Page 1 of Buckin' Around

Chapter 1

Spencer

The clip-clop of shod hooves over concrete echoes through the stable complex, a frequent sound that doesn’t usually register. This morning, however, that particular gait, from that particular horse, has me sigh and close the door of the stall I’m inspecting.

I turn back to watch as Mrs. Princeton, a long-standing member of the stables, walks beside her gelding, her smile growing as she sees me.

Oh, goodie.

Far be it for me to complain about the silver spoon I was born with, but living in cougarville—albeit a gold-encrusted one—and being one of the only younger eligible bachelors in this part of the ’burbs, sends my skin crawling.

Mrs. Princeton comes to a halt just inches from me, her Chanel No.5 fencing me to the stall door, veneers and wrinkles looming closer. She pops a hip awkwardly, slapping her riding crop against her tall black riding boot.

“Spencer,darling, how are you this morning?”

“Morning, Mrs. Princeton. How was your ride?”

“Oh.” She leans in, her bony hand catching my jaw. “I’ll tell you after.”

I clear my throat and sidestep, taking her gelding’s reins. She gives me a look I’m pretty sure she thinks is akin to a proposition. I shudder, barely concealing it, something like a python shedding its unwanted skin.

“Let me get this old fella washed down and put away for you, ma’am.”

She waves a hand, brows falling. “How many times do I have to tell you? Ma’am makes me feel old. And I’m not a single day over thirty-five, young man.” She turns on her heel and stalks for the front doors. Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she winks at me.

It wouldn’t be the first time I wished I had a girlfriend, if only to rid myself of unwanted advances of the likes of Mrs. Princeton.

Who am I kidding? I nepo-babied my way to this managerial position, and sometimes I wish I hadn’t. I’d rather earn the job I want, but until the day arrives that I figure out what that is, I’m stuck here. I’m supposed to be in the office, doing staff rosters and overseeing our new payroll accounts personnel. All things I have no right, or experience, doing. But I have managed to pick up the essentials and not screw up too many times.

I prefer the horses.

“You’ll never hit on me, hey bud?” I rub the gelding’s face and lead him to the tack room.

We’re barely a hoof and foot inside before Gretchen bounces over, her five-foot-nothing frame clad in our stable uniform for the hands that take care of the horses, her blonde hair bouncing in her ponytail. “Oh, Spence, you don’t have to do that. That’s what you have me for.”

She tugs the reins from my hand, and the gelding follows her toward the saddle rack, like even he got the memo: I’m supposed to be managing, not doing.

“Thanks, Gret.”

Her blue eyes sparkle as she turns her attention to the gelding.

This is why I live for the circuit.

The dirt and grit make me feel more like the real me. Not the nepo-version of myself I live with during the week.Oh, poor little rich guy...

I know what I sound like, but I’m too comfortable to change.

Too scared, more like it.

After watching Gretchen with the gelding for a beat, I walk into another stall and let the half door click closed before letting out a breath.

There’s not one brave or ambitious bone in this man’s body. Bar getting on a spinning bull every weekend, which is more crazy than brave, I’m all out of personality or a reason to give a shit these days.

“Boss man!” Glenda, our head stable hand, calls from the back door by the office. “Your new recruit is here.”

“Be there in a second.”

I rub my hands over my face. Another person to people with.Fan-fuckin-tastic.