Up to now, it had been.
Would he be lucky like his friends?
He sent a text to his mom and sister crying off for Saturday, his mind made up, he turned off the sound alert and put the phone down. He wasn’t ready for the barrage that would weaken his resolve.
He wiggled and got comfy, sighing contentedly, switching off the light and staring into the darkness. It wasn’t selfish to do something for himself.
It wasn’t.
Maybe if he kept saying it, he’d believe it.
Chapter Three
Rick
Head down, bum up, Rick whistled softly as he reached into the depths of the bottom of his closet to pull out the large wooden box he knew was down there. It was Saturday morning, and he was getting ready for his day on the ‘dude ranch’ as he mentally called it. He still chuckled to himself when he thought of it, although he was really impressed with the welcome package that had arrived in his email.
The dude ranch wasn’t somewhere he had visited before, and he didn’t recognize the names of the owners, at least, from his days on the circuit, but that wasn’t unusual. It had been quite a few years since he’d got out of that game. From the pictures provided, the place appeared well-maintained, with solid fences and attractive barns painted red that stood out from the lush green pasture.
The box came away easily enough, and Rick hefted it onto his bed. Brushing off a bit of dust, he wrinkled his nose. It was just whoever thought of dusting the bottom of their closet? Opening it up, he couldn’t help feeling a stir of pride just seeing the items again.
He ignored the certificates, old tickets and brochures that he’d kept more for sentimental reasons than anything else. His trophies—and he had a few—were arranged on a shelf in his dining room. Those Rick did dust every Sunday.
No, this time he was in the box for his boots, and belt, although he couldn’t ignore his whip, and his rope. He picked that up, smiling fondly at the worn fibers. That was dusty too, but it held a wealth of memories.
I had some fun with this when I was younger, he thought, forming a loop quickly and giving it an experimental twirl over his head. Oh, yes. Those were fun times, and not only in the ring.
His belt was there, nestled in an old cloth. Rick pulled it out and quickly wrapped it around his middle.Wow, look at that! I don’t even have to move a notch. It might have been a matter of pride, except Rick was glad to see that his time spent working with flowers instead of bulls hadn’t meant that he’d put anything on around his middle. He set the belt on the bed to the side of the box—he would be wearing that.
Next to come out of the box were his spurs. Rick shook his head as he gently twirled the points on the end.My gods, they’re so rusty.He felt guilty—those spurs used to be an integral part of his kit at one time, but he hadn’t cared for his things the way he should have. In fairness, when he’d first packed his things away, he never envisaged a time when he might need to use them again.And it’s not like I need the spurs now, he considered as he tucked them back in the box. All he needed were his boots, the belt with its large buckle, and ah… his hat.
The hat was the one thing Rick still wore on occasion—not for working with Ernest—and he had cared for it over the years. It could often be a conversation point if he was going out to a bar for the evening.
Leaning over, Rick picked it up from where it sat on the corner of his mirror. He settled it on his head, tilting it at just the right angle. In his opinion, there was an art to wearing a Stetson. A person couldn’t have it tugged down too far over their eyes, or that same person would be flat on their face in minutes because they couldn’t see where they were going. On the other hand, if the hat was tipped back too far, then again, in Rick’s opinion, he thought that person looked like an idiot.
Rick had got his situated just so—eyes still visible, but they were shaded, which was the whole point of a hat in the first place. Dressing quickly in a pair of worn jeans, because he knew there was no point in going there in anything decent, he tucked his shirt into the waistband and then stretched his shoulders. Yep, nope, a linen button-down wasn’t going to cut it. Rick knew that wearing sleeves was a good idea—it protected against sunburn, windburn, and could be useful to protect against gravel rash if a man took a tumble.
Except the shirt he’d picked was too tight around his shoulders—a common problem for a bear shifter—and Rick wanted to be comfortable for the day. Stripping that one off, he pulled another one from his closet. It was worn… Rick checked a small tear at the collar.It’s not that noticeable.
He shrugged it on and wiggled his shoulders around.Yep, this is better.The replacement shirt gave him more room around his shoulders and allowed him to move his arms.I’m gonna be standing around all day, so I might as well be comfortable while I do it.
Rick already knew that the chances of finding his mate simply because he had a ticket to an event were slim to none. That wasn’t why he was going. What he did hope was that by going and reporting back on Monday to Toby and Ernest on the fun he’d had, he might be able to stop Toby from going on about how he should be dating more.
Look, this is me being sociable.Rick’s chuckle was loud in the silence of his room. He didn’t need to be sociable. He was a bear shifter. He was perfectly content by himself. And while there were times when he thought that having some hunky guy to curl up with and pamper would be nice, it wasn’t a necessity. Rick had made peace with his life a long time ago. He didn’t need a partner to feel validated in the space and life he’d carved for himself. It would just be nice.
Not that I’ve got any hopes of meeting, even a possibility, anyone today.Rick wasn’t sure, of course. He was making assumptions. He checked that his belt buckle was straight, embossed with a growling bear head, and brushed off the dust from the top of his boots, he was about as ready as he was going to get. His boots were worn, there were creases in them, but they were comfortable, and that’s what Rick was aiming for.
He had no idea what sort of activities the young event planner from Bucket List Buddies had organized, or what sort of events the dude ranch offered either. He had gone through all the photographs on the site and lingered over a couple they had of their bulls.I wouldn’t have minded trying you back in the day.
Rick doubted any of the large and definitely fierce-looking animals would be anywhere near what was effectively a dating event. The bulls had probably been moved to some back paddocks, well away from the main event, enjoying their peace and quiet. Although it was always possible that a couple of the cowboys employed at the ranch might do a demonstration ride or two.I won’t know until I get there, so I need to shift my ass.
Driving out to the ranch didn’t take long at all, and in less than twenty minutes, Rick was parking his dusty truck alongside a lot of sedans, compact cars, and the occasional truck. Hopping out, Rick made sure his doors were locked and stuffed his keys deep in his pockets. There was no signage, but from where he was, Rick could seea group of people over in a paddock, and he wandered over, figuring that was the Bucket List Buddies crowd.
Before he got there, he heard somebody call out his name. “Hey, Rick! Rick! For goodness’ sake, what are you doing here?”
Rick turned with a smile. He recognized the voice. “Charlie? My Gods, Charlie, what are you doing here? And where’s your sidekick, Pip? What have you done with him? Or have you finally buried him in a pile of dung like you were always threatening to do?”
“Bah, he’s over there with all the other people who’ve come along to see how the real cowboys live.” Charlie came up and gave him a hearty hug and a slap on the back. The man barely came up to the middle of Rick’s chest, but he was a sight for sore eyes. His mop of reddish hair was still as wild as ever, sticking out from under his hat, and his jeans looked painted on. “You’re looking good, Rick, and clean. Don’t tell me you’re here trying to find a mate?”
