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HARD PASS
A COLLEGE FOOTBALL INSTALOVE PART OF THE
MORE FAMILY DYNASTY

TB MANN

HEART SISTERS PUBLISHING INC

Copyright © 2024 by TB Mann
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written
permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN 978-1-990671-12-8
Printed in Canada

Published by Heart Sisters Publishing Inc

Visit at: www.tbmann.com

Disclaimer
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
 CO N T E N T S

Hard Pass
1. Mason
2. Tina
3. Mason
4. Tina
5. Mason
6. Christina/Tina
7. Mason
8. Tina/Christina
About the Author
Also by TB Mann
Writing as Lily Blue
For my hubby who kept asking, “Are you ever going to write about one man and one woman?” Here it is. And football to
boot so he should be happy. If not, well, I still have lots of other stories containing lots of men.
 HARD PASS

Blurb

A college football panty challenge changed my life forever.

When I was young, I believed my Pop Pop’s stories about love at first sight. Now I’m older and know better. Until she
walked in. She’s everything I didn’t know I wanted. I won her panties, now I want her heart.
But she’s not mine to claim.
Someone close—since childhood—has already called dibs. And I can’t compete with that. I couldn’t let someone else lose
the love of their life.
Yet without her, I’ll never be the same.
Hard Pass is part of the steamy F*** On The Field series and the first book in the More Family Dynasty series where
the men and women know who they want and aren’t afraid to go after it.
 1

MASON

“YOU CAN ’ T TELL me that you believe Pop Pop’s stories about how our family finds true love by feeling like you’ve been
kicked in the chest by a mule when you meet the one?” Colton pushes off my bedroom wall and marches across my room to
stop in front of my face, pushing me into the dresser at my back. He’s looking for a fight like he’s been doing for the past month
with increasing frequency, but I’m not about to give him one. I’m tired of this discussion. Nothing ever changes. Besides, I
can’t even make up my mind about Pop Pop’s stories.
When I was a little kid, I believed the stories. After all, Pop Pop and Great Pop Pop had all been extremely happy with
their marriages; the ones where they felt that mule kick to their chest. And I’d thought I’d found my own true love when my best
friend, Katy, stood up for me on the kindergarten playground. For years, I’d thought she’d been the one. Anytime someone
mentioned her, or I thought about her, I had those butterflies in my chest and my heart went haywire. But she never felt the same.
I wasn’t the one she wanted, leaving me with a broken heart and somewhat disillusioned by the whole idea of true love or
finding the one.
I stare at him, sporting a smirk, and shrug, knowing it will piss him off, but I’m past caring. I won’t fight over this stupid
topic, but if he wants to go at it for something else, I’m down. Anything to keep from having to attend the frat event at the club
tonight. Football season is about to start, and I really don’t want to be involved in any stupid frat challenges. This is my last
year, and I’m determined to enter the NFL draft.
“I do.” Asher pops up from where he’d sprawled across my bed. We purchased an entire house for the four of us—my three
cousins and I—to live in this year from part of the trust fund given to us when Pop Pop died a few years ago. But they still
seemed to congregate in my bedroom. A de facto hangout place even though we outfitted the living room and games room with
all the toys a guy could want.
Colton and I turn and glare at him for different reasons. Colton hates that he can’t convince Asher of the fallacy of Pop
Pop’s stories, and I’m upset that he’s responding to Colton’s bait. “We know.”
With Colton and I on the same side, the tension in the room dissipates, most likely Asher’s plan. Sometimes the guy
unnerved me with his understanding of the human psyche. And just like that, Colton’s mood switches from looking for a fight to
one where you want to look over your shoulder or sleep with one eye open to spot his planned prank. The twinkle in his
golden-brown eyes is a dead giveaway.
“What’s up, assholes?” As Liam ambles into my room, reeking of sex and wearing a sated look that triggers my own green-
eyed monster—with preseason training, I’d been going through a self-imposed dry spell—Colton steps back, giving me some
extra breathing room. I roll my eyes as Liam zips up his jeans, wanting to make sure we all knew what he’d been up to. Like the
screams of pleasure coming from his room weren’t heard throughout the house.
Not wanting to hear about his latest conquest, I rip my t-shirt over my head, needing to change before heading to the club.
As I bend to grab my new shirt from my drawer, I hear a high-pitched giggle coming from the doorway. “If you offered me
those muscles, Liam, maybe I would be willing to let you share me next time. You know, as a way to entice me into blowing
your buddies.”
With my new shirt covering my chest, I glare at Liam. We have one rule in the house. One. Never leave a woman alone in
the private areas of the house. Ever. For fuck’s sake, we’ve only been living in the house for less than two months and here he
was, already breaking it. He ignores my look, giving me a wink instead before turning to face his fuck buddy of the day, losing
all hint of niceness before facing her. The haughty, arrogant look he perfected during his years in England staring at her. “If, and
that’s a big if, there’s a next time, it won’t include my cousin. You don’t deserve to be rewarded after turning down my friends
for their chance to play this afternoon.”
He brushes past me, winking at me before grabbing her by the biceps and dragging her down the hall to the public areas of
the house. The moment we could no longer hear her protests and begging to have a second chance, we crack up.
“Leave it to Liam to use your body to punish his latest fuck buddy.” Colton shakes his head as I roll my eyes again. Yes, my
body is broader, and more heavily muscled than theirs even though we’re all student athletes, but Asher could out bench press
me in reps, not raw power. Just the result of needs for the various sports we played.
“Mase, Will’s here,” Liam hollers from the front door.
“Shit.” I pull on the shirt, snag my wallet and keys from their spot on the bookshelf by my door as I wave to them. I may not
want to participate, but since I have to, I want to get it over with as fast as possible.
“Ready for tonight?” Will slides behind the wheel of his jacked up pickup which dropped a little to accommodate his
weight. As one of the starting defensive ends of our Div 1 football team—go Morecambe Falconers—he was a big guy. But
then he’d been big when I played with him during the one year I spent back in Voyageur Bay, Canada.
“Fuck no. But I need out of the house. Between Colton driving me nuts with all his talk about our Pop Pop’s stories about
mule kicks, Liam bringing over fuck buddies, and Asher trying to analyse us all…” I let my voice trail off as Will laughs,
knowing all about my Pop Pop’s stories, having heard them from me when he consoled me over Katy’s lack of returned
feelings.
Will presses a button on the steering wheel, turning up the volume to one of the Norwegian-Icelandic grunge metal bands
that he listens to, knowing that I don’t need him to respond. The music should give me a headache, but instead I relax into the
familiarity of it. It might not be my type of music, but after five years of listening to it when I’m keyed up or frustrated, it does
the trick, letting my mind wander and clear.
Word must have spread on social media that our frat would be in attendance tonight because the line up outside the club is
filled with females wearing as little as legally possible. Thankfully we’re able to bypass the line. A perk of our frat owning the
off-campus club, The Spot.
“Fuck me. I’m glad I’m DD tonight.”
The steady base rhythm of the DJ’s music blasts through the open door, drowning out my chuckles. Will is always my DD—
designated driver—at the beginning of the night, but as it wears on, being forced to party, having women constantly rubbing up
against him inevitably leads him into drinking and then leaving as soon as possible with me tagging along. Neither of us likes to
party despite my playboy/partier reputation. Yes, I’d partied a little hard during my year in Voyageur Bay after I realized Katy
wasn’t going to be anything more than a close friend, almost sister to me, but it had still been mild compared to others.
A hand wraps around my biceps, yanking me into Will’s chest—a feat considering I’m thirty pounds lighter than Will’s 280
lbs, but match him for his six-foot four height—pressing us so close together that we could rub dicks if we swung that way.
Tyler, our giant centre, shoves his face between ours, yelling so we can hear him, “Mase. Will. Glad you two could make it.
We’re holding court out back.”
As we weave through the crowd, a teal, skin-tight dress catches my eye, and my chest does this crazy little thump. But
before I can see anything more, Greyson, the MC of our frat and one of our safeties, waves us into the VIP room, smacking me
on the back. “It’s my favourite TD. Glad you’re here.” He rubs his hands together. “Let’s get this party rolling.”
I roll my eyes at his stupid, but cute nickname for Will and me. The T for my position as Tight End and the D for Will’s, as
Defensive End. While most college football players only become close with those who play in their small team or in their frat,
Will and I showed up as best friends even if we were on different lines.
“Welcome to the first bonding event of the year. You know the score gentlemen—and I use that term loosely—the man with
the most points at the end of the year wins the coveted Stud Master Trophy.” Cheers fill the room. Nothing like a good
competition to get the juices flowing. “The first competition is the panty snatch with a twist. We’re not raiding some chick’s
room; instead you need to get a chick in this bar to willingly hand over their panties, leaving them commando for the rest of the
night. And trust us, we’ll know if these ones haven’t been used. You’ve got one hour. Let the games begin.”
The eager expressions on the faces surrounding me fall a little at the time limit. Getting panties later in the evening, after the
alcohol had been flowing freely would be easy, but now, while the women are still relatively sober, ups the challenge factor.
But I’m up for it. After all, with Liam as my cousin, I’ve bound to have pitched up a few tricks. Besides, I already have a target
in mind… the woman in the teal dress that I can’t get out of my head.
 2

TINA

A PINK DRINK topped with white froth is shoved in my face. My nose scrunches. I’m not one for frou-frou drinks, but when in
Morecambe, Alabama... “Aren’t you glad we came early?”
“You’re right. This place is… wow.” I grin at Alexis, my best friend since toddlerhood since our nannies used to get us
together for play dates. Over the years, we remained close, attending the same boarding schools. Only college separated us,
sending us on different paths based on our family histories.
She holds up her glass, clinking it with mine before adding in the rest of her small group of sorority sisters. “To tonight.
Let’s party and experience life; starting next week, our futures are taken from us.”
The girls cheer, but I keep quiet, not wanting to think about the Presentation Ball.
Without stopping to take a breath, I chug the disgustingly sweet drink, placing the empty glass on the table. I yank on Alexis’
hand, towing her back onto the dance floor. Tonight, I plan on letting loose and having some fun. After the Presentation Ball, I
will start my final year of my honors of science degree and my first year of med school—news I still hadn’t broken to my
parents. But under the beat of the music, all that stress is pushed aside. Even the looming noose, dangling over my head that the
Presentation Ball represented. Marriage would be under my terms—love, not money and status—and at my own time. The Ball
wouldn’t change that.
As song after song plays, we don’t leave the dance floor. Sweat beads along my forehead as people continue to crowd us
until we can barely move. With the volume of the music turned to max, I mime to Alexis about grabbing a drink and going to the
bathroom. A code we developed years ago to secretly escape boring supper parties our parents forced us to attend. She nods
and then goes back to grinding on someone I could only suspect was a football player from the size of him. I chuckle. Football
players, the reason they chose this club for tonight’s activities.
In the fight between bladder and thirst, my need for something to drink won. I push my way through the crowd to a small bar
on the far side of the room near the bathrooms. At the bar, my dress works its magic as the deep, plunging V-neck of my body-
hugging, teal, bandage minidress reveals a good portion of my boobs to the bartender’s eyes. Not my usual style and I’d put up
a fight when Alexis and her sorority sisters foisted it on me, but right now, I didn’t care. If I could get a drink faster, I was all
for it. Besides, no one here knew me. “A shot of 1800 Silver and a water.”
Once his gaze rises to meet mine, he grins and nods. A shot of the top-shelf tequila is needed if I’m to relax enough to
undergo all the stupid “society wife classes” this week without having to deal with my mom. She may love me and indulge me
in some ways—like spending some family vacations in places I wanted to see—there are other things that she didn’t
compromise on, and this is one of them.
The shot slides across the bar, coming to a stop beside my hand. With a nod of thanks, I lift the glass to my mouth, tilt my
head back, and let it flow down my throat. The soft burn is muted by the light hint of vanilla, warming my insides. A
psychosomatic response, but I swear I can feel my muscles relaxing as if I sat in front of a warm fire. I hold out my card to pay
as I pick up the bottle of water, cracking the lid. “Thanks.”
He waves my card away. “It’s on the house. That came from a bottle purchased by two of our football players. We keep it
for them so they can drink it while they’re here.”
Years of growing up in society circles where men are led around by a great pair of young boobs have taught me how to use
my assets to my advantage, a skill I put to shameless use. I lean a little more over the bar, giving him a better look at the girls.
Not enough to see nipple, but enough to make him think that a simple wardrobe malfunction—never going to happen—will give
him all that he desires. And while I hate myself for doing it, I really want another drink from their private stock. “In that case,
can I have another?”
He reaches below the counter, pulls out the bottle and fills my shot glass while his gaze never leaves my perky breasts.
 “Thanks.” I stand, snatching the drink from the bar and shooting it down before placing the empty glass back on the bartop.
With a swagger that makes me wish Alexis were watching, I stride away from the bar to the bathroom. A grin spreads across
my face. Alexis would be so proud of me. She’s always lamenting how I never use my body to get the things I want from the
male species.
The level of noise in the bathroom echoes louder than the dance floor and it is just as crowded. Needing to find someplace
a little quieter to calm my brewing headache, I turn away from the bar area and find a partially open door. I push it open,
finding a smaller room where the music is quieter. volume. I cross the room to close the second door, leading to the main bar,
when a giant of a man steps through it, blocking the flashing strobe lights.
I should run, back away, do something, anything since I can feel the tequila hit my system. I knew the stories about women
being caught alone by football players in a place like this. And he had to be a football player since his wide shoulders took up
most of the doorway and his jean clad thighs reminded me of tree trunks. But I stood still, watching him, cataloging each thing
about him, from his short cropped, sandy blond hair to those bright, baby-blue eyes to the kissable pink lips.
My breath rushes out with a shoosh as if someone kicked me in the chest. A new-to-me visceral reaction to a man.
I watch as his Adam’s apple moves, swallowing, and I find myself mimicking his actions. With a swagger born of someone
who knows he’s as sexy as fuck, he crosses the room and I finally back up until my back hits a wall. He leans over me, resting
his forearms against the wall, caging me in. I should be scared, but all I feel is safe, like I’m the one in control despite his size.
“I’m in this panty challenge and I need to get a pair of panties from a woman.” His smile reveals a dimple in his right
cheek. Between it, his warm breath on my face, and the intoxicating scent wafting off his skin, I stand there dazed, watching his
lips move. “—your?”
The rough callus on a finger, scrapes over the skin of my arm, sending trickles of electricity through me, making the fine
hairs on my arm stand. It pulls me from my fog, grounding me, allowing me to make sense of what he said. “Did-did you ask for
my panties?”
The skin on his sun-kissed cheeks turns pink and he sports a sheepish smile. He lifts one arm from the wall and uses that
hand to rub the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah.”
A feeling of recklessness comes over me as he loses his cocky attitude. I slide the sides of my dress up, stopping shy of my
thong. “Only if you take it off me.”
His eyes light up at the challenge and he drops, sitting back on his ankles. “Will, watch the door.” Only then do I realise
we’re not alone, but the look in his eyes keeps me from being scared. He runs his large, rough palms up the outside of my legs,
sliding under the hem of my dress until he grasps the thin ribbons of my thong, pulling it down. My breathing speeds up from the
warmth of his breath on my inner thighs, so close to where I dream of wanting it. It has been too long since my last self-induced
orgasm, and even longer since I experienced one at the hands of someone else. “Fuck. You smell so good.”
And then his nose is there, rubbing back and forth. I stifle a moan, but can’t keep from begging, “Please.”
“God, yes.” My panties drop to the ground as he pulls my right leg from them, hooking it over his shoulder before attacking
me. His lips, his tongue, his teeth, they’re everywhere, devouring me. He squeezes my ass, pulling me closer, deeper into his
mouth. Unable to keep my balance, I slide my fingers into his hair, grasping at the strands with both hands.
“Yes, fuck, yes.” The rhythmic squeezing of his hands has me riding his face, harder, faster. I can feel my orgasm
approaching like a shark swimming towards prey. The urge to scream builds inside me as he drives me higher than I’ve ever
felt before. When my legs begin to shake, and the urge becomes overwhelming, I release one hand, shoving it into my mouth. As
the orgasm hits, I bite down on the fleshing part between my thumb and index finger, to keep from crying out.
If my heart didn’t beat against my chest like a steady rain, I would have thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Yet when he
stares up at me, licks his lips, and tells me how delicious I am, I know that I’m already there.
“Mase, hurry up. We’ve got company coming.”
The man in front of me helps me shimmy my dress down before removing my thong from around my left ankle. “Go now,
before my teammates see you and decide they should have a turn.” The concern he shows has me racing across the room to the
other door. “Hey, what’s your name?”
I grin back at him. “Tina.”
The moment the door closes behind me, I collapse against the wall. Alexis will never believe this.
 3

MASON

“YOU’ RE LOOKING pretty chipper for someone who spent the night out with his team.” Liam stares at me with his head cocked,
examining me. Usually, you didn’t want to talk to me until I’d worked out all my frustration in the gym so my happiness this
morning is far from my unusual for the morning after a combined team-frat event.
“The night was a surprise.” I lick my lips and swear I can still taste her—Tina—reminding me it wasn’t a drunken dream.
“Oh yeah?” Liam wiggles his eyebrows. “My kind of surprise?”
Asher and I scoff. From all the sexual exploits we’d heard about and saw Liam involved in, I doubted anything could be a
surprise to him. But, what happened, what I did, probably fell more along the lines of a Liam move than anyone else in this
house.
Not wanting to share just yet, I change the subject, ignoring their knowing grins. “Where’s Colton this morning?”
The sound of silence deafens the room as Liam and Asher focus on eating what is left of their breakfast.
“Okay, what am I missing?” With a mug of steaming coffee in hand, I sit at my regular seat at the table.
Liam and Asher glance at each other before turning their stares on me. I swirl my wrist around in an “out with it” gesture.
Asher’s shoulders slump as he pushes his empty plate away. “It’s this thing with Chrissy. He’s bound and determined to ask her
to marry him, but we all know how it will turn out.”
I nod. As children, our parents all nodded along with Pop Pop’s mule kick to the chest love stories when he told them to us,
but over the years, all our parents—except for Uncle Alexander, who waited for that mule kick, and Aunt Jillian, Asher’s dad
and step-mom—have either divorced or separated. When I asked my dad about the mule kick theory, he scoffed, telling me he
never believed it, choosing to marry mom because he thought he loved her. Uncle Lucas—Liam’s dad—says he married Aunt
Isobel because it was expected and not for love, which is why she’s lived in England for almost twenty years. And Aunt
Kimberly was in the middle of leaving Uncle Caleb when she was killed in a car accident—something that Colton refuses to
believe about his mother, which is why he’s firmly against the mule kick stories. He prefers to believe that his parents would
have stayed together even though Uncle Caleb tells everyone he never felt the mule kick and he’s waiting for it before marrying
a second time. “You know there’s no talking him out of it. He’s desperate for love.”
“Yeah, which is why he’s out getting his suit tailored… again. And looking at jewelry.” Liam rolls his eyes as he carries
his empty plate to the dishwasher.
Fuck. This is bad. Getting his suit tailored is one thing, but jewelry, that a whole other level when it’s for a girl none of us
have even met. With nothing that I can do, I drain my mug and push away from the table and shrug. “Nothing we can do, so I’m
going for a run. Any takers?”
“Sod off, you wanker.” Liam hits me with a kitchen towel as I walk by to place my mug in the dishwasher. “I’d wilt in that
heat.”
“You, poor, delicate flower,” I call over my shoulder as I saunter towards the door, picking up my water pack and strapping
it on. It’s not the heat that’ll make this run fun, but the wall of humidity that strikes me as I open the door. On days like this, it
makes me miss the dry heat of Manitoba.
I chose a longer route that follows one of the local rivers, knowing few people would be one it despite the refreshing,
private swimming hole about halfway through it. My reward for running in this humidity and heat.
Music blares through my earphones. My pace matches the pounding beat, allowing my mind to remember everything I could
about the previous night, including Tina and her teal dress. Will and I left the room early to scope out our quarry. I searched for
the teal dress from earlier, but the club was already too crowded and no one else captured our attention, resulting in us heading
to the bar. After some shots of our 1800 Silver, we decided to head back to the VIP room for a little peace and quiet. I blamed
the tequila for my next actions. Yes, I’d hooked up at parties and bars before, but never with someone I didn’t know. That
wasn’t my style, but there was something about Tina…
A flash of bright pink and teal through the trees hiding the upcoming curve in the path captures my attention, making me
wonder who else could be a glutton for punishment and out running today. The figure rounds the curve. I stumble, nearly
faceplanting in the crushed stone as her face comes into view. Air. What air? My lungs refuse to work as a searing pain slams
into my chest, expelling what air I have left. Am I dying? My heart jumps erratically like I’ve just taken a helmet to the chest
without my pads on. Or maybe like I’d been kicked…
Fuuuuck! I manage to catch myself before I fall to the ground at her feet… again. Yet even as I stare at her, I can’t stop
myself from licking my lips, remembering how she tastes.
“Mase? Are you okay?” She grasps my arm, stabilizing me.
Is it hot out here? I want to fan my cheeks, cooling them down as I continue to gaze at her. Last night she looked amazing
with her strawberry blond hair hanging in beachy waves down her back, but today, with her hair pulled back into a ponytail
with little curly tendrils escaping and plastered to the side of her head… gorgeous. Even better than Katy did in her
cheerleading uniform when I’d been head over heels for her.
I pull out one of my ear buds and pretend to scan the ground for an errant stone. “Yeah, thanks. I must have tripped over
something. Or stubbed my toe…”
Her brown-green eyes sparkle, but she doesn’t call me on my lie. “It doesn’t help that we’re running in soup either.”
The quivering of her chest draws my gaze. The tops of her perky breasts which I never even managed a good look at the
night before bounce in her sports bra. And below it, but above her tight, running shorts, I see the hints of her abdominal
muscles. The mix of strength and softness makes me anything but.
As I pull my gaze away from her enticing body, I see hers searching the area around us. Worried she’s about to bolt without
me learning anything more about her, I motion to the nearby hidden path, leading to the swim hole where we can talk and cool
down. “Care to get out of the sun and heat for a bit?”
“Sounds good.” She reaches for one of her small water bottles hanging from a harness around her hips as I lead us down
the path into the trees. “I forgot how humid it is here.”
“Does that mean you’re new here?” Not that I would worry about what year she was in, but being a freshman would add a
few complications to a long-term relationship. Holy fuck. What am I thinking? Long-term relationship? Could I actually be
thinking like I believe Pop Pop’s stories? That she’s the one? Yet when she shakes her head and my heart clenches at the
implication, I know it’s true. And if she’s only visiting then I need to make some fast moves. Anything to keep her from leaving
without knowing me.
And that starts with an apology about my behaviour the night before.
I grasp her biceps, pulling her to a stop to face me. “I want to apologize for last night. I’m not usually like that. I don’t do
that to a woman I don’t know, and I don’t do that in a public place.”
The rosy glow on her cheeks darkens as she chuckles in a nervous way. “If we’re confessing sins, then the same goes for
me. I don’t do that. In fact, I rarely even go to clubs like that because I’m too busy with schoolwork.”
I slide my hand down her arm, giving in to my urge to hold her hand by wrapping my pinkie around hers as we start down
the path again. “What are you studying?”
Instead of pulling away, she steps closer, allowing our arms to touch as we walk. The feeling of intimacy, coming from our
seclusion in the woods, grows. “I’m finishing the final year of an honors in science degree while simultaneously doing my first
year of med school.”
“You can do that?”
She shies away from me a little in embarrassment, but I pull on her hand, releasing her pinkie to entwine our fingers. “It’s
rare, but I was accepted to med school after completely three years of my degree.” She shrugs. “I wanted to do the honors
project so I asked them if I could do both and they’re letting me.”
“That’s awesome,” I reassure her. “What type of doctor?”
She stops, turning to face me. Gone is her playful smile as she stares at me, telling me how important her next few words
are to her. “I want to look after women, in particular, and their children. But I want to do that with those living in poverty, those
who can’t afford a doctor, and those who are at most risk of violence.”
Her words strike a chord, making me realize how I could have mistaken my feelings for Katy for so long. I could easily
hear similar words coming from Katy’s mouth. Katy’s giving heart had always been one of the things that I loved about her. To
find those same qualities in Tina… perfect. It was like their souls were nearly identical. Only my attraction to and ease with
Tina outstripped the familiarity I’d had with Katy.
As we continued to walk, the passion she has for the subject shows as she continues to explain her plans. The idea of
setting up a free clinic, doing prenatal care, self defense classes, nutrition classes, food shares, the ideas and plans were
endless. So when she asks what my future plans are, fear and worry fills me. Will she think I’m saying these things to impress
her? That I’m taking business and marketing along with a few social work classes to aid in my dream of working with the
homeless. To find them appropriate shelter contains the support they need to become as productive as they can. Or will she see
my initial hopes for an NFL career as cocky and conceited? Then she squeezes my hand and I know, deep inside my soul, that I
need not worry. She’ll believe me because we’re meant to be together.
Sucking in a big breath and then letting it go, I spill my heart to her.
 4

TINA

WITH EACH WORD he speaks as we walk, it feels like we haven’t just met. I feel so comfortable with him, like he’s always been
a part of my life. So when he starts asking getting-to-know-you questions like favorite color, food, etc, it’s jarring, reminding
me that even time seems strange. It reminds me of a phrase in my favorite book series when I was growing up. In the Anne
series by L.M. Montgomery, she talks about people who feel this, who seem to have a connection that defies time and space.
She calls them “the race that knows Joseph.” And that’s exactly how I feel. As if we’ve been lovers and friends throughout
time, reincarnated into this present life. A heady thought for me since I think predestination and reincarnation is completely
illogical.
“Favorite food?”
I grin. “Any type of noodle in a sauce or soup. They are quick to cook, easy to eat, and can be reheated if I’m pulled away.”
I motion to my body. “And the reason why I run.”
I can feel his gaze roaming over me, heating each piece of skin it caresses. Unable to handle such concentrated attention on
me, I pull my gaze away, noticing the expanse of blue before us for the first time. “Is that water? Like swimming in, cooling
down water?”
“It is.” With a swiftness that must make him a beast on the football field, he bends, shoving one arm under my legs at my
knees while the other arm wraps around my back, sweeping me off my feet. He jogs out of the woods, coming to a stop besides
the water. “It’s a secluded little spot that I use often when I need to cool down.”
Cool down. I know exactly what that’s like. The heat and humidity make me hot, but it’s nothing compared to how I feel
right this second. With his arms around me, my body is heating for a completely different reason. One that made me step
completely out of my comfort zone the night before. And as he lowers me to the ground, ensuring I feel each one of his muscles
and the large bulge between his muscular thighs on the way down, I feel like I’m on fire. “It’s safe?”
“It is.” He winks as he reaches behind his head, grasping the neck of his tank top, and yanks it off. My jaw muscles work
overtime to keep it from hitting the ground as I stare at all that glorious muscle. Golden skin. Tight defined muscles. My brain is
on overload. If I’d known him while taking my various anatomy classes, I would have never struggled to remember the names
of all the muscles.
But when the blond, all-American, boy next door before me reaches for the waistband of his shorts and starts to push them
down, I lose all control of my muscles. My mouth pops open and I spin around, falling to the ground. “Wh-what are you
doing?”
“Cooling down with a dip. Coming?” I hear the mirth and the challenge in his voice as my mind spins out of control, filling
in possible details of what he was hiding under those shorts. Yet even as I wonder if I could possibly gather up the nerve to
skinny dip, I find myself unhooking the clasp and then unzipping my sports bra to remove it. I rationalize my actions by
reminding myself that he’s already seen my more intimate parts, already tasted them even as another part of my brain screams
how it had been dark, we’d been drinking alcohol.
A gasp from behind me as I drop my bra to the ground, silences the voice of doubt but I still double check before I continue
to undress. “No one will see, right?”
Heat from his body warms my back as his breath brushes over my shoulders. “No one but me. It’s too hot for people to
come all this way when there are closer places to cool down.”
A shudder rushes down my spine when his hands brush the bare skin of my waist. Unlike him, my muscles are soft, making
me want to suck in my non-existent gut even though I know his gaze is on my boobs. With each stuttering breath, my nipples
tighten, begging to be touched. I hear him swallow, feel him shiver, and then release me, brushing past me as he jogs to the side
of the swimming hole. His butt muscles clench, and his hamstrings bulge as he jumps. I scramble to remove the rest of my
clothes while he’s submerged.
As I jump in, I hear a quiet “fuuuck” in Mase’s deep voice before the water rushes over my head, drowning out all sound.
Guess I wasn’t fast enough to keep Mase from seeing my naked body. I stay under, giving myself a moment to calm down and to
shore up my waning courage. Day skinny dipping or even skinny dipping at all is new to me. It’s so far outside my normal that
I’m beginning to wonder if I even recognize myself, yet I feel more like my true self than ever before. Stripping down is freeing
in more ways than one.
My head breaks the surface as I tread water. It’s cooler than the air, chilling my body, making my nipples point like hard
bullets even as it refreshes me. I glance around, looking for Mase, worrying when I don’t see him. Only my pile of clothes on
the shore reassures me that I’m not the subject of a cruel prank.
Something grabs my ankle, pulling me down. I squeak out a squeal before water chokes it off, covering my head again.
Through the water, I see Mase’s grinning face as his arms wrap around me, hauling me back to the surface.
“You ass.” I swat his chest as I try to deal with my flustered hormones. Between the warmth of his skin pressing delectably
against my bare chest and my wet backside cooling from the slightest breeze, my body vibrates from the mixed signals.
Goosebumps raise on my skin as my needle-like nipples drive into him. “I thought something was in the water with us.”
He chuckles and the vibration slides his chest over me in a pleasing friction. “I’d never let anything hurt you.
My initial response is to scoff at the cheesy line, but when I stare into his darkened eyes, I see how serious he is. It’s the
only reason I can think of for why I lean in, pressing my lips to his, feeling their firmness and warmth. I knew my parents loved
me and in more than a theoretical sense unlike other friends in their social circles. We spent time together. We went on trips
together. Yet it never looked like what I watched on TV or in the movies. Nor did it resemble how some of my classmates
talked about how their families interacted with each other. The proof was in my reason for being in Morecambe. While they let
me take the courses I wanted at university, I had no choice when it came to attending the Presentation Ball. Only an engagement
would have kept me from taking part in the added festivities, but attendance at the Ball was mandatory to receive my trust
funds.
For a split second he doesn’t move as if I’ve shocked him. I start to pull away, thinking I’ve misread everything, but his
grip on my waist tightens as one hand slides up my back to cradle my head as he deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue into my
mouth, filling it with the taste of bitter coffee. Not a taste I usually enjoyed, needing my caffeine to be sweetened with tons of
sugar if it came in coffee form, but on him, I want to drink it all up.
When I feel lightheaded from the need to breathe, I pull back, gazing into his blown wide pupils. All I smell, all I breathe in
is him. A strong, masculine musk that makes me want to roll around in the scent like you see animals do in grass.
“Fuck. I’ve wanted to do that and so much more since last night.” He licks his lips, sending those aching flutters deep
within me. “Your taste has haunted me all night. I almost didn’t even brush my teeth this morning, worried I’d lose it.”
“Then maybe you should have another taste.” My eyes widen as the words come out of my mouth. What type of magic has
Mase weaved over me? Making me say and do things I normally wouldn’t. Yet somehow, I don’t seem to care about finding
an answer.
Without any warning, I’m hoisted up and flung over Mase’s shoulder as he wades to shore. Not one to waste time—thank
goodness—he caresses my butt, dipping his fingers to tease me where I ache for him as he walks.
And then I’m lying on my back on the grass, placed down with a gentleness that seems impossible from the size of his
muscles. He lands on his knees before me, between my spread legs, and before I can even draw my next breath, he’s on me,
picking up where he left off at the club. The warmth of his mouth on my cooled sex makes me shudder, heightening the feeling.
I’d read about people playing with ice during sexy times and suddenly I want to try it. He licks, swipes, tastes, never letting up,
feasting everywhere between my legs as I search for something to hold onto, to ground me.
My orgasm steamrolls me, completely surprising me with its speed and ferocity as I yank out handfuls of grass. A sense of
embarrassment fills me over the speed in which it hit. But it flees when I hear Mase growling out words of encouragement and
praise, sending continuous vibrations through me as he doesn’t stop.
Needing to touch him, I shove my fingers through his water-slicked-back hair, grasping the ends in my fists to keep me
anchored in the present.
“Pull harder.”
I do and he rewards me by intensifying his actions, putting a couple of fingers to use along with his tongue and lips. I lose
all track of time as another orgasm detonates with me. My mouth opens on a silent scream because my muscles clench so tight I
can’t move air in or out of my lungs.
I should be fully sated. Two giant orgasms now after one amazing one last night, but I’m not. I’m eager for more, to feel him
fill me up. I yank on his hair, trying to pull him higher up my body, wanting him where I can kiss him, feel his entire body
against mine. “Please.”
Dragging each inch of his glorious body over mine, he complies with my breathless begging, triggering all sorts of feelings
within my overstimulated nervous system. “Is this what you want?” He rubs his hardness over my clit, making me gasp as a
new wave of pleasure rolls over me. He does it again and again, watching me as I writhe under him, wanting more. “Fuck.” He
pulls away from my chest, widening the space between our upper bodies. “I don’t have any condoms on me.”
I hold onto him as he tries to roll off me. “You’re a student athlete. You have physicals before the season starts, right? I had
one recently and it showed that I’m negative. I’ve also got an implant.”
His gaze pierces me, examining me to see if I’m lying or not completely comfortable with my choice, but I am. I’ve never
had sex without a condom before, always too scared to take the risk, but I don’t feel that way with him. I feel safe. “My tests
are negative.” He shifts his weight, lifting one hand off the ground, stroking the side of my face. “Are you sure? I’ve never gone
bare before, never wanted to, but with you…”
With his words echoing my feelings, I sit up a little, bring my lips to his. “I’m sure.”
That is all it takes to break through any hesitation he might have felt. With a simple shift of his hips, he drives into me,
stretching me, filling me as I collapse back on the ground. With each drive into me, the small rocks, the clumps of dirt, the
sharpness of the blades of grass only heighten my pleasure, grounding me when I begin to soar away. This isn’t a dream. It’s
real, I remind myself, not even caring if I were lying. It’s that good.
Each thrust forces me higher. Each touch leaves me aching for more. I scramble to touch him, to memorize his body, to give
him the same pleasure he’s giving me even when I can barely breathe or think coherently. Single word sentences fall from my
lips in pants as I beg for him not to stop.
And then I fall, soaring over the side of the cliff in a free fall. Nothing around me except bliss until I feel his weight against
me as he says my name on repeat. He tries to roll off, mumbling something about squishing me, but I wrap my legs and arms
around him, keeping our bodies together. I never want this feeling to end. I want it forever.
And that scares the shit out of me.
 5

MASON

MY LIPS LIFT into a smile as I stare at the message on the phone. My latest from Tina. A snarky, insightful comment about
women primping and prostituting themselves like dolls to attract a man when they could put that time and effort into earning
their own money, standing on their own feet. I bite back a laugh as I remember having similar thoughts when faced with the
women throwing themselves at me based on either my last name or my NFL prospects.
“What has you so happy? It’s been all week and it’s disgusting.” Liam plops down on my bed, wearing his tux pants and
nothing else.
“You’ve noticed it as well?” Liam leans against my door jamb, fully decked out in his tux pants, dress shirt, bow tie, and
cummerbund. “He’s happier than Colton tonight, which is saying something.”
Chuckles escape my mouth. Colton had been moodier than a woman PMSing. The closer we came to tonight, the more
irritable he became, bouncing between extreme happiness and trepidation. I know those emotions well because I feel them too,
but not all based on tonight like his. My happiness comes from Tina. Every memory of our two times together in person and all
the messaging back and forth fill me with more joy than I’ve ever had. Yet the moment I have time to think, worry about when
she’s leaving and what I will do then if she stops talking to me, fills me.
The messages give me a greater insight into who she is, soul deep, and each commonality we find or excitement about each
other’s lives, draws us closer together, weaving our soul strands into a tapestry of love. Yeah, love. Turns out Pop Pop’s
stories are true, no matter how much I try to deny it. And I keep driving myself crazy, worried about how she’d react if I told
her how I feel after knowing her for less than a week.
“Speaking of Colton,” I say to change the focus off me, “Where is he? I thought he’d be here, driving us nuts since he’s the
only one of us who wants to attend tonight.”
Asher pushes off the door jamb, only to drop onto my desk chair. “He’s already dressed and gone, wanting to speak to
Uncle Caleb at Nana’s. I think he’s telling him about Chrissy.”
“Shiiit.” I pull my dress shirt off the hanger and put it on, leaving the buttons undone.
“Bloody wanker.” Liam sits up, running his hand through his already messy, light brown hair, increasing the permanent sex-
hair look he sports. “I mean, why would he want to get married now? It’s not like I believe in Pop Pop’s stories but look at our
parents. None of them experienced that mythical feeling except maybe Uncle Alexander when he met Aunt Jillian and none of
their marriages have survived. So why rush into that heartache? It’s bad enough we’re required to go to tonight’s meat market.
We were supposed to get another year before all this shit was forced on us.”
“You know why.” Asher stretches out his legs, crossing them at the ankles while clasping his hands behind his head. “The
Alabama families are hosting this year.”
As I pull out the cuff links from my top drawer in the dresser and fasten them to my shirt, I grin even as they bicker behind
me. Leave it to Asher to completely ignore the comment about his dad and stepmom and the mule kick feeling. But then again, I
was ignoring it as well. I want to tell them about Tina, about how I feel about her, but I want to keep it a secret a little longer.
Yet the longer I wait, I’m letting Colton walk—no, run—into future heartache because he doesn’t feel the same way about
Chrissy that I do Tina. And I hate that. I never want my cousins to feel the emotional hurt that I did over Katy if I can do
something to prevent it.
“Um.” I clear my throat as I spin around to face them, stopping their argument in its tracks. “I have something to tell you.”
Liam cocks his head and examines me. “Ugh. If you’re going to tell us that you met some chick, are boning her, and now you
want to marry her, I’m going to puke.”
“Then grab my garbage can because it’s worse than that.” Liam rolls his eyes as he flops back on my bed. I pull up my
oversized jockstrap and jump in despite Liam’s attitude. “Pop Pop’s stories are true. I met someone the other night and thought
it was just because I’d been drinking. But I ran into her again the other day and wham! Mule kick to the chest. The heart went
crazy. My lungs stopped working. And when we talk… it’s like I’ve known her all my life. We fit together. And best of all, all
my walls just drop to the ground when I’m around her, talking to her.”
Liam rolls his eyes again as he pushes himself off my bed with a scoff. “And how many times over the years did we listen
to you say the same thing about your precious Katy? ‘She’s the love of my life. Pop Pop’s right.’”
I lean against my dresser and shrug. “I’ll give you that. I thought Katy was the one for a long time, but I was confusing
gratitude and a sibling-like bond with romantic love. With her it was like I feel with you, but all that pales in comparison to
what I feel now.”
“Well, I’m happy for you.” Asher stands and pulls me into a back-breaking hug. “Can’t wait to meet her.”
“Hopefully it’ll be soon. I need to explain everything to her before she goes back to school.”
He nods before yanking Liam to his feet. “Come on. Let’s finish getting you dressed because Mimi will kill us if we’re
late.”

Mimi straightens my bowtie. “Now you’re perfect, my handsome boy. All ready to have these ladies falling at your feet?” Not
giving me time to answer, she pats my cheek before stepping back and examining my cousins, making sure they met her rigid
expectations. “My handsome grandsons. Y’all make some ladies wonderful husbands. Just mind your Pop Pop’s words.”
Not wanting Liam to make a snarky comment, setting off Mimi’s legendary temper, I hold out my arm to her. “Would you all
me to escort you inside?”
“My sweet boy.” She beams at me, but when Liam walks behind her, anxious to escape her clutches—or maybe just to seek
out the open bar—he mouths, “Suck up.” I smirk knowing I beat him to the punch, winning Mimi’s favor for the evening as he
rolls his eyes.
With Mimi on my arm, we walk into the giant ballroom. Large crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, adding to the
overabundance of glitz surrounding us. If the Palace of Versailles and Buckingham Palace could have a spoiled child, this
would be it. But even the ridiculous display of wealth isn’t my issue with the Ball, instead it’s the reason behind it. Tonight is
all about making those first steps to find a suitable marriage partner. One who could help with the family businesses. It’s why
Pop Pop hated these events, but it was part of who we were, part of our history. Not that Pop Pop or Mimi would ever force us
to marry someone we met here since Pop Pop and Mimi held fast to the mule kick theory, but pressure from outside, from the
people in this room, would weigh heavily on us. It’s why Uncle Caleb and Uncle Lucas married women they met at these Balls,
the gatherings of people running in similar societies. It’s also where Uncle Zan slept with Asher’s birth mother. Only Uncle
Benjamin and my dad never married women from here. Dad jumped at the chance to marry mom before his bachelor attendance
was mandatory and Uncle Benjamin told Mimi that he couldn’t possibly leave the ranch he was running for the family to attend
the Balls. It had been my plan to pull the same stunt in a couple of years, having Alabama host it put a crimp in my plans.
Mimi pats my hand, grabbing my attention. I lean down to hear her over the orchestra only to have her kiss my cheek before
she walks away, over to a group of silver haired ladies wearing enough sparkling jewels to compete with the chandeliers. I
know what she wants me to do, to wander around and talk to the eligible women, but I need a drink—or four—before I can do
that with a smile. I snag a glass of champagne off a tray from a circulating waiter. It’s not my favorite by a long shot, but it’s
probably my best bet. I can’t drink it fast or enough of it to get drunk, but it will relax me.
As I start to mosey around the room, I pat my pocket, feeling my cell phone. It’s been hours since my last message from
Tina and I’m missing the interaction. Yet even without anything new from her, just carrying my phone and her previous
messages fills me with hope and eager anticipation. Another vice to get me through all the inane conversations from the women
wanting to marry me. At least most of them have fathers or brothers who follow football, giving us something more substantial
to speak about.
A flash of teal lace catches my eye, immediately reminding me of Tina and the dress she wore to the club. The styles are
completely different, but this dress, despite its floor-length with a train, by the time it reaches the woman’s ass, it’s form fitting.
And the ass triggers more memories of Tina. But it’s the strawberry blond hair pulled up into an elegant hairdo that punches my
chest. It can’t be… can it?
She turns, gaze landing on me, making her eyes widen in surprise before a real smile—one she always wears when she
looks at me—graces her face. Without thinking or even making my apologies, I stride away mid conversation, needing to be by
her side. I take her hand in mine, lifting it to my lips where my tongue darts out during the kiss, tasting her skin. Instant carnal
memories flood my system and I thank my dad for telling me to have my tux pants tailored in a way to hide possible erections.
If not, everyone would know what is going on in my mind as I look at her. “Tina? What are you doing here?”
Under her perfectly applied makeup, her cheeks flush and her eyes darken with desire as her gaze roams over my body.
Outside of our two in-person meetings, the messages tend to be strictly PG, but some have ventured in X rated territory, fueling
the visions in my head. And if I’m reading her body language correctly, she’s thinking about them too. “M-Mase? What? Ho—”
 Her eyes widen and her face turns white as she looks of to my side. I spin a little, partially blocking her from whatever
caused her fear. My stomach tightens and drops, making me feel sick.
“Mason. I’m so glad you’ve met Crissy.” Colton steps up beside me, sporting the largest smile on his face.
Shit! Fuck! Nooo. This can’t be happening. Tina—or should I say Chrissy—looks how I feel, green around the gills and
ready to throw up as his gaze bounces between Colton and me. She licks her lips and swallows. Each action reminds me of our
time together which is crazy considering the awkward situation.
“It’s actually Christina.” The freezing tone in her voice should be my first clue, but when she pulls her hand from mine,
breaking the one piece of contact that’s holding my world together, I crumble inside. She stiffens her spine. “A-and you’re
Mason, Mason More. I should have known.” Her voice cracks and I swear I see the glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes as she
spins on her heels, lifting the front of her dress and races from the room, taking my heart with her.
“Was that Chrissy?”
“Or was that—” I shake my head, stopping Liam from finishing his question.
“Chrissy.” Colton ignores Liam half finished sentence to confirm Asher’s guess as he glares at me between darting his gaze
to the doors Tina—Chrissy—escapes the room through. “And I don’t know what you said to her, Mason, to get her to flee like
that, but I’ll kick your ass later. Right now, I need to go after my soon-to-be fiancé.”
We watch as Colton strides across the room, ignoring the polite hellos as he pushes people out of the way. My knees shake
as if I’d just spent the past run running the stairs at the stadium. I’m seriously concerned I’m going to hit the floor, making us a
bigger spectacle then we already are.
Despite my acting skills, Asher asks the question I hoped he wouldn’t. “That wasn’t—” I nod my head, cutting him off
before he says her name. “Fuck, man. What are you going to do?”
That is the billion-dollar question. All I know is that I can’t be the one to ruin Colton’s happiness. I knew too well what the
pain of a broken heart felt like. Yet it was nothing compared to the pain I was feeling.
Fuck indeed.
 6

CHRISTINA/TINA

I CLUTCH my chest as I dart into a small empty room before collapsing against the wall. My breaths come in ragged pants. I
wrap my arms tighter around me, trying to hold my broken heart together. This had been the last place I wanted to be tonight.
Instead, I wanted to be curled up in my comfy clothes, phone in hand, talking to him… Mase… the man I think I am falling in
love with.
“Oh, God.” The cry tears from my lips. I think, no, I know I love him… and now it’s over as surely as I know my own
name. I could see it in his gaze when he looked at me with horror the minute Colton showed.
Fuck. Of all the guys I could have met here, I had to meet Colton’s cousin. I bang my head against the wall. Colton, my
friend and confidant throughout school. We didn’t attend the same boarding school, but we attended brother/sister ones and
over the years, we struck up a close friendship. He became my confident when bad things happened, when the girls bullied me
because I was a late bloomer or when the first guy I slept with told everyone how horrible I was. He was my comfort and
strength. I’d do anything for him, and him me. It’s why he was my back-up plan.
Part of the rules for my various trust funds were that I needed to attend the Presentation Ball starting at age twenty-one. And
if I wasn’t engaged by twenty-five, I’d lose half the money. Not that I care about the money, but I have plans for it. My trust
funds are going to start my health clinics, hire staff, purchase medications, and anything else I need to spend it on to help those
in need. But I don’t want to get married. Not now when I still have so many years of schooling and training left. And not to
some pretentious asshole like the ones I know run in these circles.
Colton and I spoke about this a lot while growing up. I knew all about his family life and the stories his Pop Pop used to
tell him. And like him, I’d scoffed at them, promising him that we would help each other out when the time came. And if
needed, we’d get engaged to fulfill our family obligations.
“Chrissy. There you are.” Colton storms into the room. Anger flows off him in waves. Fuck. He knows about me and Mase
and he’s mad I broke my promise to him… with his cousin. Yet when he wraps his arms gently around me, I realize it’s not me
he’s angry at, confusing me. “I don’t know what Mason said to you, but I can imagine, and I’ll kill him for you.” He rubs his
thumb under my eye, drying up a couple of tears I hadn’t realized I shed. “Don’t let him ruin this night for us.”
I wrap my arms around one of my best childhood friends and relax into his comfortable embrace, needing the safety he
represents. It’s a familiar spot for me as I spent many evenings this way as I cried over things people said to me or things other
guys did to me. Through it all, Colton was there just like I was for him.
He holds me for a bit longer before releasing me, examining my face. “I think you look fine, but you might want to double
check your makeup in the bathroom. You know how these vultures can be.”
His words surprise me. Does he really think I’m about to walk in there to watch women fawn all over Mason? All week
long during the stupid classes, I had to listen to the other new girls discussing the eligible bachelors. So many of them talked
about Mason, about all the rumors they heard, about the things they knew in the hopes to attract his eye. And all that time I’d
been chuckling to myself, sending Mase my thoughts on their discussions, never realising her he was the one they spoke of.
Fuck. How could I have been so stupid? Yet I couldn’t blame myself for not seeing it earlier. Mase seemed so different
from Mason. Mase was warm and comforting, safe; while the Mason they spoke of was cool, aloof, and dangerous when riled
up. Not in a physical sense—at least for females since I’d heard stories about how he was a beast on the field—but to your
emotions and self-esteem. He wasn’t above eviscerating a woman who pushed his boundaries too far.
“Chrissy?”
“Huh?”
“Are you going to go check your makeup so we can head back in?”
“Um, no.” There’s no way I’m going back in. I’m not putting myself in the position of being in the line of fire of the
legendary Mason. No, I want to go home and hibernate, lock the world away as I deal with my grief. Colton may not believe in
his Pop Pop’s stories, but I do. I felt that mule kick. And even if Mason refuses to believe the stories after his earlier
heartbreak—I remember Colton mentioning it in passing but nothing about the actual relationship—I know he is the one. That
no one will ever compare. That’s what I need to mourn, how I may end up in a satisfactory relationship in the future, but it will
be nothing compared to what I could have had.
“Good for you. Hold your head up high. Don’t let Mason know his words bothered you.” He threads our fingers together.
“And if he says another word to you tonight, I’ll punch him right here instead of waiting until we get home.”
“What? No. You don’t understand.” I pull my hand from his. The comfort of his touch has disappeared under his single-
minded focus of returning us to the Ball. “I’m not going back in there. I’m going back to my hotel.”
Colton’s mouth and eyes widen in shock and possible horror, pissing me off. He always talked about how he was so glad
he didn’t have to attend these for another two years, telling me to hang tough until it was his turn to attend. But now he’s acting
like he wants to be here, completely ignoring my thoughts and feelings. “What do you mean you’re not going back in there? We
have the night all planned out.”
“No, Colton. You have it planned out. I never wanted to stay for long, only long enough to fulfill my requirements. I told
you that multiple times.”
“But, but—”
“No buts. I’m tired and just want to be by myself.”
Colton’s hands ball into fists at his sides. “I’ll kill. He knew how important tonight was to me, to us.”
The severity of his anger and his words break through the broken heart fog I’m in. For all that I’m accusing him of in my
head, about not paying attention to me and my feelings, I realise I’m doing the same to him. “What do you mean ‘to us’?”
“I, uh, nothing now. He’s already ruined it.” The look of sadness and loss on his face breaks me a little. I muster up enough
compassion from the pieces of my heart to pull him into a hug even if I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to inquire further. I
know Colton. He’ll tell me sooner or later since he can’t really keep things from me.
Pulling back, I cup his cheek. “I promise I’ll talk to you before I head back to school. I just need to be alone right now.” He
nods, but I can still see the hint of violence in his eyes. And as much as I’m hurt over Mason, I can’t allow Colton and him to
fight. Not when it’s as much as my fault over what happened tonight. If I’d just told him the truth about who I was and why I
was in Morecambe, all of this could have been avoided. The old saying, “It’s better to have loved and lost than to have never
loved before” finally makes sense. I know I wouldn’t trade this past week with Mason for anything even if I knew beforehand it
would end in heartbreak. “Don’t go after Mason. He wasn’t at fault.”
I don’t give Colton any time to question me or my statement as I pick up my dress and race from the room. The last thing I
want to do right now is to tell Colton about my time with his cousin. And after sticking up for him, if I stay around, Colton
won’t let me leave without telling him everything.
Using the knowledge I gained this week, finding little hidden hideaways from where I can message Mase—Mason—in
peace, I escape the building, finding a waiting driver and limo from the Morecambe Resort and Spa. “Back to resort, please.”
“Yes, Miss Swanson.” The driver closes the door after me. I feel my cellphone buzz with the specific tone I set to Mase’s
messages. With an aching heart and a shaking hand, I pull it out of my cleverly hidden pocket. When I see his name on the
screen, I bite my lip. Do I want to hear from him? Am I ready to hear him say how he can’t stand me, how this was all a joke
like the guy who I gave my virginity to did? Yet even as I think those thoughts, something inside me argues back, telling me that
Mase isn’t like that. And before this evening I wouldn’t have thought so. Now, I’m not so sure.
But despite my reservations, I click on his message and read. My eyes sting as I do.
Tina (you’ll always be Tina to me),
This week has been the best week of my life. I never wanted to go to the club that night, but now I’m forever grateful
because I met the love of my life. Spending time with you has changed me in ways that you can’t even imagine. Because of
you, I think that I’ll be a better man. A man worthy of someone who has as much passion and compassion for others as you
do.
In case, I didn’t make it clear. I love you. Am in love with you.
But so is Colton. You’re all he talks about. And I can never stand in his way. My only consolation is that I know that
he’ll take care of you and everything to make you happy.
So this is goodbye… for now. After all, I’ll still attend your wedding if you’ll have me. And I promise to be on my best
behaviour there, knowing that you’re happy.
Forever yours,
Your Mase
Tears stream down my face unchecked as I read his message for a second and then a third time. Our wedding? What is he
talking about? And then, suddenly, everything Colton said this week, all his actions make sense. He wanted my backup plan to
happen… now, even though I never thought of him that way. I never figured I was wired for love, would ever find it, so when I
knew I’d at least have to get engaged, if not married, I decided it would be with someone I liked, someone I was comfortable
with, and Colton fit the bill. It helped that he was like me, not wanting to get married—or so I thought. It’s why we’d hatched
the plan that once he had to attend the Ball along with me, if neither of us had found love by then, we’d get engaged. But that
wasn’t for a few years yet. Or at least it wasn’t until the last-minute change to hold the annual Ball in Morecambe. Yet I never
dreamed he’d move up the timeline.
Fuck. What have I done?
 7

MASON

“P UCKER UP , tight ass. I’m coming for you.” The linebacker, Rob, from Vanderbilt, knocks my shoulder as he jogs back to the
line. I roll my eyes, but don’t give in to the smack talk. Since the Ball and my last message to Tina, my focus has been football
and academics. Everything else has been pushed to the side. I’m rarely at home except to sleep and change clothes, living at the
gym or in the athletic tutoring area when I’m not in classes or at practices.
I jog to our huddle. Ky, looks up from the list of play calls on his wrist and stares at me. “You ready?”
“Hell yah.” I grin, showing my teeth.
He nods, calls the play, and we smack each other as we line up. Ky shoves his hands between Tyler’s legs, resting the back
of his hand against Tyler’s ass, ready to catch the ball. “Forty-eight. Sixty-four. Hut. Hut. Hut”
I take off, racing through the opening between the Defensive End and Rob. He moves to cut me off, but I twist my body,
avoiding his tackle as I chuckle. So much for coming at me. I refrain from rolling my eyes as I head toward the Safety. I feint to
the right, but he stays with me. I try the left and he hesitates for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough. I open the gap and reach
up as I turn my body a little. Ky’s perfect spiral flies, heading directly to me. I jump a little, catching the ball, pulling it into my
body to protect it as I see the other linebacker and safety rush toward me. But they’re too late. I land within feet of the end
zone. Three running steps later, I cross. Touchdown. I spike the ball, start to do my ass wiggle when my teammates jump on me.
This TD, my third of the game, puts us thirty points ahead halfway through the fourth. There’s no hope for Florida A & M now.
Not that there had been before this TD, but now it’s cemented. We’re 4-0.
Once I manage to escape my teammates, I jog off the field, accepting more congratulations and butt smacks from my other
teammates and the offensive coaches before dropping to the bench. A red telephone handset is handed to me, forcing me to pull
off my helmet. “Hello?”
“Mason. Great job, son. The new play worked perfectly.”
“It did, sir.”
“Good. Make sure the trainers work on your left knee before heading to the hotel. We want to make sure we don’t
overstress the muscles there.”
“Will do.” I hand the phone back to Chris, the phone keeper.
The game ends and the team celebrates, bouncing around, high fiving, slapping each other on the ass or back, and shouting
in joy as we head to the dressing room. I’m the only one not participating in all the revelry which is probably why Will hip
checks me as we start to tear off the muddy, sweat-soaked jerseys. “You’ve been a beast on the field lately. What’s up?”
The question sounds stupid since he should be happy I’m a beast, but Will knows me too well. Yet I still try to bluff him. I
shrug. “Nothing’s up. Just focused.”
“Yeah, not good enough.” He follows me into the shower room where the sound of the water and the echoes of the
continuous celebrations gives me a reprieve from Will’s examination and prodding, but I know it will be short-lived, forcing
me to speed up my post game rituals.
By the time we reach our room in the hotel, Will’s vibrating from his need to dig into my psyche, to find out why I’ve been
avoiding him like my cousins. An easy feat since we didn’t share any classes and many of our practices were special teams
only, keeping us on different practice and gym schedules. Nor was he able to corner me after our last two home games since I
managed to slip away, renting a room in the Morecambe Resort and Spa on those weekends.
“What the fuck is going on?” He crosses his massive arms, nearly popping the seams.
The idea of talking about what happened makes me sick to my stomach. It’s why I haven’t been home. I don’t want to see
the pitying looks on Liam and Asher’s face. Nor do I want to see a deliriously happy Colton. And he will be happy because I
know how happy I was after spending only a little time with her. If she was to be my wife, I’d never stop smiling. Plus
speaking about it, seeing them, it makes it all seem real and I can’t deal with heartache right now. It’s better if I keep shoving it
all away, focusing on football and school.
But under Will’s penetrating stare, I crumble, my will no longer strong enough to hold back the tide of emotions. And when
I open my mouth, it rushes out faster than the water falling over the sides of Niagara Falls.
“Shit.” He lands on the bed beside me, running his hand through his hair. “That fuckin’ sucks. But if she’s your mule kick
girl, by stepping back, leaving her to Colton, aren’t you forcing her into a path of eventual heartache if your Pop Pop’s stories
are to be believed?”
“I know.” I hang my head, pulling on the ends of my hair with my hands. It’s tearing me up inside. The idea that her
relationship with Colton will crash and burn like my parents’ did, or Liam’s, or even Colton’s. It’s that thought that freaks me
out. Colton’s mom, Kimberly, died, trying to leave Caleb. Yes, it was an accident. Uncle Caleb had nothing to do with her
death or even the cause of it, but to think the same thing could happen to Tina, that her life could end in an instant, that the world
would be deprived of her passion, her joy, her compassion, left me cold.
“And what does Colton think of this? Is he willing to stand in your way of being with the woman you love?”
“Um, I may not have spoken to him since the Ball.”
“Mason I-wish-the-hell-I-knew-what-your-middle-name-is More. Are you telling me that you haven’t spoken with Colton
in a month?”
I flop back on the bed and cover my face with my hand. It’s stupid, I know, but Colton was so angry that night, thinking I’d
said something to hurt her, I didn’t want to see how furious he’d be to find out I slept with her. Leaving him thinking I was an
ass was better than him knowing I’d betrayed our brotherhood bond, breaking the bro code even if I didn’t know my Tina was
his Chrissy. And yes, I probably should have been mad at her for not telling me she was involved with someone, but somehow,
in all the times we spent together, either in-person or online, I never picked up any hint that she was in love with someone else.
Not. One. Hint. And I was normally the one to pick that up in the women who threw themselves at us.
“Fuck. I’m so stupid.” I jump from the bed and pace between the door and bed. “I should have spoken to him, found out
more about his relationship with her. I mean, we all thought they were hot and heavy. For fuck’s sake, he was going to propose
to her. But not once did I ever suspect that Tina was with anyone but me.”
Will’s eyebrow raises. “Really? They were that close and you, the guy who’s saved how many of us from just this potential
situation, didn’t see it?” He pulls me to a stop in front of him, staring me in the eye. “Are you sure they’re as close as Colton let
you believe?”
“Fuck. I don’t know. Colton’s been so eager to find love. He’s talked about his best friend Chrissy on and off for years, but
until this whole Ball thing came up, I never guessed there was anything more than a crush—possibly only on his side—between
them.”
“Then why don’t you ask him?” At my recoil, he chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. “Okay then, maybe you should
ask her first then?”
I nod. For the first time since the Ball, since I wrote out the letter, telling her that I love her, I feel hope. Maybe all isn’t
lost. Maybe I’ll be able to be with the woman I love. I just have to find the time in my schedule to make it work because this
conversation needs to be held in person.
 8

TINA/CHRISTINA

MY ASS DRAGS as I pick up my laptop from my desk table in the lecture hall at the end of my Principles of Clinical Medicine 1
class. It’s been a rough almost two months since the night where my life imploded. Not only am I still dealing with—or more
like denying—the consequences of that night, but I’ve been playing catch-up with the week’s worth of classes I missed,
continuing to stay on track with readings and assignments for my current classes, and spending hours doing research for my
thesis project.
At least today is Friday and theoretically I should be able to rest a little this weekend, catching up on all the sleep I’ve
missed. A nice idea, since sleep and I aren’t on speaking terms. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. See Mason—he’s no
longer Mase in my head because that hurts way too much to think of him that way. I see the way his eyes looked at me while we
splashed around in the swimming hole. I see the way they softened when he listened to me speak about my hopes and dreams. I
see the way they flashed with surprise and awe when he saw me standing there at the Ball. But I also see the disgust in them
when he realized who I was.
Too bad it’s not just my sleep being affected. I used to enjoy unwinding by relaxing in a nice bubble bath while reading a
romance book and drinking a glass of wine. Now the caress of the water makes me think of the way his hands skated over me.
The calluses from catching footballs, reminding me with each touch that it was a man and not my imagination. Yet my
imagination is all I have left.
“Ready for the big weekend?”
I stare up at my new friend, Kylie, a first-year med student, living next door to me and who is just as studious. It makes us
perfect neighbors. I wrack my brain, trying to understand her comment. But when I come up blank, my interest is piqued. “What
are you talking about?”
“The big rival football game. The campus is going crazy.”
“Oh.” What is left of my battered and torn heart bottoms, making me ill. How could I have forgotten that it was this
weekend. I’d planned on being far, far away from here and now it’s too late to leave. We step outside the building into a mob of
football supporters, holding up effigy signs containing photos of various Morecambe players. And of course, because my luck
has been so perfect lately, I come face-to-face with a giant picture of Mason’s smiling face. My brain ignores the trash written
on the sign and I filter out the horns drawn on his head. Instead, I’m pulled into his eyes. The ones that looked at me as if I was
the most important thing in the world to him. My breath catches. I throw out an arm to keep me upright as my knees begin to
shake, not wanting to hold up my weight.
“Are you okay?” Kylie grabs me, holding me up. “Let’s get you sitting down.” She begins to tow me to the side where
benches line the path. “Did you eat today? Feeling faint? Dizzy?” She continues to rattle off questions, making me smile at the
obvious fact we’re med students.
“I’m good. I ate, and I’m not faint or dizzy, just stumbled on something.” I try brushing her off, but I can see by the look in
her eyes that she’s not fully buying my excuse. I haven’t told her what happened in Morecambe, but I’m sure she’s already
figured out that something did. I’ve kept it all quiet, bottled up inside of me, thinking if I didn’t say the words then it couldn’t be
true. Not even Colton’s been able to pry it out of me from the few messages I’ve sent him despite all the times he’s asked. But
the one thing I did tell him was that I was releasing him from our plan. After realizing from Mason’s note that Colton had
planned to marry me, had told others, I knew I couldn’t go through with it. Not even for the extra money that would be released
into my trust funds. The only person I could see myself with was Mason and that was no longer in the cards.
“Tina?”
In my exhaustion, I glance up at Kylie intending to smile, to reassure her, but it wobbles, giving my emotions away. “Really,
I am. Sort of. Just a little shock at seeing a giant picture of Mason’s face after everything that happened.”
 She doesn’t push for more, pulling me up into a hug, before dragging us home where I finally tell all.

A knock on the door disrupts my pity party for one. Thinking it’s Kylie returning to check on me despite my urging her to go to
the call, I open the door dressed in all my finery.
“Wow, Chrissy. You look like shit.” Colton claps his hands as he barges into my suite. “Time’s a wastin’. Hop into the
shower. Kickoff’s in just under an hour.”
I stare at him, surprised to see him. It takes a couple of seconds before I understand the words he said. “I’m not going.”
As I fold my arms across my chest, he laughs. “Of course you are. The guys are all here to watch Mason play and you’re
going to meet them.”
He doesn’t give me time to argue further, picking me up and carrying me to the bathroom where he deposits me by the
shower. As I stand there, he turns it on before turning back to me. “Strip and get in or I’ll do it for you.” He meets my glare but
softens his gaze. “Please. He’s lost without you.”
Once the door is shut, I do what he asks, rushing through my routine. He didn’t explain his words or explain who “he” was,
but I knew. My body and soul knew. Instead of walking through life half asleep like I had been, I’m finally seeing clearly like I
was when I was with him, with Mason. The kernel of hope grows until I’m feeling giddy.
In record time, I’m washed, dressed, and even have my hair and makeup done. Together, Colton and I head to the stadium.
He leads me past the normal gates, stopping at a heavily guarded door where he pulls out two passes, showing them to the man.
With a nod, the man opens the door and ushers us inside into a long corridor.
“Colton, where are we going?”
“Trust me.” And like a fool, I do. Yes, things have been a little rocky in our friendship even though I haven’t told him about
what happened with Mason, but he’s still my friend. And not having been able to turn to him for comfort these past few months
have been killing me.
I pull on his arm. “I’m sorry for running away like I did. And I’m sorry for cutting you out. I just couldn’t—”
He puts his fingers across my lips, shutting me up. “I know. And for what it’s worth I’ve already apologized to him for
some of the things I said to him. But I need to know one thing… do you love him?”
I nod, making him smile.
“Then I’m happy for you.”
He pulls me into a quick hug before he’s pulling me down the hall again.
The light brightens and the sounds of the crowds in the stadium rushes into the corridor. I see green at the end, causing my
feet to stumble, but Colton ignores it, dragging me with him.
And then we’re inside the stadium, standing on the sidelines with two other men, wearing Morecambe t-shirts with their
various sports listed. While I might not have realized that Mase was actually Mason, from the way these guys greet Colton and
smile at me, I know they’re Liam—wearing the soccer shirt—and Asher—wearing the baseball one.
The noise of the crowd becomes deafening as the marching band plays, leading up to the arrival of our football team. I feel
a tap on my shoulder and spin. My knees buckle as I stare at Mason decked out in his football uniform, holding his helmet in his
left hand.
He holds out his right hand and I put my shaking hand in his as I bite my lip. Every word from his letter runs through my
mind. I never thought after receiving it, after seeing the look on his face when he realized who I was, that I’d ever get the
chance to touch him again. As much as I want to say something, I can’t seem to get my mouth to work.
The music stops and the stadium is almost silent in contrast, allowing me to hear him speak. “Tina, my Christina, I’m sorry
it’s taken me so long to get my head out of my ass and come for you. I didn’t want to stand the way between you and Colton, but
we’ve talked, and he’s explained everything.” He drops to one knee. My heart lurches, stops, and starts again. It can’t be.
My spare hand covers my mouth.
“I told you in the letter that I love you. That I’d love you forever.” Oh my gosh, he’s really doing this! I want to glance
around, to see if anyone else is watching or if this is all in my head, but I can’t rip my gaze away from him. I’m lost in him,
floating, but anchored by his hand, his touch.
He places his helmet on the ground and holds out his hand, palm up. A box is placed in hand and for the first time, I see his
teammates gathered around him with Will—the guy from the club that night—beside him.
“Will you marry me?”
It’s crazy. It’s absurd. We’ve only known each other for a short time and from that week together, we spent most of it
messaging each other. But I know that my life changed forever that night in the club. What was once darkness spread before me
was filled with light, laughter, and love. Things I know better than to toss away because convention said it was too soon. After
all, I’d lived these past two months without it.
“Yes.”
Thank you for reading Hard Pass. Want to read more about the More Family? Preorder Gilded Rose, featuring Mason’s
Great-Uncle Levi.

Want to read more football stories? Preorder Will’s story in Foul Ball, part of the Morecambe Falconers Football series.

Want to find out more? Consider joining TB Mann’s newsletter and never miss out on an upcoming release or bonus scenes.
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR
TB Mann, also known as Twilah, is a Canadian author. As a mom of three extremely smart adult children, she and her amazing husband are now in a new stage of life.
One where they get to put their focus back on being a couple instead of splitting that time with raising a family.
As a self-proclaimed descent of mermaids and selkies, she loves to breathe in salt air, watch the waves roll in, and dip her toes into the water. When she’s not doing
that—hopefully on some Caribbean beach—she’s watching hockey, some other sporting event, attending a theatrical or musical performance, or watching television with a
book on her lap.
Life hasn’t always been easy, but like her books, she believes that the love and support of family and friends can allow you to do anything whether the family is by
blood or by choice.
For more information about TB Mann, her books, and updates, check out TB Mann or subscribe to her newsletter
ALSO BY TB MANN
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Junior “Eh” (Book 1)
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WRITING AS LILY BLUE
Their Parsley Herbologist
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Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
The Project Gutenberg eBook of In the brush
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: In the brush

or, Old-time social, political, and religious life in the
southwest

Author: Hamilton W. Pierson

Illustrator: William Ludwell Sheppard

Release date: April 12, 2024 [eBook #73379]

Language: English

Original publication: New York: D. Appelton and Company, 1881

Credits: Sonya Schermann, Graeme Mackreth and the Online

Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN THE

BRUSH ***
 IN THE BRUSH;
OR,

OLD-TIME SOCIAL, POLITICAL, AND RELIGIOUS

LIFE IN THE SOUTHWEST.

BY

REV. HAMILTON W. PIERSON, D.D.,

EX-PRESIDENT OF CUMBERLAND COLLEGE, KENTUCKY;
AUTHOR OF "JEFFERSON AT MONTICELLO";
CORRESPONDING MEMBER OF THE NEW YORK HISTORICAL SOCIETY,
ETC.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY W.L. SHEPPARD.

NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,

1, 3, and 5 BOND STREET.

1881.
 COPYRIGHT BY

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,

1881.
 CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
Why I relate my experiences in the
I.— 1
Southwest. Introductory
II.— My outfit for my life in the Brush 12
The itinerant pioneer preacher's faithful
III.— 35
horse
IV.— Old-time hospitality in the Southwest 47
V.— Old-time basket-meetings in the Brush 60
The baptism of a Scotch baby in the wilds of
VI.— 82
the Southwest
Barbecues, and a barbecue wedding-feast in
VII.— 90
the Southwest
The old, old book, and its story in the wilds
VIII.— 103
of the Southwest
Candidating; or, old-time methods and
IX.— 130
humors of office-seeking in the Southwest
Some strange experiences with a candidate
X.— 156
in the Brush
Experiences with old-time Methodist circuit-
XI.— 171
riders in the Southwest
XII.— Heroic Christian workers in the Southwest 193
XIII.— Strange people I have met in the Southwest 204
XIV.— Old-time illiterate preachers in the Brush 238
"Ortonville"; or, the universal power of
XV.— 278
sacred song
XVI.— Work accomplished in the Southwest 294
IN THE BRUSH.
 CHAPTER I.
WHY I RELATE MY EXPERIENCES IN THE SOUTHWEST.—
INTRODUCTORY.
On a visit to New York, many years ago, after the first few months of
my ministerial labors in the wilds of the Southwest, I met a warm
personal friend, a genial, generous, noble Christian woman, who at
once said to me:
"And so you are a Western missionary. Well, do tell me if anything
strange or funny ever did happen to a missionary. Mother has taken
the home-missionary papers ever since I was a child, and I always
read them; and I often wonder if anything strange or funny did ever
happen to a Western missionary."
I had recently spent three happy years in the Union Theological
Seminary in that city, and had come back to attend the heart-stirring
anniversaries, held in those days in the old Broadway Tabernacle,
and to meet again the many friends who had followed me in my
labors with their kind wishes and their prayers. Though nearly thirty
years have passed since I received that greeting, I have never
forgotten, and have very often recalled it. And I have as often
thought that it was most natural that the churches and people at
large who send forth and sustain the heroic laborers who are toiling
in the varied departments of Christian effort in our newer States and
Territories, should desire a much fuller account of their daily lives
and labors. As many of them travel extensively, and see pioneer
border-life in all its aspects and phases, I have thought it most
natural and reasonable that the people should desire to know more
of their adventures; more of their contact with the rough, whole-
souled people with whom they so often meet and mingle; more of
that strange compound of energy, recklessness, and daring, the
hardy hosts who erect their log-cabins and fell the forests in the van
of our American civilization, in its triumphant westward march. Only
one day in seven is set apart as sacred time, and only a few hours of
that day are devoted to what are generally regarded as spiritual
duties. A description of these duties alone, whether performed on
Sabbath-days or week-days, is a very inadequate description of
missionary life as a whole. In order to perform these duties, a man
must eat and drink, take care of his body, mingle with the world, and
meet all his responsibilities as a man and a citizen.
In the pages that follow it will be my purpose to present a portraiture
of ministerial life in the wilds of the Southwest, in all its aspects and
phases, exactly as I found it. I shall attempt to portray week-day life
as well as Sunday life. I shall describe scenes of wonderful and
thrilling religious interest, and the most common and homely
incidents of every-day life, and, as far as possible, give an idea of my
life as a whole. I shall attempt to describe the politicians, preachers,
and people; the country in which they live, their manners and
customs, their barbecues, basket-meetings, and weddings, and all
the peculiarities of their open, free, and genial home-life in its social,
political, and religious aspects and relations. In this I shall be
successful only so far as I succeed in perfectly describing their life
and my own during the many years that I mingled with them.
My lady friend and questioner, to whom I have referred, was slightly
mistaken in calling me a "missionary." I was not one in name. At the
time of my graduation from the Theological Seminary, I was under
appointment as a missionary of the American Board of
Commissioners for Foreign Missions to West Africa; but
hæmorrhages from my lungs prevented my entrance upon that work.
After extended travels by sea and land for nearly five years, I had so
far recovered my voice as to be able to preach, and was very
anxious to be about my chosen life-work. But my physicians—Dr.
Gurdon Buck, Dr. Alfred C. Post, and Dr. John H. Swett, of the
University Medical College—as kind as they were distinguished and
skillful, told me that I would never be able to perform the duties of a
settled pastor; that the study, labor, and care of such a life would
completely break down my health in a very few months. They told
me that I must engage in some labor that would give me a large
amount of exercise in the open air; and that if it involved horseback-
riding it would be all the better for my health, and probably give me
more years in which to labor. I accordingly accepted an agency from
the American Bible Society, which involved the exploration on
horseback of the wild regions in the Southwest described in this
volume. In addition to very extended travels by steamboat up and
down many of the larger and smaller Southwestern and Southern
rivers, I have ridden a great many thousand miles on horseback—I
have no means of telling how many. For a long time I rode my horse
several thousands of miles yearly. Bishop Kavenaugh, of the
Methodist Episcopal Church, South, in introducing me, as an agent
of the American Bible Society, to a Southwestern conference over
which he was presiding, told them that, "although a Presbyterian," I
had "out-itinerated the Itineracy itself."
I spent a night with the Governor of a Southwestern State, at the
house of his sister, who was the wife of an Episcopal clergyman. We
lodged in the same room, occupying separate beds, as was very
common in that region. The Governor was genial and social, and we
conversed until long after midnight. We talked of the hills, valleys,
and mountains, of families and communities, of the customs,
manners, and peculiarities of different classes of people, over a very
wide portion of the State. As I was about to leave in the morning, the
Governor said to me:
"Sir, you know more about this State, and more people in it, than any
man I ever saw."
I replied: "I am surprised, Governor, to hear you make that
statement. I know that politicians canvass the State most thoroughly;
that you are expected to make speeches in every county, and in as
many neighborhoods as possible; and that you try to shake hands
with as many as you can of those that you expect and wish to vote
for you. As you were born and educated in the State, and have
canvassed it so thoroughly and successfully, I supposed that you
knew a great deal more about it, and a great many more people in it,
than I do."
"I do not," he replied, very positively, "and I never saw a man in my
life who did."
I state these facts as my reason and justification for writing this book;
that my readers may understand that I am not a novice in regard to
the things whereof I write; that I know whereof I affirm. Indeed, I will
tell them confidentially that I have obtained a "degree," one not so
easily acquired as some others, and more honored in the wilds of the
country. It is "B.B.," and means Brush-Breaker. The exposition of the
full meaning of this "degree" will explain the origin and meaning of
my title to this book.
In attending a conference, presbytery, association, or other
ecclesiastical meeting in the wilds of the country, as the old veteran
and other preachers were pointed out to me by some friend, he
would say:
"That is Father A——. He is an old Brush-Breaker"—and all the
younger men would press forward to shake his hand and do him
honor; or, "That is Brother B——. He has broken a right smart
chance of brush"; or, "That is young Brother C——, wonderfully self-
satisfied and conceited, as you see. The sisters have flattered him
so much that he has got the 'big head' badly. He will be sent to Brush
College, to break brush a year or two, and will come back humbled,
and will make a laborious and useful man"; or, "That is our devoted
and beloved young Brother D——. His soul is all on fire with love for
his Master, and he will thank God for the privilege of going anywhere
in the Brush to preach and sing of Jesus and his salvation."
This use of the word Brush enters largely into the figures of speech
of the people of the Southwest. On one occasion I heard a Methodist
bishop preach on a Sabbath morning to a very large congregation,
composed of the Conference, the people of the village, and the
visitors in attendance. During the first half of his sermon, which was
extemporaneous, he did not preach with his accustomed clearness
and power. His thoughts were evidently very much confused, and it
was rather painful than otherwise to witness his struggle to get the
mastery of his mind and subject. But he accomplished this at length,
and closed his sermon with great power and effect. In returning from
church, a young circuit-rider said to me:
"Didn't you think the Bishop got badly brushed in the first part of his
sermon? I sometimes get so brushed in my sermons that I think I will
never try to preach again. It's a comfort to a beginner to know that an
old preacher sometimes gets brushed."
Figurative language of this kind abounded among the people of the
Southwest, and was very expressive. These provincialisms had
usually grown out of the peculiar life and habits of the people. Many
of them seem to have originated in the perils of early flat-boat
navigation—when they were accustomed to float down-stream by
daylight, and tie up to some stump or tree for the night! Woe betide
the cargo, boat, and crew, if that to which they had "made fast" failed
them in the darkness of the night! Hence, as I suppose, this
provincialism.
If I made inquiries in regard to the character of a man who had been
recommended to me for a Bible distributor, I was not told that he was
a reliable or an unreliable man, but, "He'll do to tie to," or "He won't
do to tie to"; and if the case was particularly bad, "He won't do to tie
to in a calm, let alone a storm." As there were so many perils in this
kind of navigation, those were regarded as extremely fortunate who
reached their destination in safety, and could send back word that
they had made the trip; hence, "to make the trip" was a universal
synonym for success. And so, when a novice attempted to make a
speech, preach a sermon, address a jury, or engage in any kind of
business, the people predicted his success or failure by saying, "He'll
make the trip," or "He won't make the trip." They never said of a
young man, or an old widower, that he was addressing or courting a
lady, but, "He is setting to her," a figure of speech derived from bird-
hunting with setter-dogs, as I suppose. When such a suit had been
unsuccessful, they did not say the lady rejected or "mittened" her
suitor, but, "She kicked him." The first time I ever heard that figure
used was at a social gathering in Richmond, Virginia, in 1843, where
the belle of the evening was a Miss Burfoot. After being introduced to
her by a friend, he told me confidentially that she had recently
"kicked" Mr. H——, a gentleman present, to whom he had already
introduced me. To be "kicked" by a Burfoot seemed to me a more
than usually striking figure. When many persons were striving for the
same object, or where there were rival aspirants for the heart and
hand of the same lady, they said of the successful one, "The tallest
pole takes the persimmon."
I was once present at an ecclesiastical meeting in the Brush, where
motions of different kinds were piled upon each other, until the
greatest confusion prevailed as to the state of the question before
the body, and the moderator was appealed to to give his decision in
the matter. I did not fully comprehend his decision, but it was clear
and satisfactory to the body over which he was presiding, all of
whom, like himself, were old and experienced hunters. Arising to his
feet, as became a presiding officer thus appealed to, and lifting his
tall, lank form until his head was among the rafters of the low log
school-house, he hesitated a moment, and then said, "Brethren, my
decision is that you are all ahead of the hounds."
These are but specimens of the figurative language—the
provincialisms—that abound among the people of the Southwest.
I do not, therefore, in the pages that follow, speak of my travels in the
"wilderness" or "forests" or "hills" or "mountains" of the Southwest,
but adopt a more comprehensive term, universally prevalent in the
regions explored, and describe some of my experiences in the
Brush.
Though I commenced my labors in the South as a general agent and
superintendent of the colporteur operations of the American Tract
Society in 1843—ten years before my first visit to the Southwest—
though I became acquainted with its home-life, as that life could only
be learned, by such extended horseback travels, and such religious
labors, prosecuted with all the energy and all the enthusiasm of early
vigorous manhood, I shall devote this volume to descriptions of
home-life in the Southwest. My reasons for this will be obvious and
approved at a glance. Very little that would be new can now be
written of the old-time home-life in the South. The fascinating and
beautiful descriptions of Southern social life given us in the letters of
Hon. William Wirt, the distinguished Attorney-General of the United
States, in his "British Spy"; the full and minute biographies of
Washington, Jefferson, Patrick Henry, and others, so exhaustive of
every feature of this life; with the matchless descriptions of the
inimitable Thackeray, and other later writers, leave very little to be
said in illustration of this theme. But the true, the real old-time social,
political, and religious home-life of the people of the Southwest is
almost unknown to the great mass of the American people.
Comparatively little has been written which is the result of extended
personal contact with, and intimate personal knowledge of, the
people. They have been largely the subjects of exaggeration and
caricature.
In this field I have garnered many rich and golden sheaves, where
no other reaper had ever thrust in the sickle. Here I have drawn
word-pictures of many scenes in the social life of a generation, and a
state of civilization, rapidly passing away, never to reappear, that
otherwise would have had no memorial only as perpetuated in the
traditions of the people. I will only add that I am indebted to no
library, to no book, not even to a newspaper, for a single fact
presented in this volume. They were all gathered incidentally while
laboriously engaged in the duties of my profession, as a general
agent of the American Bible Society, and while traveling for years in
the interests of the college over which I was called to preside. They
all relate to the ante-bellum period in the history of our country.
 CHAPTER II.
MY OUTFIT FOR MY LIFE IN THE BRUSH.
Having received my commission as an agent for the American Bible
Society, and completed my preparations for entering upon my work
as far as I could do so in New York, I left that city for one of the
important cities of the Southwest, which was to be my headquarters.
I knew at the outset that I could not reach the wild regions I was to
explore by railroad, steamboat, stage, or even with my own private
conveyance; I knew that I could climb hills and mountains, follow
blind bridle-paths, ford rivers and swollen streams, only on
horseback. I had several years before had some two years'
experience in constant horseback travel in labors similar to those I
was now entering upon, as superintendent of the colporteur
operations of the American Tract Society in Virginia. There I had
floundered in the marshes and swamps of "Tidewater," and been lost
amid the rugged rocks and dense forests high up the sides and in
the loftiest summits of the Blue Ridge and other mountains. I knew
that I must have a horse. This was indispensable. More than that, I
wanted a good horse, a horse broken expressly for the saddle. To be
churned for years—bump, bump, bump—upon a hard-trotting horse,
that was out of the question with me. I had but a small stock of
health and physical strength at best, and none to spare in that way.
My old friend Rev. Dr. Sprole, then of Washington, D.C., afterward of
West Point, New York, and now of Detroit, Michigan, used to tell me,
in Washington, that "Brother Leete," one of my co-workers in the
circulation of the publications of the American Tract Society, "was
one of the most self-denying Christians he had ever seen—in that he
had patience to drive such a miserable old horse in transporting his
books over the hills and mountains of Pennsylvania," where he had
known him. But I was not anxious to illustrate that particular type of
piety. I did not care to let my "light so shine." I wanted not only a
good saddle-horse, but a faithful, reliable animal. I wanted one that I
could hitch to the limb of a tree, in the midst of scores or hundreds of
other horses, and leave there without any concern, while I preached
in a log meeting-house, or at a "stand" erected in a grove at some
cross-roads, or at a camp-meeting, or wherever else I should be able
to meet and address the people. I wanted a hardy horse, that could
live on the coarsest food, and stand during the coldest nights in log
stables that afforded but a little more protection from the wind and
cold than a rail fence. I wanted an easy-going, fleet horse, that would
take me, without great personal fatigue or needless waste of time,
over a wide extent of country. I wanted a horse that would scare at
nothing—that, as I had opportunity, I could lead up a plank or two, on
board a noisy stern-wheel or other Western steamer, along the
banks of the rivers, across wharf-boats, or wherever I might wish to
embark for a hundred miles or more to save a few days of horseback
travel.
The "qualities" that I looked for in a horse were numerous and rare. I
was so fortunate as to find one that possessed all that I have
enumerated and many more. Was I not fortunate? Was I wrong in
regarding my good fortune as a special providence? But I did not
easily find this treasure. It was after a long search and many failures.
Unable to find such a horse as I was willing to purchase at once, I
determined to enter upon my work and get along for a time as best I
could.
I therefore took stage for a point about fifty miles from headquarters,
where, after a conference with the officers of the County Bible
Society, I procured a horse for several days in order to plunge into
the Brush, make a circuit of the county, and preach at a number of
places in accordance with a programme that their familiarity with the
country enabled them to make out for me. They arranged to send my
appointments ahead to all these points but one, where I was to
preach the next day, which was the Sabbath.
I will here state that the great object of my mission to the Brush was
to effect a thorough exploration of the field assigned to me, and,
either by sale or gift, supply every family with a copy of the Bible,
except such as positively declined to receive it. To accomplish this, I
wished to gain personal knowledge of each county, to preach at as
many points as possible, in order to give information in regard to the
character and operations of the American Bible Society and the work
to be done, collect as much money as possible to meet the
expenses of this work, find and employ suitable men to canvass the
counties and visit without fail every family, and then order a supply of
Bibles and Testaments from the Society's house in New York, give
them their instructions, and set them at work. Such was my mission.
Saturday, after dinner, I mounted my horse for a ride of thirteen miles
to a small county-seat village where I was to spend the Sabbath. The
country was rough and broken, with light, sandy soil, sparsely
covered with small, scrubby oak-trees, called "black-jacks," and the
region of country was known as the "Barrens." It was barren enough.
The houses were mostly poor and comfortless, the barns small log
structures, with no stables, sheds, or covering of any kind for the
cattle. They were poor and scrawny, and their backs described a
section of a semicircle as they drew themselves into as much of a
heap as possible—their only protection against the bleak February
winds. The swine were of the original "root-hog-or-die" variety, their
long, well-developed snouts being their most prominent feature.
Occasionally black, dirty, ragged slaves—"uncles," "aunties," and
their children—revealed the whites of their eyes and their shining
ivory as they stared earnestly at the rare sight of a passing stranger.
No one, with the kindest heart and the most amiable disposition,
would be able to pronounce the country attractive or the ride a
pleasant one. On arriving at the village, I rode to a very plain house
to which I had been directed, and received a most warm and cordial
welcome. Large pine-knots were soon blazing and roaring in the
ample fireplace to relieve me of the most wretchedly disagreeable of
all sensations of cold—those of a damp, clammy, chilly winter day in
the Southwest. As soon as it could possibly be prepared, I was
seated with the family at a bountiful supper. The aroma of the richest
coffee was afloat in the air, and the rarest of fried chicken and hot
corn-bread were smoking before me, flanked with a superabundance
of other dishes, that showed the perfect country housekeeper.
My host and hostess were Presbyterians, and this was the reception
they gladly gave to any minister who visited them in their seclusion,