Get Bucked (The Valentine Boys 4)

“Come in,” I said softly, feeling my tummy tighten with nerves.

That day, I’d been sitting in the stands.

I hadn’t been the only one there who had freaked the fuck out.

It didn’t matter if Darby was my favorite person in the world or not, I certainly didn’t want the man hurt while I watched.

That day, I’d told my father that I didn’t like him doing that anymore, and he’d told me that there wouldn’t be a place for him much longer since the bullfighting thing was a ‘young man’s game.’

I just hoped before that happened, he wouldn’t get hurt like Darby did.

“Thanks,” he muttered, standing up straight.

I refused to look at his face as he followed behind me into the house.

“Nice place,” he said. “Did you know that the land here touches the back of our land?”

No, I hadn’t.

My dad had bought it for a steal from a man looking to move to Colorado to be with his family who’d moved there some years ago.

Apparently, there’d been a lot of interest, but not any real bites.

Hence the man’s hurry to sell for what my dad had offered.

“I didn’t,” I answered as I flipped on the hallway light.

It illuminated the room, and our lack of furniture.

“Like what you’ve done to the place,” he muttered.

“The bathroom is through there.” I pointed to the door underneath the stairs.

He didn’t say another word as I walked over to the couch. Which happened to be the only piece of furniture in the entire dining room, kitchen, and living room.

Pulling all the numerous toss pillows off and throwing them to the floor, I yanked the quilt off the back of the couch and laid it down over the rough cushions.

Once I had that done, I grabbed one of the softest pillows—and no, I wouldn’t examine why the hell I’d chosen the softest and my most favorite to take a nap on—and placed it at the end of the couch. Once in place, I walked to the laundry room where I’d just washed my throw blanket that I used to curl up with when I napped, and tossed it on the couch’s arm.

When Darby got out, I pointed at the couch.

He didn’t waste any time at all falling face first into it.

When I moved around so that I could see his face, it was then I realized that he’d literally already fallen asleep—or passed out.

Passing out was much more likely.

Shaking my head, I grabbed the throw blanket and covered him with it.

It only covered him from the neck to the tops of his thighs.

Shaking my head at the funny sight, I made my way over to the light, flicked it off, then headed back upstairs to my bed.

I did not think about him very long.

I didn’t think of him at all, actually.

I was too tired.

But my mind didn’t dismiss him entirely.

He was the star of my dreams the entire night.

Him and his sexy shoulders and kissable lips

His beautiful smile and his high and tight haircut.

Oh, and there were definitely chaps involved.

***

The next morning, I rolled over to find a wall of chest directly in my face.

I blinked, surprised to find it there, particularly, and not on the couch that I left it on.

I poked the chest, watching as my finger didn’t so much as dip a single centimeter into the flesh.

Nope, not this particular flesh. This flesh was hard, and not soft at all.

The chest rumbled.

I backed away as far as my wall would allow and then stared up at the face connected to that chest.

“What are you doing in my bed?” I asked.

The eyes on that face blinked open, and suddenly I got an ocean of blue staring directly at me with the look of death in his eyes.

His death, not mine.

“I’m dying,” he said in the next moment.

I tilted my head slightly.

“But why are you in my bed?” I repeated.

He closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and then shrugged one massive shoulder.

“Honestly, I couldn’t tell you,” he murmured so quietly I could barely hear him. “I can’t even tell you how I even got here in the first place.”

My lips were so dry that I couldn’t help myself from licking them.

It wasn’t because of all the man flesh in front of me at all.

“I put you to bed—on my couch—with a shirt on,” I told the chest.

The chest rose sharply, then fell.

“You’re lucky my pants aren’t off,” he paused. “Well, my pants are off.” He blinked open one eye. “My underwear are still on, though. In case you were wondering.”

I wasn’t.

But I found it amusing that he felt the need to inform me.

“What happened last night?” he wondered.

I relayed what happened, ending with putting him on the couch.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I remember going there. I don’t remember how I got home.”

I stared at him with worry.

“Apparently I was the last call you made on your phone, and they called me,” I answered his silent question. “I walked to the bar, you’re lucky that it’s close, by the way. And then I drove you home to your house, but you told me that I couldn’t take you home because you didn’t live there anymore. Then you said that I could take you here and that you’d sleep in your truck. But then you got out of the truck and nearly passed out on my porch.”