Amy
I’m not sure how I allowed Oliver and Mia to make me agree to take William and Harry to see the animals at the ranch this morning.
I pull a long breath in and out as I park the SUV near the barn as his text instructed. I don’t mind visiting the area with the boys. It’s meeting Lucas here that unnerves me. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea and consider me one of his many female admirers.
“Cows!” Harry squeals. “Miss Amy, see the cows?”
“I see the cows,” I answer as I extricate him from the car seat.
Hand in hand, Harry and I make our way to the passenger side of the vehicle.
“Hands on the door,” I instruct Harry, and he assumes the practiced position of placing one palm on the front door while I help his brother out.
“So these cows,” I share, pointing at the large rectangular pen. “Are called bulls and steers.” I point further to our right, closer to the barn. “Those are called calves.”
“Baby cows,” William proclaims proudly.
I begin to answer, but a deep, male voice beats me to it.
“Yes, calves are baby cows,” Lucas answers, squatting down to the twins' eye-level. “I’m Lucas. And you are… let me guess.” He points as he speaks. “You are Harry, and you are William.”
“Yes!” they cheer in unison.
Lucas grins up at me, proud he guessed correctly. While he talks to the boys, I’m temporarily distracted by his muscular thighs straining the seams of his jeans, and the tightness of the sleeves of his t-shirt against his tanned biceps. His black shirt clings to his strong back, and his butt…
“Hh-hm,” Lucas clears his throat.
I find his striking blue eyes looking up at me, along with the excited eyes of the boys. He rises a smirk upon his face.
I chastise myself for my errant thoughts and quickly collect myself.
“What will you show us first?” I ask, extending my hands for the twins.
They opt to grab Lucas’s hands instead. I stick my tongue out at him, careful the boys don’t see me, pretending to be offended.
“We’ll start with the calves,” he announces, walking past me hand-in-hand with the boys.
I fall in line behind them, not minding the view in the slightest.
I guess cowboys really do wear Wranglers.
And Lucas wears his well.
“Hi cows,” Harry calls as we approach.
“Calves,” William corrects his brother.
“Hi calves,” they greet in unison, letting go of Lucas’s hand to place theirs on the metal gate.
“Look at the white one.” Harry points.
“I like that one,” William states, pointing in the opposite direction.
“Ooo, he’s pooping!” Harry yells, pointing for all of us to see.
“Ooo,” William chimes in.
Changing the subject, now standing next to Lucas, I say, “They remind me of the bottle calves from home. Except they’re a little older.”
“So you really are a farm girl,” he says, moving so close I feel his heat on my shoulder.
“Yeah,” I scoff. “Why would I make that up?”
He rubs the back of his neck, drawing my attention to the sexy brown scruff covering his jaw.
“You’d be surprised at the lies women…” his words trail off.
“Finish your sentence,” I urge, interested in his explanation.
It’s now I notice he doesn’t wear his confident, cocky demeanor from last night. He seems embarrassed by his statement.
“You’d be surprised at the lies buckle bunnies tell to get me to notice them,” his voices lowers to prevent the boys from hearing him.
“I’m no buckle bunny,” I spit.
Why do guys come up with these nicknames for women?
My mind scrolls through the list of known groupie fan girl names.
Rodeos have the buckle bunnies.
Baseball has the cleat chasers.
Hockey has puck bunnies or puck sluts.
Football has jersey chasers.
And golf has stick chicks and putt sluts.
Lucas clears his throat.
“I wouldn’t even be here right now if Mia and Oliver minded their own business.”
“I… I didn’t mean to imply,” he stutters.
“Whatever,” I clip, walking over to stand at the fence with the twins.
“Miss Amy, I touched one!” Harry shouts.
“Me, too!” William says.
“Well, let’s touch some more,” I cheer.
“I wanna touch the white one,” Harry requests.
“If you want to touch more, follow me,” Lucas directs and the boys immediately peel themselves from the railing.
I follow farther behind, keeping a close eye on the boys, while snarling at Lucas. I can’t believe he ties me up in so many knots in less than an hour with him. I share details about my life when I want to keep my walls firmly in place. I feel him pull me in as I fight by bracing my arms to hold myself back.
Why does he make me feel this way? He dresses like the guys back home; he works with animals like them... He shouldn’t make me feel any different than they do.
But he does.
He… he affects me in a way that I’m not accustomed to.
I lean on the fence, watching Lucas hand each boy a bucket of feed. He encourages them to dump it in the feeding trough to draw the calves closer to the fence.
Spotting the buckets long before the boys reach the fence, the calves approach swarming the troughs.
The twins erupt in a fit of giggles, and it’s the most amazing sound in the world. I breaks my heart knowing what they’ve lost at such a young age, and I make it my goal to allow them to experience moments like this. Their joy is infectious.
Lucas assists each boy in pouring the feed in a line down each trough. William and Harry move along the fence, petting each calf they see all now within reach while they eat.
The smile I share with Lucas is genuine. “Thank you for this.”
He shrugs off my compliment.
“It’s part of my job to share knowledge and the experience for the next generation of rodeo fans,” he says, but I don’t believe him.
It’s easy to see he likes children. Not all men are at ease with four-year-olds. He’s a natural. We watch the calves for a long time, pointing out the ones that are alike and those that are unique. Next we move to an area near the bulls’ paddock. Of course, we maintain a safe distance as we marvel at the enormous beasts. Then we view the horses. Some we allow the twins to pet while we hold them in our arms, others we point at from a distance.
Three hours pass in what seems like minutes. When I glance at the time, I apologize for keeping Lucas from work for so long and make a quick escape with the excuse the boys need to eat or they’ll turn into little monsters.
We thank Lucas several times as we load into the vehicle and wave goodbye.
“Can we come back tomorrow?” Harry asks through his open window.
“Harry, honey, Lucas has work he needs to do,” I excuse.
“If you come tomorrow, you can help me do some chores,” Lucas promises.
I squint my eyes closed. Now there’s no way the boys won’t hound me nonstop to return tomorrow.
“Hey…”
I jump at the sound of Lucas standing at my window. He places his hand on my shoulder.
“Come back same time tomorrow. We’ll each take a boy on an ATV and do some chores.”
His smile softens my resolve.
“It’ll be fun, and the boys will love it,” he encourages.
“Won’t your boss frown upon you playing two days with the boys,” I protest.
“Uh, I am the boss,” he reminds me.
I’m equal parts excited to return and dreading it. The more time we spend with Lucas this week, the harder it will be on the boys when he leaves on Sunday.
As I drive back to the cottage, I find it funny that growing up on a farm, surrounded by the same animals with farmers that work with livestock, like Lucas, that I don’t consider them cowboys.
Lucas is different.
I can’t believe I spent time with a real-life cowboy.