Page 45 of Untamed
Sometimes a rider gets tossed from a bull but is unable to free his riding hand from his bull rope and therefore is "hung up" to the bull. When this dangerous scenario occurs, the bullfighters often move in to help the bull rider free his hand from his rope and get away from the bull.
I need fucking help. I’ve discovered, through a bottle of Southern Comfort, when it comes to Maesyn Calhoun, I’m obsessed. Maybe that’s why I kissed her. To torture myself some more. I knew once I tasted the sin of her, I was never going to stop.
I’m just about to get in my truck when I spot Morgan outside, sneaking around the south side of the barn in Tinkerbell pajamas. Taking a step in her direction, I notice she’s closing the gate to the bullpen, trying to usher Lemon whatever back into his pen.
I watch her for a few moments and the calf seems less than interested in leaving her. Probably because she lets him sleep in her room.
“You have to stay out here tonight.” She waves him off. “I told you not to eat my pillow and you did.”
He doesn’t budge, instead nosing the gate, bristling at her.
“Don’t give me that look, mister.”
Smiling, I lean forward and whisper over her shoulder, “What are you doing?”
With a shrieked yelp, Morgan startles, and whirls to face me, eyes wide. “You scared me.”
I laugh. “Isn’t it past your bedtime, girly?”
Drawing in a deep breath, she holds her hand to her chest, probably trying to calm her racing heart. “Isn’t it past yours?”
“I’m not seven, you are.”
Morgan’s hands fly to her hips. “I’m almost nine.”
Raising my hands, I laugh and step back. “My bad.”
Like she can’t stay mad at me, her expression softens. But then she smiles, the kind of smile she gets when she wants something from me. “I lost a baby chick in your truck.”
I point to my truck in the driveway. “My truck? What were you doing in there?”
She shrugs. “I was sitting on the tailgate, eatin’ lunch and I sort let him run along the bed rails. He dropped into the hole thingy at the end.”
Scratching the side of my head, I drag the little animal lover to my truck. “Where is it?”
She points to the rear quarter panel. “I think in there.”
We both listen and sure enough, when Morgan taps quietly on the metal, the fucking thing chirps. Scowling at her, I grab a screwdriver from inside the cab, pop the taillight off and rescue the chick.
I hand it to Morgan. “What’s with you and these animals? Leave them in their cages and pens where they belong.”
“They don’t belong there.” She holds the chick close to her chest. “They want to be wild and free and they deserve to be. Not food for people. How would you like it if people ate you?”
It takes everything in me not to laugh. For a variety of reasons.
The front door closing snaps her attention toward the house, and she’s smarter than I give her credit for. “Were you out here with sissy? Is that why you’re here so late?”
I shrug. And grin. Damn it.
Morgan giggles, her cheeks pink even in the darkness of the night.
I nod to the house. “You should get inside, kid.”
“Fine.” But just before she’s at the door, she smiles back at me. “Sissy’s birthday is tomorrow. Bring her something special.”
Something special?
You have to know my version of special and hers are probably completely different.
