Roped Tight (Ryker Ranch #4) - Kim Loraine Page 0,1

exclamation. Tucker jumped and pulled his hand away, shame coloring his cheeks. God, that hurt.

“How’s the tree?” he asked.

“Large,” she admitted. “But perfect. Did Sam tell you the cider is ready?”

His gaze flicked to mine. “Not yet. I was showing him your new ornament.”

Her eyes brightened. “Oh, you brought it?”

Nodding, he waited for me to pass it to her. The smile she gave me when I handed the horse to her made my heart swell. Seeing her happy changed the tone in the entire room.

“It’s so beautiful, Tucker. You really have a gift.”

“I’m glad you like it, ma’am. I’ll just let the rest of the hands know the cider is ready for them. I noticed your firewood supply is running a little low. Justin can chop some for you in the morning.”

“That’d be fine, Tuck.” Mama looked from me to Tucker, then down at her ornament. “I’m gonna put this on the tree.”

She left the two of us in the kitchen, the silence heavy. I let my gaze land everywhere but him.

He stepped toward me, one hand outstretched. “Sam—“

“I have firewood to get. Cider’s in the slow cooker.” I rushed away from him, not able to handle him touching me again. Tucker Weston was more than our most seasoned, loyal, reliable ranch hand.

He was the man I’d spent one intense summer of discovery with. The one I’ve never been able to get over. The one who broke my heart into jagged shards that had been stabbing me ever since, and the reason I stayed away for so long.

I’d known seeing Tucker again was going to be hard. I never imagined it would be impossible.

Ten years earlier

Sam

“Twenty-one. Finally. And a shiny new buckle to add to your growing collection,” my older brother Clint said, raising his beer and waiting for me to do the same. I grinned like an idiot, staring down at the proof that my bull riding career was just getting started. From here, I could go places. I could make something of myself. Make my dad proud.

“It’s not like we haven’t had our share of beers at the pond.” I chuckled under my breath as I clinked my glass to his.

“Yeah, but I’m tired of Travis being my only company out here.”

“Fuck you, Clint. I’m sitting right here.” Travis laughed, giving my brother a slight punch in the shoulder. “Besides, you wouldn’t have gotten half the buckle bunnies you’ve had without me.”

I nearly spit my beer across the table at the look on Clint’s face. But Travis was right. My cousin was a rodeo cowboy, riding with the best of them. But he was married, off-limits to the girls who hung around hoping for a piece of the cowboys who won. Travis wouldn’t give them any part of him. He was loyal, even if his wife wasn’t.

“Yeah, Clint.” I shouldn’t have pushed him, but it was too easy to watch my brother puff up like he had something to prove.

“I could get any girl here,” he said, frowning as he finished his beer.

Here meant The Silver Spur. The only bar close to town, and the place every cowboy, ranch hand, and local girl could be found on a Friday night.

I’d been dying to come to this place for years. Now, it seemed so much smaller than it had in my head. Sawdust covered the floor in a fine layer, the boot tracks already showing the trail of couples dancing, even this early in the night. A honky-tonk band played, the slide guitar reminding me of summer nights at the rodeo, but this place…this was different.

“Come on, you need a shot, a beer, and a girl,” Clint said, getting up and clapping me on the shoulder. “That’s how you ring in your twenty-first.”

We’d celebrated at home the day before. Mama made my favorite, spaghetti and meatballs, for dinner, and followed it up with her prize-winning chocolate cake. It’d been nice, all being together, but this was what I’d been waiting for. My win tonight was the icing on the cake.

“Trav, you need another?” I asked. He shook his head and jutted his chin toward the group of women who had just come in. His wife and two of her friends. Sighing, I offered him a slight smile and followed Clint to the bar.

“Ten bucks says they’ll be fighting before the next band starts.”

Clint chuckled. “Twenty, if she makes a scene.”

“What can I get you, boys?” The bartender, an older woman with bleach-blond hair and tattoos covering both arms winked