Bucked (The Invincibles 6)

Buck made the ten days between then and now, an adventure. He showed me around the ranch, on horseback no less, but always with me riding with him. He’d asked me a couple of times whether I wanted to try riding on my own, but each time, I told him I preferred being in his arms.

He took me back to Altamont and taught me how to fish from the bank of the river. At first I thought I’d hate it, but after an hour or so, I found it relaxing and was anxious to go again.

Today, he was taking me to see what he said were his two favorite buildings on the ranch—the farmhouse and adjacent barn. I’d seen both every time we drove in and out the main gate. To me, they looked like a house of cards waiting to fall, but I didn’t say that when I saw the twinkle in his eyes when talking about them.

I was getting used to Ink and at least one other person going along wherever we went, so it was disconcerting when Buck and I climbed into his pickup to drive to the farmhouse without someone leading or following us.

When he parked by the barn, I could sense his excitement, and it made me smile. So many things he and I had done together had resulted in the same reaction.

“I can’t wait to show you this,” he said like he did every other time we visited a place I hadn’t been before.

It was difficult to hide my trepidation, given the state of the two buildings, but I trusted Buck. He would keep me safe whether it was from spiders or someone trying to kill me. Both of which I feared equally.

“Let’s check out the house first,” he said, taking my hand. We walked up the steps of the front porch, and a warm feeling settled over me. I couldn’t explain it nor had I ever felt it before.

“You okay?” Buck asked.

“Yeah. Fine.”

Buck cocked his head.

“I’m not sure how to explain it, but I feel like I’ve been here before.”

He smiled and opened the front door. What I saw in front of me was the last thing I expected. The interior looked as though it had been locked in a time capsule. As Buck walked through the house, opening draperies, I was shocked by how well preserved the place was. It was dusty, but otherwise pristine. “Who last lived here?” I asked.

“My great-grandparents. They were both long gone before I was born, obviously. I hardly remember my grandparents, but being here, always made me feel close to them.”

I ran my hand over the staircase’s dark wood banister. There were similar wood accents throughout the house; the door and window molding were made from the same type, but the floors were lighter.

“Want to see the kitchen?” Buck asked.

“Lead the way.” When we walked through the archway that opened into it, the first thing I noticed were the spectacular views of Mt. Crested Butte that cou

ld be seen from all the windows.

“Wow,” I said, running my hand over the edge of the farmhouse-style sink that had a hand pump. “Back before it was chic to have one of these.” Buck smiled.

There was an old-fashioned-looking icebox, a wood stove, and a table that sat in an alcove that looked as though it had been carved by hand. “This place could be a museum,” I murmured.

“That’s what my mother said when my old man threatened to tear it down.”

I gasped. “He wasn’t serious, I hope.”

“No, he was dead serious as soon as he heard me say I wanted to live in it one day. I think I was all of ten at the time.”

“I’m sorry, Buck.”

He nodded. “I’d say it’s okay, but it really isn’t. I spent most of my life hating the son-of-a-bitch. What he did with his will makes me hate him all the more.”

I put my arms around his waist. “It’s sometimes impossible to understand why people act the way they do. My father walked out on my mother and me when she became ill. If it weren’t for Aunt Barb, I don’t know how we would’ve managed.”

“We should get back.”

“Wait. What? Why?”

“You’re such a reporter.” He winked.

“I’m serious. Why do we have to get back?”