Bucked (The Invincibles Book 6) Page 3
When Barb got up from the table and walked into the other room, I followed. She pushed aside the drape and looked out the window. “I have a bad feeling, TJ.”
I turned my back so she couldn’t see me roll my eyes. “Time for me to head out.”
“Wait. We aren’t finished talking about this.”
With my fists clenched, I slowly turned back around. “Yes, Aunt Barb, we are. This book, this story, is important to me. Probably the most important of my career. There’s nothing you can say that will make me change my mind about seeing it through.”
“Even if it means the same thing will happen to you that happened to me?”
“Jesus, stop this. I don’t know what kind of straws you’re grasping at, but the situations have zero in common.”
“You’re wrong. They have a lot more in common than you think.” After looking over her shoulder, presumably for Nancy, she walked over to the baby grand piano that had always been in her apartment but I’d never seen her play. I watched her lift the keyboard cover, count ten keys from the right, lift the one she had landed on, and pull out an entirely different type of key. She walked over and handed it to me.
“What’s this?”
“It opens a safe-deposit box,” she whispered.
“What’s in it, Barb?”
“Keep your voice down.” She looked over her shoulder again and motioned me closer. “The evidence.”
I took the three steps between her and the piano, lifted the same key she had, dropped the one in my hand under it, and silently closed the cover. I approached my aunt and rested my hands on her shoulders.
“I love you, Aunt Barb. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and I can never repay you for it. That includes by me giving up my book. I won’t do it. Don’t ask me again.”
My aunt’s eyes bored into mine, but she didn’t speak.
“Are we clear?”
When she didn’t answer, I dropped my hands, walked into the kitchen, and grabbed my things.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said before walking out and closing the door behind me.
5
Buck
“A dude ranch? Are you serious?”
I watched my brother’s face fall. “You sound like the old man.”
“Hang on a sec. I think it’s a great idea.”
“You do?”
“Hell, yeah!”
“We have another one.”
“Go on.”
“Stock contracting.”
There was one other centennial ranch in the East River Valley, where Roaring Fork Ranch was located: the Flying R, owned by the Rice family. I’d heard they were raising roughstock—bucking broncs and bulls primarily—and that they were doing quite well. It didn’t hurt that a past NFR bronc-riding champion had married into the family.
I had to admit, both of Porter’s ideas surprised me, and not in a bad way. What didn’t surprise me was that our dad shot ’em down without consideration.
“The problem is what it’ll take to get them off the ground.”
This was the part of the conversation I didn’t want to get involved in. I didn’t have the means—or the desire, if I was honest—to invest in the future of the ranch.
“Buck?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re in favor of this, right?”
“Absolutely, Port. I wish you, Cord, Holt, and Flynn the best of luck. I just can’t be—”
“I knew it.”
“You knew what?”
“You’re letting it go.”
I rolled my neck, cringing when it cracked. “I have nothing to do with this, man. I’d love to see you make a go of it, be successful, but if you’re looking for money, I’m not your guy.”
“Right.”
I tried to lighten the tension building between us. “You know somethin’ I don’t? Did I win the lottery and no one told me?”
“Close enough.”
Porter drove past the gates of the ranch and pulled up to the main house. I jumped out, grabbed my bag from the back seat, and went inside through the front door that was never locked. I traipsed down the hallway to my old room. When I turned back to say goodnight to Porter, I saw his bedroom door close behind him.
I hadn’t been in bed for a minute when my door flew open and my sister, Flynn, bounded over and planted herself next to me.
“What are you doin’ up?” I asked, hugging her and messing her hair.
“Waitin’ on you.”
“How are you, Flynn?”
“Better now that you’re here.”
“Porter said you’re bein’ ‘stoic.’ I know Dad’s death is hard on you, sis.”
“Yeah. Well…”
“What?”
“I was never blind, Buck. I know how he was. I knew it then.”
This wasn’t a good topic of conversation ever, but especially not now.
Flynn put her arm around my waist and squeezed. “I’m just so glad you’re here. It’ll be great to spend time with you.”
“It won’t be great if you and I don’t get some sleep.” I moved her arm from around my waist. “We’ll talk more in the morning, okay?”
“Sure.” She stood to walk out but stopped at the door. “Thanks for being here, Buck. We need you more than you know.”
After she left, I rolled over and punched the single pillow on my old twin bed. I got the feeling that both Port and Flynn expected me to stay a hell of a lot longer than I intended to.
When I woke up, the sun was high in the sky. I got out of bed, hit the bathroom, and walked into the kitchen. The house was quiet, which meant everyone was probably out doing morning chores.
After I made another pot of coffee, I went outside and sat on the porch. Crested Butte, Colorado, where the ranch was located, was close to nine thousand feet in elevation. That meant it rarely got above eighty even on the hottest summer days. It felt warmer than that today, though.
“Heard you landed last night,” I heard another of my brothers, Cord, say from behind me. I stood and hugged him. Of everyone, he was the most like me. Where Porter was the clean-cut cowboy, Cord and I let our hair grow past our shoulders, only shaved when there was a damn good reason for it, and always volunteered to handle the chores on Sunday so we could get out of going to church.
I put my hands on his shoulders and looked into the same blue eyes I saw every day in the mirror. “How are you?”
Cord shrugged. “Better now that you’re here.”
I’d seen three of my siblings, and each one had said the same thing—better now that I was here.
“I’m not sure how long I will be.”
Cord cocked his head and took a breath as if he was about to say something when the last of my brothers walked out the front door.
“Buck,” said Holt, pulling me into a tight hug. “You sure as hell are a sight for these sore eyes of mine.”
He was the youngest boy but two years older than Flynn, who was the baby of the family and had just turned twenty-one.
Our mom had five kids inside ten years. No wonder she had a damn heart attack before her thirty-fifth birthday.
“You better get yourself cleaned up for the visitation later,” said Cord, looking me up and down. “Looks like you just rolled out of bed.”
I took a drink of coffee. “That’s because I did. Port and I didn’t get back from the airport until almost three in the morning.”
“Where is Port anyway?” asked Holt.
“I’m right here.” He walked out of the same door the other two had. “We’ll need to leave in thirty minutes to go meet with the pastor.”
I thought about begging off, but wasn’t that what I’d been doing for the last few years? The least I could do was stand beside my siblings as we buried the old son of a bitch.
As I walked past Porter to go in and shower, I was struck by how much older he looked. I hadn’t noticed it as much last night, but by the light of day, he looked ten years olde
r than me with another twenty years’ worth of worry piled on top of the age.
As it turned out, Porter and I were merely bookends for our younger sister, who had our father’s funeral service planned out to the final note of the last hymn. I wondered how much the old man had done himself, but wouldn’t ask her. Like Port had said, Flynn was stoic, and if that’s what she had to do to hold it together, I wasn’t about to shatter the walls she’d put around her heart.
The minister walked us out and said he’d see us later, at the visitation. I shook his hand and was about to get into my brother’s truck when I heard someone calling my name. I turned and shielded my eyes from the sun.
“Hey, Buck. I was hoping I’d see you before tonight.”
Bethany Strom—the girl who took my virginity—walked up and put her arms around me.
“Hey, Beth.” When she held me tight and kissed my cheek, I had to admit I appreciated the comfort.
I watched as her eyes briefly met Porter’s before he got in the truck, slammed the door, and she turned her focus back on me. “Whatever you need, Buck. I’m here.”
I leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll see you later.”
Arrangements had been made for the visitation to take place in the town’s art center. I’d thought it was overkill until we drove up twenty minutes before it was scheduled to begin and there were already people lined up, waiting to get in.
If they only knew what the bastard had really been like, I doubted five people would’ve showed up. Then again, they weren’t here for him. They were here for our family, who had been part of the Crested Butte community for almost one hundred and fifty years, and for my brothers, sister, and me.
An hour felt like ten as we stood side by side, thanking those who came, listening as they told stories about our father, our mother, or both.
Every so often, I’d catch someone from across the room staring at me, whispering to the person he or she was talking to. More often than not, they’d see me looking, turn their backs, and shake their heads. God knew what kind of judgment they were passing on me, and whatever it was, I didn’t give a shit. They hadn’t walked a single step in my shoes and had no idea what drove me to go off to college and never look back.
I excused myself to the restroom, went in, locked the door, and splashed cold water on my face. I unfastened the top button on my dress shirt, loosened my tie, and rested my hands on either side of the sink. I stared at the face in the mirror, the one that looked more and more like my father.
“Just a sec,” I said when I heard a rap on the door. I dried my hands and walked back out to the room where my siblings were still greeting those who’d come to pay their respects. Like me, Porter must’ve needed a break, because he was no longer with them. I was just about to make my way over when I heard hushed voices coming from a side room. Though not loud, the tone was angry.
“Everything okay in here?” I asked, coming around the corner in time to see Porter reach out for Beth’s hand and her yank it away. My brother swept past me without making eye contact.
“What was that about?” I asked.
“We were…uh…seeing each other for a while. It didn’t work out.”
That explained my brother’s reaction this afternoon. “Listen, darlin’, I appreciate you bein’ here tonight, but I think it would be best if you head home now.”
Her eyes filled with tears, but she nodded and turned to walk away.
“Beth, wait.” I took two steps toward her. “You said things didn’t work out. That had nothing to do with me coming back here, right?”
When she walked away without answering, a bad feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.
The second hour of visitation was more of the same. I thought for sure the crowds would dwindle down, but the stream of people remained constant. At the start of the third hour, I was ready to padlock the front door.
“Look who just walked in,” said Porter. I turned my head in the direction he’d pointed and saw the Rice family coming toward us.
Bud and Ginny Rice had been good friends of my parents and grandparents. I was stunned by how much they’d aged since the last time I saw them.
“If there’s anything at all we can do,” Ginny said after she and her husband offered their condolences like so many others had before them.
“Same goes for Livvie and me,” said their oldest son, Ben. Even though he had twenty years on me, I’d known him all my life. I’d watched from the sidelines as he and his band achieved moderate success, only for Ben to descend into a hellhole of drugs and alcohol.
Then I’d watched as he fought his way back, tooth and nail, until he achieved the kind of superstardom a man with his talent deserved.
The best part was that, along the way, he fell in love with Olivia Fairchild, world champion barrel racer, but more importantly, Ben’s other half.
“It’s good to see you,” I said, returning his embrace.
“My turn,” said Olivia when her husband stepped aside. Porter nudged me, and I shook my head.
“Let’s just get through this,” I said after they walked away. “There’ll be plenty of time for us to talk to the Flying R after the funeral.”
Thankfully, Porter acquiesced.
By the time we got home, I wanted no part of talking to anyone in my family and retreated straight to the bedroom. I pulled out my phone, hoping against hope there’d be a text from Stella. When there wasn’t one, I scrolled through the old ones. They were from the night before Cope and Ali’s wedding, and she’d been vacillating about going.
Oh, no, you don’t, I’d written. You promised to let me lean on you just like I promised you could lean on me.
You’ll be fine without me, she’d responded.
Rather than answer in another text, I’d picked up the phone. “I won’t,” I said when she answered.
We’d talked late into the night, until we both admitted we couldn’t keep our eyes open.
God, I wanted to hear her voice. I’d gotten used to us either talking or texting just about every night. There was a two-hour time difference between Colorado and DC, but I knew she’d be up. Stella wasn’t a morning person.
She answered before I heard the phone ring. “Buck?”
“Hey, Stella.”
She was quiet, but I could hear her breathing.
“You mad at me?”
“I am.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why didn’t you tell me your dad was sick? I thought we were…Forget it. Anyway, I’m sorry for your loss.”
“You thought we were what?”
“Friends,” she mumbled. “Pretty stupid, huh?”
I realized then that Stella had had a few. “Not stupid at all, darlin’. I’m more than just your friend.”
“Don’t lie to me, Cope.”
“Buck.”
“What?”
“You called me Cope. I’m Buck and I don’t lie, TJ.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“You gonna tell me your real name?”
She laughed. “That is my real name, but I prefer Stella.”
“You know what I mean, darlin’. The name you were given when you were born.”
“Oh. That. Well, I swore I’d never tell a soul. You’re a soul, so…”
“I miss you.”
“You do?”
“Damn right, I do.”
“I miss you too,” she whispered as though, if she said it quietly enough, it wouldn’t count. “I’m sorry about your father,” she repeated.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him.”
“Why didn’t you?”
I shrugged even though she couldn’t see me. “He was sick for a long time.”
“My mom was sick for a long time before she died too.” She paused, and I heard what sounded like ice in a glass.
“Whatcha drinkin’?”
“Bourbon.”
“Could use one of those myself.”
&nbs
p; “Go pour yourself one so I’m not drinking alone.”
I walked into the kitchen, reached up to the cupboard over the fridge, and pulled down the bottle of Jack I knew I’d find there. I sloshed some of the brown liquid into a glass, tucked the bottle under my arm, and went back down the hallway.
“Cheers,” I muttered.
“Salut.”
I finished what was in my glass and poured another.
Stella and I talked for another twenty minutes about absolutely nothing. By then I had enough liquor in my system that all I could picture when I closed my eyes was how her naked body would look under mine.
“I better call it a night. It was good to hear your voice, darlin’.” I waited for her to respond but only heard the chimes of the call ending. It was the way she always ended our phone calls. I’d asked her why once.
“I don’t say goodbye unless it’s forever,” she’d told me.
It hadn’t occurred to me until now that when I left the wedding, those were the words she used.
6
Buck
My father’s funeral was as much of a blur as the visitation had eventually become, with too many people I didn’t know paying their respects to a man I hadn’t respected since I was a child.
Now, I felt myself counting the minutes until the meeting with the attorney handling my father’s estate would be over. As soon as it was, I planned to be on the first flight I could catch out of Colorado. Whether I could pick up another mission right away or not, my plan was to return to DC to see Stella.
While the town of Crested Butte was home to a few law firms, the Wheaton family attorney was in Gunnison—the county seat. The day after the funeral, that’s where my siblings and I were headed.
“Hey, Buck,” said a guy dressed in a suit and tie as he reached out to shake my hand when we pulled up and piled out of the two vehicles we’d driven over.
“Do I know you?” I asked.
Cord jabbed me with his elbow. “You don’t recognize Six-pack Langley?”
I looked the guy up and down. Ol’ Six-pack hadn’t gotten his nickname from having washboard abs. It was from the six-pack he could down faster than one of us could finish a single beer. “You a lawyer now?”