Roped Tight by Kim Loraine

Ten years later

Tucker

It had beenten years since I last saw him. Ten fucking years since I had to stand face-to-face with Sam. But here I was, watching him, wanting him, like nothing had changed. Sure, I caught glimpses of him here and there. During his short visits when he’d come back for a holiday, a wedding, and then his dad’s funeral. But I’d always been able to avoid him. Always had plenty of work to keep me busy. This time has been different. This time, Sam Ryker had come to stay, and there was no escaping him.

Over the last few months, I used every excuse possible to keep myself out of his path. Throwing myself into the job, taking long rides alone, working through the range of emotions twisting me up. I'd known I wouldn’t be able to avoid him forever. This might be one of the biggest ranches in the state, but right now, it felt like the smallest. Especially with the camera crew, contestants, and producer of Saddle Up taking up every inch of available space.

"All right, everyone, we want some shots of everybody together, but we’ll start with still photos of you, Sam. Then we’ll get ourselves some real good footage of cowboys being cowboys.” A leggy blonde in a power suit with perfectly painted red lips, stick-straight hair, and crystal blue eyes stared at me pointedly.

"You," she pointed at me, and I had to turn and look to make sure no one else was around me. "Yes, you. Anyone else around you think I'm talking to? You signed the release, yes?"

Apprehension zinged through me. I signed the release, we all did, because it would be nearly impossible to never make it on screen during the filming of Saddle Up, the reality show the Rykers had agreed to over a year ago. The first season had gone off without a hitch. Clint had even found love because of it. In fact, so had Buck. The concept was simple, Survivor meets City Slickers. A bunch of green city people competed to learn how to be a rancher. The winner went home with some kind of trophy, a boatload of money, and a little bit of internet fame. I appeared on the show in passing, but I'd never taken part.

I pushed off the stable wall and took a couple of steps toward her, removing my hat and giving her my most charming smile. "I'm sorry, darlin’, I'm not a Ryker. I don't think you want me in your pictures."

She snorted, complete disbelief in her expression. "Did you really just try to… darlin’ me?" She didn't wait for me to answer. "I'm sure you can spare one hour to do some publicity photos for the ranch. Can't you…" She waited for me to supply my name.

"Tucker.”

One perfectly arched brow rose as she assessed me, her gaze raking my body and returning back to my eyes. She made a soft humming noise, then tapped her fingertip to her chin before nodding. "You'll do just fine.”

"For what?"

"I need a sexy, shirtless, rodeo cowboy. And by the looks of that belt buckle you're wearing, that’s exactly what you are.”

I glanced down my body at the buckle I’d won at the last rodeo I participated in. "I got some work to do."

“That’s fine. This’ll take half an hour of your time. Pay’s five hundred.”

Five hundred dollars? That kind of money wasn't easy to come by. Not that I needed it. But it would be nice to have some socked away. I took a long breath and stared her straight in the eyes. "Shirtless?"

“That would be best, yes.”

I began popping the buttons of my shirt as she watched, slack-jawed.

"Do you have a horse for me, or do I need to get mine?”

I handed her my shirt, and she just stared at me like she’d never seen a shirtless guy before. The woman worked in Hollywood. I was sure she saw them all the time. But maybe it was the decoration of scars on my right side, framed by a dark tattoo of barbed wire exactly where I’d been torn up by fence a few months ago. That riding accident had been my reminder that anything could happen. Nothing was guaranteed. Something as insignificant as a slight breeze spooking a horse could be the end of everything.

I looked down my chest and back to her, smirking. “Is there gonna be a problem?"

Her eyes lit with mischief. "Not at all."

They brought me a horse, but not just any horse. Sam’s horse. In a few minutes, my chest was oiled up and I was in the saddle, swinging the lasso over my head while the camera was rolling as I rode around the arena. I had to admit it was fun. Sure, they were objectifying me, fetishizing cowboys, and all that. But this ranch had been on the brink of collapse before they showed up because after George died, everything fell apart.

"All right, that's enough,” the blonde said as I approached. We're gonna need that horse for a few other shots, bringing out the big guns now. Thanks, Tucker." She winked, and I dismounted before handing her the reins. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish. She was so confused about what to do with this animal—until a large, rough palm snagged the reins from her. My gaze traveled over his arm and up until I found electric blue eyes, and my heart kicked up a notch.

"Hey there, Sammy."

Sam’s jaw clenched. “It’s Sam. What are you doing with my horse?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but the woman interjected. "We just needed some rodeo shots. We can't have you doing all the heavy lifting."

Sam grunted and led his horse out of the arena and to the nearest hitching post. Then he turned to her. "I'm ready to start. There's a lot of work needs doing around here. Especially with our ranch hands slacking off." His voice was hard, cold, and directed at me.

I didn't argue with him. There wasn't anything to argue about. He was right; there's always work to do. I grabbed my shirt off the fence post where it had been laid and made quick work of putting it on, even over my oil-covered chest. That was gonna be uncomfortable, but I couldn't spend another minute with Sam's icy glare on me.

An assistant bustled around us, getting things ready for the rest of the shoot. It was obvious the crew wanted a sunset shot for the promo, because what was more a more perfect display of a cowboy than the backdrop of the beautiful Montana sky at sundown? Nothing. I had to admit, if I saw an ad for Saddle Up with Sam standing in front of the painted horizon, I wouldn’t even ask what I was signing up for. I’d be there.

Without another word, I moved away from the people and cameras, making my way back to one of the many projects that were waiting on me.

As I worked, I found myself taking time to glance at what was happening outside the door. Sam, dressed in his absolute nicest hat and boots, with a crisp shirt that advertised all his biggest sponsors, sat atop his horse while the camera shutters clicked. Then they must’ve asked him to ride because he did. His hips moved with the horse, just like they always had. With the saddle, not against it. Sam always just let it happen. He took his hat off and held it in the air as his horse reared. He was showing off, a little reckless, but that was part of who he’d become. I shook my head, chastising myself for thinking back to the young man he’d been. That was a lifetime ago. Sam was ten years older—a different person.

This man was not someone I knew. He wasn't the gentle, kind, hard-working soul I spent two weeks in the mountains with. He was cold and hard. Someone who closed himself off and abandoned the idea of ever opening up again. But that didn't mean he didn't affect me.

Male voices coming close caught my ears, causing me to step outside of the stable with a bridle and a cloth covered in leather conditioner in my hands. I watched as twelve guys sauntered along the road toward the arena. They were dressed in suits, their shiny shoes already covered in a layer of dust and dirt. It was ridiculous, dressed up on a ranch. I couldn’t wait for the moment one of them stepped in a pile of fresh horse shit. No matter how good we were at cleaning up after ‘em, you never knew when the horses would leave a parting gift on the ground.

They positioned all the men around Sam. I had to admit, it posed a striking difference, him in his hat and boots, them in their suits.

The blonde woman shook her head, then said, "Sam, can you take off the shirt? Then we’ll get you in some spurs and chaps.”

He bristled. I saw it in his eyes, but to my surprise, he agreed. He began stripping out of his shirt, that ripped physique of his doing very little to help ease my attraction. A short man with curly red hair ran from where he'd been sitting on the sidelines to the pile of cowboy paraphernalia I now saw sitting on the periphery. A well-worn pair of chaps and a pair of Sam’s spurs. The woman was right. It was going to be a big selling point.

I couldn’t stand watching him, not when he wouldn’t even talk to me. With unease poking at my brain every passing moment, I made my way back into the tack room to finish my job.

An hour later, they’d finished and started packing up. I couldn’t wait to get out of there, to rid myself of the sight of Sam and maybe drink him away for just a little while. Low voices rumbled around the corner near where my truck was parked. One of the men—handsome in a chiseled, romance novel kind of way—hung around while Sam was changing out of the chaps and putting his shirt back on. I didn't mean to spy on them. Okay, that was a lie. I didn't eavesdrop, but definitely watched them with curiosity burning in my veins. The man smiled, leaning close and obviously flirting. He trailed his fingers over the patch of chest still showing where Sam hadn’t finished buttoning his shirt. Watching that happen, a sudden strange twist of jealousy curled in my belly. I knew why. I didn’t like him touching Sam. I didn't like that one bit.

Sam didn't reciprocate, but he didn't push him away either. He chuckled, cheeks turning just a tiny bit red, then the guy left as quick as he arrived.

“Fraternization is against the rules, you know?” I said, unable to stop myself.

Sam's eyes found mine. They were usually ice blue, but now they’d turned to dark, angry, fierce steel.

“And we all know how much you like to follow the rules,” he tossed back, glaring at me as he walked away.

It looked like Sam Ryker was talking to me after all. But dammit, he wasn’t saying what I wanted to hear.