Page 6 of Buck Me (Kingridge Ranch #5)

BECCA

Present Day

I don’t know how the idea to apply for the grant manifested at exactly the right moment, but I’m sure glad it did.

It’s given me the perfect excuse to spend an incredible amount of time with Danner in the last two weeks.

We’ve been living for this application and working from sunup to sundown nearly every day.

We started the application process immediately, and somehow, his conviction has made him even more attractive. I had no idea that was even possible. But today Danner’s in an old T-shirt that clings to his chest and arms. It’s snug in all the places that should come with a warning label.

He truly doesn’t care what anyone thinks, and it’s so refreshing. His Fuck the Patriarchy hat is turned backward with a little sweat at the brim. At this point, it’s like he's daring the town to talk about him. Daring his brothers to disown him. It's ridiculous. And ridiculously hot.

We settle on the back steps of the old greenhouse while the sun sinks lower, turning the sky the color of ripe peaches. The glass panels are cracked and mossy in places, but there's beauty in the ruin.

This location feels like the perfect home base for the grant project. It’s ready to come alive again. Danner pulls out his phone and drops onto the bench beside me. The wood creaks under his weight, but the sound is comforting and steady, like him.

He scrolls for a second, then clears his throat and starts reading the grant application essay to me for what has to be the hundredth time.

I don't mind. I love listening to him. I like the way his voice sharpens when he's passionate.

I love how he gestures like he's sketching the future into thin air.

When he finishes reading, he turns to me, expression hopeful. "What do you think?"

"It sounds perfect," I say, and I mean it. "I can already see it. Arches between the garden beds. Twinkle lights strung between posts. An outdoor classroom where kids can learn without walls. It has to be a place where plants can grow wild the way they should, not constrained."

“I love your vision. "How'd you get so smart?" he asks, voice low and a little hoarse.

"Well... I had to raise my father. That has to count for something.

" I keep my tone light, but his use of the word love makes my face flush like a giddy teenager, and I turn away. When his phone vibrates, I’m grateful for the distraction.

But Danner glances at his phone, and his face goes pale. My stomach sinks.

“What happened?”

"It looks like they moved up the site inspection to next week." He runs his hand through his hair. "We need months of growth documentation, and we have weeks at best. Plus, someone filed a complaint about our water usage permits." He looks at me grimly. "Your father's not playing around."

I raise an eyebrow. “That’s fine because neither are we.”

Danner doesn't say anything at first. Instead, he reaches over and puts his hand on my thigh. It’s large and calloused, but his touch is warm and confident. It’s everything I didn't know I was waiting for. Heat crawls through my entire body, blooming outward from the spot where he touches me.

When he starts to pull his hand away, I trap it there with mine before I can think better of it.

I press it just enough to make my breath catch.

His eyes darken in response, and I see the exact moment he realizes what I'm doing.

The muscle in his jaw ticks. His thumb brushes once across my skin, and the touch sends liquid fire straight to my core.

"Becca," he says, my name rough with warning.

But I don't want warnings. I want his hands everywhere. I want my round curves pressed into his hard edges. He holds my gaze for a beat longer, then finally slips his fingers free. His touch brushes lightly over my skin as he goes, and the loss of contact leaves me aching.

Just like that, we’re back to work. Danner and I carry on like this. We push and pull. We draw lines and cross them. It’s pure bliss.

“I don’t think I’m doing it justice,” he says suddenly, swiping through his notes.

“I need them to see it. I want to show them how incredible this could be. The smell of the soil. The buzzing of bees. The way recycled sculptures lead into edible beds…” He turns to me, eyes bright. “You have to sketch it.”

“What?” I blink. “No. I can’t be officially a part of this. If my father finds out I’m even here , let alone helping with the application, he’ll lose it.”

“Let him be mad,” Danner says without hesitation. “You’re so damn talented, Becca. And I know you believe in this project. You’re already part of it. Just… let yourself be in it.”

I hesitate. The instinct to hide is strong.

I've spent my whole life keeping the best parts of me tucked away, like being too colorful might ruin his grayscale world. But the fact of the matter is, I’m not established.

I still go home to my father's house at the end of the day. Granted, I don’t see much of him because he’s in another wing, but still.

He won’t hesitate to take the reins and make my life impossible.

“Let me see it,” I murmur, swallowing past the nerves. “Maybe I can add something.”

Screech.

The sharp sound of tires cuts through the quiet and pulls my attention.

I jerk my head up just in time to see two white work trucks pull up the grave driveway.

They kick up a long cloud of red dust behind them.

They’re hardly at a stop when the doors burst open with Kingridge brothers.

The guys file into our space like a pack of wolves looking for their next meal.

“Hey,” Danner waves. “Came to take a look at the progress?”

“Man, you keep showing me, but I don’t see nothing,” Geoffrey says, crossing his arms like a bouncer outside a barn dance. “I see a chalk line on an open field.”

“You don’t see it because you aren’t trying,” Danner replies, voice calm but firm.

Geoffrey scoffs. “No, we don’t see it because there’s nothing to see. You know how much we’ve spent trying to eradicate bees around here? Now you want us to save them?”

“Stop,” Alex cuts in, already rubbing his temples like this argument has been brewing since breakfast. “We need to get this grant, period. End of story. So we can finally be done with Bellcourt.” He glances at me, then adds, “No offense, Becca.”

“None taken,” I say with a shrug, but it still lands like a pebble in my shoe.

Alex continues, “Danner’s the only one who actually knows what the hell any of this means, so like it or not?—”

“Or not,” Geoffrey mutters with a chuckle, and a few of the other guys join in.

Alex rolls his eyes so hard I’m surprised he doesn’t pull something. “ Like it or not , we’re going to listen. Danner, what do you need from us to move this forward?”

“Well, for starters, like I told you last time, this is all Becca. I’d never heard of the grant.

So you can’t blame one Bellcourt if you aren’t ready to thank another.

” Danner doesn’t miss a beat, and his flattery makes me blush.

He continues, “As far as getting the application moved forward, there’s a ton to do.

With Thrusty the goat on the run again, we’re gonna need to start with a wire fence line to keep him out of the beds. ”

That earns a round of groans and eye rolls. But the grumbling turns into movement in an instant. Before I know it, there are tools being fetched, gloves pulled on, and boots stomping over dry soil.

Two of the guys haul timber from the mesquites into rows. Another is measuring and staking the ground. It’s chaos, but there’s a cadence to it. Danner fits in more than he admits. He’s leading the helm and helping at every turn.

Danner catches my eye as he unrolls a length of graph paper and launches into an explanation of the schematic he sketched last night.

His voice gets this clipped rhythm when he talks about land use and native pollinators.

It’s like he’s tapping into a part of himself most people never take the time to see.

But he’s shown me who he is, and I’m desperate for more.

While they work, I slide down onto a nearby bench and pull my sketchpad into my lap.

Pencil in hand, I start tracing the outline of what this place could become.

Raised beds. Gravel walkways. Wildflowers spill over into edible greens.

Solar lanterns light the path. A bench tucked in beside a flowering vine-covered trellis, just big enough for two.

Two… Like me and Danner.

I think about the way he moves. The quiet command he holds.

The way he talks like every problem has a solution if you just look at it from the right angle.

He isn’t just smart and sexy as hell—he’s thoughtful .

Inspired. Steady in a way I didn’t know I needed.

He commands a room not with ego, but with purpose. The exact opposite of my father.

All I want is for Danner to kiss me. But he hasn’t. He’s had two weeks, and the dude hasn’t even attempted it. It’s not like I haven’t tried. I’ve leaned in, closed the space, and waited for him to make the move.

But still… nothing. I don’t know if it’s my age or my father or some deeply ingrained sense of honor that’s stopping him. But whatever his reason, he’s wrong. He’s wrong to keep himself at arm’s length.

The Kingridge brothers keep slinging complaints Danner’s way right up until the break for lunch, and the field quiets again. This looks like nothing. Why are we doing this again? Rocks matter because…?

But I can’t understand what they mean. From where I sit, nothing is as it was before.

The field that was blank just hours ago is completely transformed.

Uneven red clay dirt now houses the hardscape to support the plants that could be.

There are raised beds, boulders, and concrete blocks creating structure and taking shape.

Danner stands at the center of it all, like a statue of a Greek god. His hands are on his hips. His hat is tipped back, and his eyes are on the horizon. It’s like he’s already planning what comes next.

“Look at the progress,” I step beside him.

“Those guys can be real assholes, but damn if they don’t know how to get things done.”

“Don’t let them get to you,” I say, nudging his arm with mine.

“The way you can make things happen is… impressive. It’s just a few rocks in the center of a field right now, but I can already see it.

Imagine the vines, the flowers, the pollinator paradise!

” I reach into my bag and pull out the sketch I’ve been working on, smoothing the paper before holding it up for him to see.

He takes it gently, like he’s afraid to crease the page. “This is incredible,” he says, eyes scanning every line. Then he looks up. “ You are incredible.”

My heart does a full somersault. “We should head to the farmers market,” I say quickly, needing to anchor the flutter.

“Find all the native plants we can. If we start planting the top right corner first, we can take a photo for the grant. That way, they won’t have to imagine anything. We’ll show them exactly what we want.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

Danner nods, still staring at the drawing, but something shifts in his expression.

His walls are lower now. His shoulders are looser.

There’s something raw in the way he looks at me.

I reach out, my fingers brushing up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal the remainder of a tattoo that I saw peeking out of the bottom.

“What does this mean?” I ask, letting my finger linger over the script etched there.

He glances down, almost sheepish. “It means ‘I am enough.’” There’s a pause, then he adds, “Cheesy, right?”

“No.” I shake my head slowly. I trace the dark ink curling just beneath his skin. “I’m just wondering why you need the reminder.” I meet his gaze, and I don’t blink. “Because from where I sit, you’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met.”

His eyes darken just slightly, the air between us thickening. The way he stares at me makes my skin hum. I can feel the unspoken words sitting between us like gravity, like they’ve been waiting for the right moment to fall. So I lean in.

And this time, when he hesitates… I don’t.

I close my eyes and press my mouth to his. The moment our lips make contact, electricity whips through my body. His hands wrap around my arms, anchoring me to him. Our kiss is soft at first, testing. But when he doesn’t pull away, I deepen the kiss just enough to show I mean it.

My tongue parts his lips, and it ignites him. Danner takes control. His manhood grows firm and presses into me. His hands roam my curves and tangle in the back of my hair. His hungry touch takes my breath away.