Page 2 of Double Bucked

Jade starts to close the window, but I tell her, “Hold up.”

She narrows her eyes. I tilt my head towards the hat hanging off her bed post.

She scoops my beige Stetson hat off the post. She leans out the window to fit it on my head.

I risk the uneven grip to tip my hat to her. “Ma’am.”

I’ve earned a small smile, at least. “Get lost, cowboy.”

Then she closes the window in my face.

Now, I’ve got nothing but the night sky and the chirping crickets to witness my sins. I start my descent, and I feel the thin terrace yawning under my weight.

Ah, hell no.

The yellow light from the bedroom flickers, and I can’t help but look back through the bedroom window.

He’s here.

Arris Dagney isn’t a bad man. He isn’t even a bad-looking man—he’s got a salt-and-pepper wash of hair that curls from his head to his chin.

I watch as he greets his wife. He cups her face, and those lips that were moaning for me only seconds ago are now on his.

Suddenly, it ain’t my unspent balls that ache.

It’s my heart.

Sure, being a rake has its perks. Hot women. Hot sex. No strings attached.

But, damn, what I wouldn’t give to have someone to come home to at the end of the day.

No. Not someone.

One gal in particular.

One gal that broke me into a million pieces five years ago.

But I should know better than to linger.

Because I’m a lot of stupid, and the little wicker terrace ain’t used to holding that much idiot.

The wooden ladder snaps under my boot. I struggle to hold my grip, but the wood splinters and cracks under my big hands. Before I know it, I’m free-falling down the side of the building, pulling strings of ivy down with me.

My boots hit the ground, sending a shot of hot pain up my leg. I tumble, and my back meets dirt, knocking all the wind out of my lungs.

For a minute, I lie there, catching my breath. I wait for the sound of Arris to come charging at me, but I don’t hear anything but the nightlife—crickets and toads.

Hooves pad the ground. Chaucer’s hot breath hits my face as he sniffs me, then snorts. He chomps my hat, and I have to swat him away.

“Off. C’mon, then. Let’s get home.”

I lift up to my feet. Everything hurts when I hoist myself up Chaucer’s back.

“I’m getting too old for this,” I inform Chaucer. He huffs in agreement.

Even in the dark, Chaucer knows his way home. We leave the Dagney estate behind us, its Greek-revival-style columns reaching to high heaven, golden light streaming out through the windows. Chaucer follows the beaten trail out the back of the Dagney property, through the short stretch of woods, weaving through thick elms and pine trees.

It’s early September in Kentucky, and fall is already nipping.

---