this through right here. “Call me Sammy one more time, Tuck. See what happens.”
He smirked. The handsome fuck. I was never going to make it if I had to work closely with him on this show.
9
Sam
“Are you really expecting me to believe you want to help with this reality show?" I asked, staring at Tucker with pure disbelief coursing through me.
Tucker sighed and rolled his eyes. "Contrary to what you think, not everything is about you. This ranch is my home. These people, the only family I've ever had. And I would do anything to help them. If that means I'm stuck with you while they’re shooting, then so be it. I'm an adult. Are you?"
Anger burned in my gut. I couldn't believe he was implying that I wasn't. That I didn't care about my family. "Well, if you're here with me, who’s out there doing your job? The job we pay you for?"
He crossed his arms over his broad chest and stared me down. "Not that you have any say over it, but we brought on your cousin Trent. He just got out of the military, needed a job, and he's always been a good wrangler."
That was news to me. Trent was my dad’s oldest brother’s son. My uncle Samuel, my namesake, had been the one who'd stood to inherit the ranch, but he let it go to my dad because he wanted to follow his path by joining the military. He married a few years after Mama and Dad, then he and his wife had three kids. A girl and two boys. The youngest being Trent. We lost Uncle Samuel when Trent was two years old. Of course, now he was Tristan's age, perfect for ranch work.
"Great, so we’ll pay two people to do the work of one." I knew I was being an asshole, but I didn't want to let him in. I did that once, and look where that got me. I was a fucking mess over him, but the last thing I wanted was for Tucker to see that.
He gave me an exasperated look. Then he blew out a long breath and turned away from me, leaning against the railing of the indoor arena. I couldn't keep my traitorous gaze from wandering across his firm ass. I remembered exactly what that ass looked like naked. Shit. I might hate him, but I really wanted him.
“Not that it’s your business, seein’ as how you don’t own the ranch, but the network’s payin’ me. This isn't hurting the ranch. Right now, the only person that's hurting is me. I don't want to be trapped with you, knowing you hate me."
"Neither do I." I started to walk away but then turned on my heel, desperate to know one thing. "Why didn’t you write me back?"
Guilt flashed across his face, and I knew then and there, beyond any doubt, that he'd gotten my letter, the one and only time I poured out my heart a year after I left, and he'd chosen to ignore me.
"Why bother? We said everything we needed to say. It didn't mean anything. I was just there to help you discover who you really were."
I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head as I walked away. "You might've been my first, but you certainly weren't my last. Or my best."
Before I knew it, he was racing toward me, grabbing me by the shoulders and shoving me into the tack room, up against the wall. He knocked my hat off my head, bringing his face within a breath of mine. Fuck, he smelled good. Exactly the way I remembered him. A little leather, a little fresh, clean air, and the faint scent of sweat. He pressed his body against mine, the heat from his chest radiating against me. But that wasn't the most prominent part of this moment. His hard cock thickened down his thigh and pressed to my leg, insistent, and proof that hatred did nothing to douse the fire between us.
"I think that's a lie, Sammy. I think you've never had better, and that's why you hate me so much. Because all you can think about is our time at the cabin."
I leaned forward and put my lips to his ear, whispering, "I see I still make you hard."
"And I wonder if I can still make you come in your pants."
I shivered, remembering so vividly the night he'd gotten me so worked up that I came just from the friction of our hips