Roping His Bride by Cole Jagger

Author:Cole, Jagger
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Jagger Cole
Published: 2020-09-26T16:00:00+00:00

8

Tucker

I leave early the next morning. She can figure out her own fucking coffee this time.

In the pale grey of dawn, I saddle up Johnny, my older stallion. He’s an early bird like me, and he’s ready to go. We ride hard, kicking up morning dew in the fields until my mind goes blank. Or at least I try to make it go blank. But it’s clogged up with thoughts about Rose.

Damnit, how did this happen?

I’m mad that I’m mad. Which makes no sense. I’m pissed that I’m surprised that she turned out to be exactly who I thought she was. Just a corporate stiff trying to steal my fucking ranch. I’m pissed that I fell for the damsel routine like a fucking sucker.

Not telling her to get when she first showed up was a mistake. Kissing her was a bigger one. Kissing her a second time was fucking stupid.

I ride Johnny hard. But he’s a tough bastard; he can take it. And he knows where we’re going, too. I ride to the edge of my property, which is big. Over the ridge, I’m technically on old man Uncer’s land. But he and my dad went way back. I know he wouldn’t mind. A few miles later, I hit Tighty Whitey ranch, and I start to chuckle.

That ain’t the real name, obviously. It’s called Whitney Ranch, and it’s my brother Luke’s place. Now, I’m not a vain guy. But I get that me and my brothers did okay enough with the gene pool. Dad had that rugged cowboy thing going on, and my Ma was and still is a knockout. But the lion’s share of those good looks went to Luke.

My kid brother is a handsome fucker. So much so that he was actually a pretty well-known model when he was younger. He played the single scene in New York and Chicago for a few years. And he made a nice chunk of change being paid to be handsome. But then he got tired of the bullshit, quit the biz, and moved back here. He used his money to buy a ranch not far from the family’s.

It’s called the Whitney Ranch because of the Whitney family that owned it for four generations. Russel and I call it the Tighty Whitey ranch on account of the big campaign that made Luke the bulk of his money. It was a well-known underwear designer, and my kid brother’s tighty-whitey-clad ass was up on billboards from Times Square to London.

It might have gotten him this ranch and all this land. But you’d better bet your ass Russ and I will never not give him shit about that.

Johnny’s panting hard when we finally come to a stop outside the main house. I dismount and lead him to the barn to let him water up and rest. I walk out to head to the house. But Luke’s already on the front porch waving at me.

“What’s up, pretty boy?” I grin.

“Fuck you, Tuck,” he chuckles.

I give him a hug when I get to the porch.

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