Page 7 of Buck Me

I want her in that red dress, out of that red dress, tangled in wildflowers and bent over the split rail fence. I want her name in my mouth and her hands in my hair. My hands clench into fists at my sides as I fight the urge to reach for her.

Between the way the moonlight plays across her bare shoulders and the way her dress hugs her curves, I can imagine exactly how her skin would feel under my hands. Warm. Soft. Electric. Becca leans in even closer, and I wonder if she's imagining my mouth on her throat.

The space between us crackles with want. One step forward, and I could have her pressed against the garden gate. I could find out if she tastes as sweet as she looks. But footsteps over gravel echo in the distance, and it jolts me back to reality.

Immediately, I’m reminded of why this is dangerous. I turn, instantly tense, to find Randolph Bellcourt marching toward us. He’s all puffed chest and righteous fury as he plows through the garden gate.

“Rebecca, what is this? I’ve been looking all over thisfarmfor you.” The word farm comes out as a sneer.

“I’m fine. I just needed some air.” She shakes her head.

“Randolph.” I step forward, my jaw tight. I catch Becca’s wrist gently and rotate it, exposing faint fingerprint marks that still linger. They make my blood boil all over again. “If I see this again, you and I are going to have a problem.”

We lock eyes until the tension is broken by the sound of more footsteps pounding the earth behind us. They come heavy and fast. I turn to see my brothers file in like backup at a bar fight.

“Randolph,” Alex growls as he steps forward. “You’re on your way out, aren’t you?”

The mayor’s smile returns, oily and smug. “Yes, I’m going to take the path of my future easement. Like I said in my press release, I’ve already spoken with the city commissioner. It’s the only place that works.”

“We’ll see what the taxpayers say,” Geoffrey chimes in.

“Haven’t you heard? We already have. They are all in the preliminaries.”

My brothers fire off a few insults. They’re half-drunk and at least half-true. But none of them land. Randolph is too practiced.

“Actually, Dad, I think you should hear the latest update.” Becca’s voice silences the group, and all eyes fall on her. “The ranch has applied for a grant.”

I glance at her. This is news to me.

“Danner was just telling me about it.” Her poise and confidence are unmatched.

My brothers explode with questions all at the same time. I raise a hand to quiet them, then nod for Becca to continue.

“It’s for an interactive pollinator garden right here, where the easement is projected to pass. It’s the only place that would work. It’ll have recycled art installations, compost systems… It would be the largest of its kind in the state.” She takes a breath. “If it’s approved, it becomes a protected native habitat. Illegal to dig up.”

The silence that follows is delicious. I can’t help the smirk crawling across my lips.

I clear my throat. “Since you’ve already informed the taxpayers and the commissioner that this path is the only viable option,” I say, “once the habitat is designated, you’ll need to find a new route. Offourproperty.”

Bellcourt’s jaw ticks. My brother’s face lights up one at a time. And for the first time tonight, I know we’ve got him.

CHAPTER 5

BOOTS AND BITCHING POD

Hey y’all!Sagebrush Creek, are you ready for some tea?

It’s your favorite secret podcaster back again with another boots-on-the-ground update. That’s right, as usual, I’ve got my eyes open, my boots on, and my gossip ready. So pour yourself something sweet, something stiff, or both because this is hotter than the devil's backside.

Let’s start at the hair salon. You know the one, Mane Event. It’s where roots get retouched, brows get butchered, and gossip goes to get born.

Word on the shampoo chair is someone’s taken hair dye to a whole new level. And by new, I mean down there. Let’s just say the curtains don’t match the carpet anymore for a certain stay-at-home someone, and apparently, that’s just the way her working man likes it. I’m not here to judge your hobbies, darlin’, but maybe save the color experimentation for after church.

Now on to more pressing produce.

The Sow Much Farmers Market is heating up for its seasonal kickoff, and most of us are bringing the fruits of our actual labor. Keyword… most. Because rumor has it someone’s been stocking up at a big box store, slapping on a hand-painted“homegrown” sign, and passing it off like it sprouted from their backyard. PSA— If your tomatoes have barcodes, you’re not fooling anyone. You bought those next to the bulk paper towels.

And now for what y’all really came here for, our weekly (almost daily at this point) trip out to Kingridge Ranch. Them boys really do keep it coming, don’t they?

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