Chapter 24
PARKER
Walking into Outlaw’s Watering Hole was like another homecoming.
Nostalgia hit with the moody orange lights casting shadows along the chipped wooden walls and even-worse-for-wear bar.
The room looked the same as when I had left, and I was thankful it hadn’t turned into some faux western tourist attraction like so many others I’d visited in the west.
Country music drowned out the chatter of the other groups at the bar, but nothing held a candle to the volume at which Lettie shouted, calling us over to them.
Beckham and I crossed the shoe-scuffed floor, boards creaking as we went.
“So, how does it feel? Just like old times?” Lettie asked, looping her arm with mine and pulling me away from Beckham.
I sent him a grin over my shoulder, and he looked like a sad puppy seeing me tugged out of his grasp. I shot him a mopey face back and he chuckled, all woes wiped away as he joined the guys.
It seemed like it was only Oakley and Lettie with their partners tonight.
“Looking at it now, I don’t think they should’ve allowed us in as teens,” I said, the scent of spilled whiskey and old beer wafting around me.
Lettie smiled, winking. “Ah, but then we wouldn’t remember it like we do.”
“Like sneaking sips of your brothers’ drinks and them frowning at us the whole time?” Memories of Beckham carrying me out of here had my eyes searching for him. He was at the pool table now, lost in conversation with Bailey and Lennon.
“Exactly,” Lettie agreed.
Oakley rested her elbows on the table, leaning in with a grin. Her red hair was half up, half down, the style showing off her sharp jawline and pert nose. Lettie, on the other hand, had her caramel hair loose and wild—much like her personality.
“I would’ve been thrown in jail if I ever tried to set foot inside a bar in Denver,” Oakley said.
“You grew up in Denver?” I asked.
Oakley nodded. “Born and raised. Have you been?”
“I visited a lot of ranches around Colorado. Denver’s traffic was always a pain in the ass when I had to pass through, but the scenery made up for it.”
Upon seeing the slight look of confusion from her, I clarified, “I traveled a lot for social media.”
“Like an influencer?”
“Yeah. I went from ranch to ranch, wanting to learn more about cattle and that lifestyle. I posted about the whole thing and eventually made an income from it.”
“Didn’t you grow up in that lifestyle, though?” Oakley asked.
A look of something like sympathy passed over Lettie’s features.
“No. I got a horse once I saved up enough money, but he stayed at the Bronsons’. He supposedly bucked all his riders off, but I thought if he didn’t work out for me, Beckham could train on him. But one very expensive chiropractor visit later, and he was perfect. Never bucked for me once.”
“Where’s Tex now?” Lettie questioned, a crease in her forehead.
“I sold him after I found out I was pregnant.” I looked down at my fingers, picking at a nail. “It wouldn’t have been fair to have him sitting. Plus, I was living in my trailer with him. Only exercise he got was when we rode.”
“I’m sorry,” Lettie offered. I was glad she hadn’t taken the route of telling me I should’ve done something different.
Tex was my heart horse, misunderstood and unwanted before I got him.
It often hit me that I felt like I failed him after I sold him because he never gave up on me.
But I was so lost when I took that test. So clueless on what to do next.
I should’ve known not to make an impulsive decision when my mind was reeling. But what’s done was done. I forced myself not to dwell.
“Speaking of Beckham,” I started, giving a much-needed change to the subject, “he’s okay to be here, right? With all the alcohol?”
Lettie glanced over her shoulder at the men, a pensive look crossing over her. “Yeah. He’s good. It wasn’t, like, a long-term thing, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I shook my head. “He’s reassured me that he’s fine, but…”
“You care about him. It’s okay to be concerned,” Oakley said.
“He came home out of the blue, said he didn’t want to do rodeo anymore,” Lettie explained. “He was…depressed, I guess you could call it. He wouldn’t talk to any of us, so Reed would go over to his place every now and then. It wasn’t until Beckham socked Reed in the face that he came to his senses.”
I sucked on my bottom lip. “He did that because of me.”
Oakley held back a smile. “He must love you if he’s punching his brother over you.”
I choked, eyes watering as I sputtered out a cough.
“Oakley!” Lettie chastised, though she was trying to hold back her laugh.
I didn’t have the mental capacity to get into that right now, so instead—after clearing my throat three times—I said, “I was asking because there have been some…things happening on my Instagram that I wanted to tell him about, but the last thing I want to do is make him worry and spiral. We all know how overprotective he is.”
Lettie let out an agreeing hum around the straw of her pink drink. “All my brothers are, and that’s exactly why I didn’t tell them I’ve had weird things happening on my profile, too.”
My brows nearly became part of my hairline. “You’re getting creepy comments too?”
She nodded, dramatically accentuating the movement.
Oakley leaned in further. “Well, now I’m intrigued.” She cocked her head to the side. “And creeped out. What comments?”
“I wanted to talk to you about them tonight, actually,” Lettie said, gesturing to me. “Some random accounts have been asking where my favorite hangout spot is or the best places to eat, like they’re coming to visit Bell Buckle or something.”
That had my hair standing on end. “They said they’re visiting?”
Oakley’s sharp intake of air had every nerve in my body lifting its head.
Lettie quickly shook her head. “No, no. They never said that. But they act like they are. Which is weird, because I don’t put my location on my posts.
I put my profile on private after the third comment.
One came in on the first day, two on the second, and by that night, I was creeped out enough to shut it all down.
Blocked the weirdo, too, just to be safe. ”
I yanked my phone out of my purse so fast, an old receipt toppled to the floor.
Worst-case scenarios flew through my head at a pace too chaotic to worry about the paper as I tapped Instagram and scrolled back on my profile.
It took at least ten minutes, but I finally made it back to when I was a teenager, still living in Bell Buckle.
Old photos of food, horses, scenery—everything a teenager would deem worthy of posting—rolled by until I found one of me and Lettie smiling at the camera.
It was a selfie, and we were standing in front of Tumbleweed Feed, the only feed store in Bell Buckle.
If the sign hadn’t given away the town, my tagged location of Bell Buckle, Idaho, sure as hell would have.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
Lettie grabbed my phone as Oakley squished into her side to get a look. I ran my hands over my face, groaning.
“All the way back to 2014?” Oakley chirped.
I tore my hands through my hair, the heat of the bar making its way down to the marrow of my bones. Yet still chills covered every inch of my skin.
This was bigger than I’d thought.
“It’s not a coincidence then,” Lettie surmised quietly.
I shook my head. “Doesn’t look like it.”
“Yeah, but who would be stalking you?” Oakley asked, alarm clear in her voice. Almost like she had a past in that territory.
“I have no idea.”
“There’s a photo of you and Beckham, too.” Lettie turned the phone screen to me. She’d scrolled a bit farther and found ones I hadn’t seen yet. As she swiped her thumb, another popped up of me and Beckham, with his arm around my shoulders and his lips on my temple.
“Could it be the guy who got you pregnant?” Oakley asked.
I shook my head. “No. He wouldn’t do this.” At least, I didn’t think he would. He wanted nothing to do with this baby. So why would he care to stalk me now?
I took the phone back from Lettie, quickly archiving the selfies of me and Beckham.
“Okay. That’s okay. We’ll figure it out,” Lettie said, but she didn’t sound very sure of herself, despite the courage she was mustering.
I, on the other hand, was about to pass out.
“I need to use the restroom,” I announced, shoving out of my chair. I’d deal with the rest of the old posts later.
“We’ll go with,” Oakley offered as Lettie started to stand.
“No, stay. You two have drinks here, and…” I stared at the ice in Lettie’s cup, bubbles sticking to them. “I need a minute.”
I offered the smallest flick of a smile before heading for the back hallway. My palms were sweaty, my breaths shallow. Pictures and posters lined the walls, but I barely saw them as I beelined for the women’s restroom.
I quickly peed, my shrinking bladder desperately needing a release with the adrenaline pumping through me. I washed my hands three times, splashing water on my cheeks and running my wrists under the faucet in an attempt to cool down. Then I hung my head, breathing deeply.
I was fine. Everything was fine. My baby was fine. Lettie and Beckham were fine. No one was coming to Bell Buckle to kill me.
Right?
Who the fuck would even want to do that?
When I’d started putting my life online and making money off it, I’d feared attracting a stalker could be a possibility one day.
Some people took things too personally, thinking every post was for them, or believing they were meant to be with you.
I never thought I would seriously run into this situation, but here I was, and I had no defenses.
No safety, all because I hadn’t archived posts from my teenage years.
I was much more open about my location then, and I should have fucking remembered.
I was an idiot.
But I’d fix this. There was no outcome where I would not get away from this.
With my spiraling thoughts shoved back into the box in my mind, I left the bathroom and headed for the bar to order a water.
As I watched the bartender scoop ice into a plastic cup, a swaying elbow bumped into mine.
I looked up to find none other than Dick staring down at me with a mischievous grin on his face.
“Now, how did I not see you here, little lady?” Dick slurred, looping an arm around my shoulders and tugging me into his side.
I tried to step away, but he held me close. “I’m with friends.” It was both an answer and a warning.
His smile cracked the barest amount as he leaned closer, mouth brushing my hair. “One of those friends named Beckham?”
I tried, and failed, to hide my disgust as I grabbed his hand and peeled it off me. His arm was heavy, laden with the weight of a drunk not wanting to be told what to do. “Yes.”
For some reason, that made his demeanor shift. Like all of a sudden, he was no longer flirting just to flirt but flirting to win a competition.
“I bet he likes it, doesn’t he?” His eyes dipped to my belly before lingering on my breasts.
I crossed my arms in an attempt to cover myself. “Likes what?”
He leaned closer to the point where I had to arch my neck backward so I wouldn’t get alcohol poisoning from his breath alone. “How he can come in you whenever he wants?”
I pressed my lips together until pain pinched them and subtly shook my head. “You’re disgusting.”
He pressed a palm to his chest, feigning hurt as a friend of his came up beside him.
“Who’s this?” the redhead asked. He had freckles covering every inch of his face, but they didn’t hide the flush of his cheeks one bit. The man was just as drunk as Dick, if not drunker, by the sound of his slur.
“Beckham’s lady,” Dick answered, a bit of venom lacing the response.
“She’s cute,” Redhead commented.
Dick’s mouth quirked. I’d hate to be a fly on the wall in his head right now.
A glance to the bar showed my water waiting for me. I grabbed it, taking a long sip to rein in my annoyance. I didn’t have the patience for them right now.
“It was nice seeing you, Dick.” I laid on the sweetest tone I could muster.
I turned to leave, but Dick’s rough grip on my elbow had me jerking to a stop.
“In rodeo, we all shared girls.”
I wanted to vomit. “It’s a good thing this isn’t the rodeo then, isn’t it?”
“Beckham may have quit, but we still have bro code.”
I snorted. “From the looks of it earlier,” I said, trying to tug my elbow out of his grasp but failing without my water sloshing everywhere, “you two aren’t bros.”
Redhead stepped up behind me. His presence was laughable, really. This whole damn thing was. Because the second Beckham saw us—
“Get your hands off her.” The command came from my right, and my head swiveled to find Beckham towering over Dick, his eyes incinerating him on the spot.
“Jesus, Beckham. You’re always so fucking serious. We’re just having fun. Aren’t we, sweetheart?” Whatever Dick’s plan was here, it wouldn’t end well. Not for him or his idiot friend.
“You making provocative comments to me isn’t fun. But this is.” A furrow marred Dick’s brow a split second before I tossed my ice water at him.
A growl ripped from his throat, his fingers digging into my arm harder, but before he could so much as move, Beckham’s fist swung.
Dick was tossed back against the bar by the sheer force of Beckham’s punch, causing him to release me. My foot fumbled with the force of it and I tripped back a step. My back hit Redhead’s chest, but before he could even look at me, Bailey was there, joining the fight.
I took three steps away, careful not to slip on any water that had made it to the ground. From this angle, I could see how bad it was getting. Bailey pinned Redhead up against the wall beside the bar, and Beckham had his hands in Dick’s shirt, leaning him over the bar top.
“If you ever so much as look at my girl again, I’ll rip your goddamn eyes out and shove them down your fucking throat.” He shook him, digging his back harder into the bar. “Do you hear me?”
Dick sniffled once, blood trailing down his lips and chin.
When he didn’t answer, Beckham leaned in closer, voice rising. “Do you fucking hear me?”
Dick’s tongue lapped out over the blood, eyes shiny from the alcohol. “Loud and clear.”
Beckham looked like he was about to punch him again, but one glance at me had him shoving Dick’s chest and standing straight. Beck’s eyes fell to my elbow where I was unknowingly cradling it. He hadn’t hurt me, but between his phantom touch and the comments from earlier, I felt repulsed.
Beckham tried to rein in his anger, but standing in this bar—with all eyes on us and the two beaten men with a death wish—wouldn’t calm either of us down.
I turned around and squeezed past Bailey to get to the hallway, and didn’t stop until my feet hit the dirt alley out back.