the heart to tell her Brazilians speak Portuguese.”

Mustang laughed. “Ah, man. She’s gonna be pissed at you for not telling her.”

Slade grinned. “That’s okay. She can get as pissed off as she wants. I’ll enjoy the make-up sex.”

“Yeah, yeah. Rub it in.” He shook his head. There’d been a time they’d both enjoyed sex with Jenna. That cozy threesome had happened before Mustang had seen how she and Slade were falling for each other. He’d bowed out so they could be together but that didn’t mean he still didn’t look back fondly upon those times. He was a red-blooded, healthy male in his sexual prime after all.

“There’s Ballbreaker.” Tipping his head, Slade nodded toward their right.

Slade’s announcement dispelled any thoughts of sex and drew all of Mustang’s attention to where the stockmen were loading the massive bull into a chute on the other side.

“They’re loading him for a left-side delivery?” Mustang frowned.

Slade watched the procedure too. “Looks like. He was in a right-side chute for both of our rides.”

Mustang nodded. “Exactly, and he spun to the right first both of those times.”

“So what will he do now that the chute’s opening on the other side of him?” Slade raised a brow in question.

“That’s what I’d like to know.” Mustang searched the immediate area, hoping to find the stock manager. He spotted him talking to the television interviewer just as the kid who’d been taking his time messing around in the chute finally took off for his ride.

There wasn’t time to be wandering around asking about Ballbreaker’s habits. Mustang had to get his ass on that bull or risk a penalty for delaying the competition. There was already one other rider up on his bull and waiting for the arena to be clear so he could ride, then it would be Mustang’s turn.

“Shit. I guess we’ll soon find out which way he’ll turn ’cause I gotta go.” Mustang jumped down, ignoring the pull of muscles in his groin.

Stepping off the rail, Slade grinned. “Wouldn’t be any fun if things were easy, you know.”

Mustang let out a snort. “Yeah, you and Ballbreaker had tons of fun together in Tulsa. I’m kind of hoping for a little less fun tonight.”

Slade strode toward the chute next to him. “Hey, I had a ninety-point ride and walked away with the second-place paycheck. I’d call that fun.”

The harder the bull, the higher the score. If you rode him to the buzzer and didn’t look like a sack of potatoes while doing it, of course.

“True, and you got that bonus ride to the hospital too.” Letting the green-eyed monster take over, Mustang glanced at the VIP

section where the riders’ families sat, knowing Jenna was seated there somewhere. “I guess if Jenna was willing to tend to me the same way she took care of you after your ride, I wouldn’t mind a trip around the arena underneath Ballbreaker’s hooves either.”

It was so easy to tease Slade, especially about Jenna. The man had a jealous streak a mile wide. With one quick glance at his friend, Mustang noted Slade was no longer smiling, but he sure as hell was as he climbed up onto the rails.

Mustang regretted the smart-ass comment he’d made to Slade about Jenna the moment he climbed onto the bull’s back. Maybe it was bad Karma or something, not that Mustang particularly believed in that kind of shit, but the moment he lowered his ass onto Ballbreaker things felt off.

For one, the damn bull kept sitting back on his haunches, leaning against the end of the chute. Mustang was familiar with this little trick from his other matchup against Ballbreaker, but it didn’t make it any less annoying or easier to deal with now. It was hard to get settled on a bony back that sloped to the rear.

Then there was the left-hand versus right-hand delivery issue. When the gate opened to Ballbreaker’s left, would the bull start to spin left? Or did he always go right, no matter what?

Mustang drew in a deep breath. How the hell could he know what this bull was thinking? If Ballbreaker was thinking anything at all besides how to get the rider off his back.

He wound the bull rope tightly around his left hand twice and then wove it between his fingers, trying not to think about how that method was often referred to as the “suicide wrap” because it sometimes didn’t release when the rider fell off. At the moment, Mustang was more concerned about staying on than falling off.

About as settled as he was going to get, he figured delaying wasn’t helping any. Even though Ballbreaker was still all bunched up in the back of the chute, Mustang nodded for the gate to open and they were off.

He needn’t have worried about the left verses right-hand delivery, because Ballbreaker didn’t spin to the left or to the right.

Instead, the bull ran out into the arena and made one giant leap high into the air. Landing hard, Ballbreaker let his head drop low while his legs kicked straight out behind. Mustang felt the bull’s incredible power as he twisted beneath him, every snap and turn intended to dislodge the rider.

Mustang concentrated on keeping his free arm raised and his weight centered as Ballbreaker changed it up and started spinning left in the direction of Mustang’s riding hand.

With the amazing way things sometimes seemed to move in slow motion, Mustang heard the eight-second buzzer, reached down and effortlessly unwrapped the rope from around his left hand. Freed, he jumped to the ground.

He ran for the rails after landing on his feet in a perfect dismount. He hopped up, grabbed the top and waited in relative safety as the bullfighters worked to chase Ballbreaker out of the arena toward the stock pens in back.

Still in awe at how easy the ride had been, Mustang jumped down once the arena was clear, landing with a puff of dust beneath his feet. With his ungloved hand, he pulled his mouthguard out and stashed it in a pocket, grinning the entire time over his great ride.

One of the bullfighters retrieved the bull rope from the ground and walked over to return it to him. Saying thanks, Mustang reached for it with his gloved, left hand.

Frowning, the bullfighter stared down at Mustang’s extended limb. “Hey, your arm looks kinda funny. You better have Doc Tandy look it over.”

Glancing down, Mustang had to agree. It looked like he’d swallowed a tennis ball and it had gotten stuck in his arm. “I will.

Thanks, man.”

He grabbed the rope with his right hand and headed behind the chutes, wondering what the hell could have happened to his muscle during a damn near-perfect ride.

The first indication something was wrong was the stone-faced sports medicine team that surrounded him, followed closely by the worried expression on Slade’s face as he walked up behind them and joined the group staring at Mustang’s arm.

Oh yeah, and then there was the fact his limb was rapidly blowing up like a balloon. It was starting to look a lot like Popeye’s famed forearm, without the anchor tattoo.

The idea that maybe he should consider getting a tattoo skidded into his mind from out of nowhere. That errant thought was quelled as his stomach began to feel a little queasy.

“Sit down, Mustang.” Doc Tandy put a hand on Mustang’s shoulder.

“I don’t need to sit down. I’m fine. I just pulled a muscle in my arm is all.”

Someone slid the nearest chair beneath his ass and he was pushed down into it in spite of his protest. Doc Tandy whipped out a penlight and shined it into Mustang’s eyes.

“What are you doing? I didn’t hit my head.” He squinted at the doctor until an assistant came at his shirtsleeve with a scissor.

Then all his attention was on her. She slipped the metal blades under the rolled sleeve just below his elbow and he heard the material give way with a tear. “Hey. You cut my shirt.”

Doc Tandy shook his head. “Mustang, I’m a hell of a lot more concerned about your arm than your sleeve. You can buy a new shirt.”

Slade squatted down in front of Mustang’s chair. “You okay, man?”

“Besides the fact I need a new shirt? Yeah. Why?” Why was everyone acting like there was something wrong with him?

“Because your face is as white as the bed sheets in the trailer. Besides that, I know you haven’t even looked up at your score yet because if you had you’d be bragging to me about it.”

“Sure I looked.” Didn’t he see his score on the monitor? He must have.

“Oh yeah? What was it?” Slade pursed his lips and waited.

Mustang frowned, damned if he could remember what it had been, if he had seen it to begin with.

“He’s getting shocky from the break.” The doctor spoke directly to Slade as if Mustang wasn’t there.

“Break? What break? Nothing’s broke.” Mustang started to stand up and was promptly pushed back down by more than one hand.

The doctor’s face appeared in front of him right next to Slade’s. “Your arm’s broke.”

Mustang shook his head. “No, it’s not. It doesn’t even hurt.”

“It will when that adrenaline wears off. Adrenaline is a powerful drug, son.” The doctor probed at the swollen forearm.

It hadn’t hurt before, but it sure as hell was starting to now that the doc was messing with it. Mustang wiped the moisture from his forehead with the shirtsleeve on his good arm, wondering why he was sweating when he felt so cold. “It’s fine. I just strained a muscle or something. Right, doc?”

The doctor’s head swayed slowly back and forth. “No, Mustang. I’m afraid not. It’s broken for sure. We need to get you to the hospital for X-rays to see how bad, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it needed surgery.”

Broken. Surgery.
The words hit Mustang like a sledgehammer blow to the head. “My arm can’t be broken. I didn’t even hit the ground. You can’t break a bone just from riding.”

Chase Reese must have wandered over at some point, but Mustang didn’t notice until he started talking. “You sure can. I saw it happen to a guy while I was riding in the college rodeo.”

Mustang frowned, finding it harder than it should have been to focus on what Chase was saying. “You went to college?”

“Yup. I even graduated.” Chase grinned.

“Huh.” For some reason Mustang found that fact particularly amazing, more so even than the possibility he’d gotten hurt without falling off the bull. The throbbing in his arm began to increase and he found he was having trouble comprehending much of anything.

Chase continued. “Anyway, the bull bucked so hard, it snapped this guy’s arm. He didn’t even notice until the ride was over.”

Mustang glanced down at his own sleeveless limb again. The strange lump in the middle of his forearm was less obvious now that the whole thing had blown up to a good three times its normal size.

“Okay. Maybe it is a slight break. We’ll go to the hospital. The doc will set it right quick, then I’ll be back in competition in a few weeks.”

Doc Tandy shook his head once more. Mustang was starting to get pretty tired of that. “You’re out for at least three, maybe four months.”

Chase nodded vigorously. “Yup. That’s about how long that other guy was out when it happened to him. He missed the whole end of the season.”

Mustang resisted the urge to punch the young rider in the face for that news.
Four months.
That would take him out of competition until the fall. He’d have barely two months to ride before the finals and the end of the season.