Free Bucked by Cat Johnson Page B

remained.
    “Stay,” he whispered, still breathing heavier than normal.
    Sage’s gaze met his. He saw a need that matched his own there. It seemed like forever before her eyes finally broke away and she answered his mother. “Thank you, Mrs. Jackson. I’d love to.”

    The front door opened and his father stepped through, his gaze zeroing in on Mustang. “Hmmph. I see you’re fine.”
    Pleasant as ever. “Yes, sir. I am.”
    “Myra, when’s dinner?”
    Apparently that was all the concern Mustang was going to get from the man, which was fine with him. Sage was there and that was enough of a distraction to make him forget even about his father.
    “In about an hour.”
    “I’m going to cut the grass quick. Yell when the food’s done.” His father shot him a look, as if Mustang had been too lazy to cut the grass when he’d gotten home from surgery. Then again, maybe Mustang was just overreacting. He’d had such a chip on his shoulder for most of his life, his father could have brought him a dozen yellow roses in the recovery room and he’d still doubt the man’s sincerity.
    He sighed and felt Sage’s touch on his arm. “My grandmother said to tell you that you better come over and visit her. If you tell me when you feel well enough to go out, I’ll come pick you up after I get off work. Any day you want.”
    Mustang smiled. “How about tomorrow?”
    She raised a brow in surprise. “Really? So soon? Will you feel up to it?”
    He heard the mower start. An angry sound, though that could have been a reflection of Mustang’s own biased opinion. Either way, he didn’t want to be around tomorrow evening when his father got home.
    Avoiding a confrontation wasn’t the only reason Mustang had for wanting to go to the Beckett house the next day. He glanced at Sage, her cheeks still pink and her eyes bright from the intensity of their kiss.
    Mustang nodded. “Tomorrow’s perfect.”

Chapter Seven
    It didn’t take long for his father to bring up the subject of the job waiting for him at the prison. A whole day.
    Actually, that was longer than Mustang figured it would take. He’d assumed the topic would be raised immediately after he got released from the hospital. The most likely reason it hadn’t been was Sage’s presence. Then tonight Mustang had pulled a disappearing act and gone to her house. It didn’t stop his father from hitting him with the question the moment he got home though.
    He knew he should have stayed later instead of leaving right after Grams’ dessert of fried bananas and ice cream. The food at Sage’s house had been as tempting as their one and only kiss. Even if he didn’t get the opportunity to repeat it, the heat of the memory was almost enough to make him forget the shitty promise he’d finally made about the job.
    Mustang had given in to his father’s pressure and agreed to the one thing he thought he’d never do. After he saw the surgeon again next week and got the okay, Mustang would start the daily commute to Huntsville Prison.
    His arm felt okay, considering, so of course he’d get the go-ahead to start light work. Wouldn’t that be fun? He and his father.
    Commuting together. Working together. Mustang resisted the strong urge to beat his head against the wall at the idea. Instead, he stared at himself in the mirror above the wooden bureau in his childhood bedroom.
    “Three months,” he told his reflection. By then he’d either have made enough money working to cover the payments on the trailer until he could get back into competition, or he would have strangled his father on the highway somewhere between Magnolia and Huntsville.
    Either way, he was out of here after twelve weeks. Shit. Calculating his time in weeks still sounded worse than it did in months no matter how often he tried it out.
    It didn’t matter. He could do it, he would do it. A man could withstand anything for a limited amount of time. He proved that every time he rode a ton of bucking bovine to the