Free BUCKED Box Set: A Bull Rider Western Romance by Alycia Taylor, Claire Adams Page B

I really needed a haircut. I pulled on a pair of
khaki cargo shorts and a green V-neck t-shirt before grabbing socks from a
drawer. It took a minute to lace up my work boots. I threw on my John Deere
baseball cap on my way out of my room. I kind of felt like a tool, wearing work
boots with shorts, but hey, function over form. It gets hot fast in the summer.
    I reached
the foot of the steps and saw Jackson standing in the kitchen with his nose
about an inch away from the coffee pot, staring at it as it dripped down. What a strange kid. “What are you
doing?” I asked him.
    “I love
the smell of coffee, and my nose was cold. I thought I’d warm it up.”
    I shook my
head and laughed. “Fair enough, I guess. So, what do you want for breakfast?”
    He
shrugged. “I dunno. What do you have?”
    “How about
omelets? We’ve got more eggs than we know what to do with.”
    “You don’t
have to make anything that complicated,” he insisted.
    “It’s
fine, my mom’s always got a bunch of veggies cut up, so omelets are actually
pretty quick to make. And, we have a bunch of bacon, too.”
    “Bacon!”
he exclaimed.
    “I’ll take
that as a yes. What veggies do you want? Onions, mushrooms, and peppers?”
    “Yeah, and
do you have cheese?”
    “Sure do.”
I poured myself a cup of coffee before getting to work on breakfast. As I was
cooking, I told him to tell me everything he knew about bull riding, which
turned out to be a surprisingly large amount of information.
    “Well, I
know that a qualifying ride starts right as the bull’s shoulders exit the
chute, and it’s gotta be at least eight seconds. The bull gets out because of
the gateman , who pulls it open with a
rope, then gets out of the way. You can only have one hand on the bull at any given time, or else it’s called a
slap and you get disqualified. When the eight seconds are over, you can either
dismount or get bucked off, and then the clown distracts the bull so you can
get away without getting hurt. Then the judges score you and the bull, and you
get a score from one to a hundred. Most people land in the seventies, and
getting above ninety is like, super good, so I guess that means you’re super good because my mom told me you got a
ninety-one.” He said it all in one breath like he’d been waiting forever to
show me how much he knew.
    “Yeah, you
pretty much hit the nail on the head,” I told him. “Have you been doing your
research?”
    “I know
the PBR website like the back of my hand,” he proudly admitted.
    “I learned
all I know from my dad, but there’s nothing wrong with learning what you can
before lessons start. Shows you’ve got pluck. I like it,” I told him as I slid
his omelet onto a plate and told him to grab some bacon, which was draining on
a paper towel. He took four slices and sat down at the table.
    “So, what’s
your favorite part about bull riding?” he questioned.
    I didn’t
even have to think twice about my answer. “The adrenaline,” I said firmly. “You
ever been in a situation where you were terrified for your life?” I folded my
omelet and put it on a plate, then took the rest of the bacon and sat down.
    “Yeah, the
one time when I broke my mom’s antique vase,” he said, wide-eyed. “I thought I
was a goner.”
    The look
on his face was priceless. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, imagine that times
ten. I mean, you’re sitting on an angry bull that doesn’t want you there, and
he’s trying to throw you off his back. Then, when you finally get off, he
realizes it and wants to trample you so bad that someone has to distract him
while you run away.”
    “Awesome!
Sounds intense!”
    “Oh, it
is.”
    When we
both finished eating, I picked up our plates, rinsed them off, and set them in
the sink. “You wanna go outside now? It’d be neat to catch the sunrise.”
    “Definitely!”
Jackson exclaimed, practically dancing to the door. When I opened it, we were
met with a warm, but breezy morning. I led