Chapter 3 #2
Mina chokes on a swallow of her drink and the rest of the girls try to swallow their laughs.
Cleary smiles widely. "I think I know just the spot. My older brothers own a ton of property around here." She rolls her eyes as if she commiserates with Paige about brothers.
I know I do. My older brother, Rhys, is a detective in Washington.
I love him to death, but he drives me crazy!
He's so overprotective. He would lose his mind if he knew I was going to spy on a cowboy I've only ever spoken with via email.
Come to think of it, he'd lose his mind if he knew there was a cowboy, period.
Mina is right though, as much as I hate to admit it. I know nothing about the things I write. Not about cowboys or sex, not really. I'm not giving up my V-Card to just anyone, but I came here to learn about cowboys. It's time to strap on my big girl panties and grab that bull by the horn.
Tomorrow, I'm going to see what a "real cowboy" does.
* * *
"What are you doing?" I ask Paige, ducking underneath a tree limb.
"Camping. You?"
"You're camping? Already?" I stop walking and blink, surprised. She really does move fast when she sets her mind to something. It's honestly impressive. It's barely even nine in the morning. I figured she'd still be in bed, nursing a hangover like everyone else.
"Yep. Cleary found me a spot, so I set out first thing this morning. What are you doing?"
"Hiking."
"Hold the phone," Paige says, her shock rippling down the line. "You're hiking? Is this one of those things where I'm supposed to call 911 because someone abducted you and you're really asking for help?"
"What?" I laugh, startling a bluebird into flight. It squawks indignantly as it wings into the air in search of safety. I'm a little surprised it hasn't already flown off in search of warmer digs. It's supposed to snow later today. "No. I just decided to give this outdoors thing one more try."
"Uh-huh. We are so talking about this when I get back."
"Whatever," I mumble, my cheeks red even though she can't see me through the phone. Having a guilty conscience is exhausting. Everything shows on my face. "Have fun camping. Don't die."
"Have fun hiking," she sing-songs. "I want details!"
I hang up on her before she can tease me more.
It's way too early and I'm hungover. Plus, I don't want to confess that I'm really going to spy on Cord.
Hiking sounds less insane than I'm trooping through the woods to spy on a cowboy I think I'm obsessed with.
I already almost chickened out twice this morning, mostly because it's cold out and my bed is nice and toasty.
And also because jail sounds less appealing every time I think about it.
Also, I'm not very stealthy. I had the Uber drop me off about a mile from the ranch.
I thought it would be less conspicuous that way.
The driver thought I was a crazy person, asking to be dropped off in the middle of nowhere, but I shoved a bunch of cash at him and swore him to secrecy.
Now, I'm hiking through the woods that run adjacent to Cord's property.
If they haven't already heard me coming, it'll be a miracle. The movies make sneaking look easy. It's not. I've tripped over every branch, root, and stick in the general vicinity, and got my boot stuck in the mud twice. My mind instantly flashed back to all those childhood fears of quicksand.
This is why the outdoors and I don't get along. If anyone were going to die in a freak quicksand accident, it would be me. It's far safer to stay inside where things like quicksand and poison ivy and furry caterpillars and nope ropes and flying cockroaches aren't supposed to exist.
I lean against a tree and fire off a quick text to Emmy, letting her know that I'm out exploring near the Decker ranch.
That way, if I die out here, at least someone at the resort knows to send a search party.
Paige probably won't be back for a day or two, so she won't know to send help until then.
Especially if she loses cell signal. I'd really like to not die in the woods because I fell in a hole and froze to death waiting to be rescued.
Once I've texted Emmy, I shove my phone back into my pocket and set out again, placing my feet carefully to avoid any pitfalls.
Within five minutes, I've tripped twice, tearing the pocket of my jacket and soaking the leg of my pants.
Thirty seconds later, my boot tangles in a root.
My arms windmill wildly as I try to keep myself upright, but it's no use.
The root snaps, releasing its hold on my boot just in time to throw me completely off balance.
I fall face first over a downed log, landing in a pile of damp leaves.
"You're not allowed to die in the woods, Cassia Murphy," I mutter, rolling onto my back to stare up at the sky.
A dense tangle of pine needles directly overhead blots out the sky, darkening this patch of woods.
Aside from the wind rustling through the branches and the gurgle of water coming from deeper in the thick press of trees it's eerily quiet and somehow… peaceful?
I reluctantly drag myself upright, wincing when I put weight on my right foot and my ankle throbs.
I think I twisted it when I fell. There's no way I'm going to make it the rest of the way in the woods without seriously injuring myself.
But I'm not ready to give up either. I came this far.
I might as well see this insane plan through to the end. Ride or die, right?
"Right," I say, even though I'm pretty sure that is absolutely not what that saying means.
Deciding I need to get out of the trees before I do actually die out here, I limp toward the fence.
The pasture stretches clear across the horizon, nothing but grass and a herd of cattle in sight to the north and south.
A farmhouse and a cluster of barns and outbuildings dot the horizon to the east. I limp alongside the fence, not quite brave enough to trespass by climbing over it.
Until I see part of the wiring pulled down around a metal post.
It's not technically climbing if all I have to do is step over it….
"I'm so going to jail," I whisper, darting a glance around to make sure no one is watching.
If anyone is around, they're better at blending in than I am because all I see are trees and cows.
The farmhouse and ranch buildings are a good half a mile ahead, still too far for me to make out much more than cows and a flurry of activity around the barns.
I need to get closer to see what's happening.
I hold my breath and creep across the fence-line. My heart pounds.
Doing crime is exciting. And mildly terrifying. I feel a little like I'm in one of my books, waiting for someone to accuse me of trying to steal cattle. Cord Decker is a hot, giant jerk. If I go to jail, I'm blaming him. If he hadn't emailed me, I wouldn't be here now.
"Moo."
"Eek!" I spin around, my heart sinking when I see the giant bull standing near another break in the fence.
It might be my imagination, but I'm pretty sure it's the same bull from Saturday…
the one who tried to kill me and Clover on the road on the way to the resort.
I peer around him, hoping to see the giant mountain man who wrangled him out of the road, but there's no one out there. It's just me and the bull.
"Good bull," I whisper, frantically trying to remember his name. Surely Cord told me his name in one of his emails. If he did, I don't remember it. I specifically remember him saying the bull is an asshole though. "Um, you have nice horns. Very pointy."
He chuffs and takes a step toward me.
Crap.
I back deeper into the pasture. Which is clearly the wrong thing to do because it seems to make the bull even angrier. He picks up speed, moving toward the downed fence far faster than an animal his size should be able to move.
I limp backwards, trying to keep one eye on him and look for safety at the same time. The only problem is he's on the other side of the only thing that passes for safety around here—the fence. And it's broken. As far as bad ideas go, this is quickly shaping up to be the worst one I've ever had.
"Good bull," I whisper. "Good, good bull."
He bellows at me.
I give up trying to be reasonable and run for my life.
My ankle throbs in protest as I turn and flee toward the ranch in the distance, screaming for help.
If they hear me, they probably think I sound like Pumba in that one scene in the Lion King where he's running from Nala and gets stuck in the tree root, eyes wide with fear, screaming, "She's going to eat me. "
Only she is a he. And he is a very pissed off bull. Which, in this moment, seems somehow more terrifying than a starving lion. Possibly because I'm not currently running from one of those.
This is all Cord Decker's fault.
I spy a copse of pines and zag toward them, waving my arms in the air in the hopes that someone at the ranch ahead hears the commotion and is looking for the source. Please, let them be looking for the source. I'll take myself to jail after this.
There's no way I'm going to make it to the trees.
The last time I ran, it was under duress.
I was in high school, and my GPA depended on it.
I'm still yards away from safety and already out of breath.
Not to mention, sharp pains shoot up my ankle with every step.
I scream and sob and run as the bull clears the gap in the fences and charges toward me, gaining ground with every step.
My ankle buckles under me. I plummet to the ground like a falling star, landing hard on my hands and knees. The abrupt stop knocks the wind out of me. Pure terror fires through my system, demanding I get up and run.
Somehow, I manage to drag myself back to my feet.
But I already know there's no way I'm going to outrun the bull now.
He's going to skewer me with those horns.
I decide right then and there that if I'm going to die, I'd rather do it on my feet than running for my life.
It's going to hurt either way, but at least I won't spend my last moments doing something I hate—running.
I prepare to turn and meet my fate.
"Hamburger, stop!" a half-naked man roars, stepping out of the trees.
At least I think he's half naked. It's hard to tell because he's moving so fast, he's like a blur of dark golden skin and rippling muscle.
His boots hit the ground hard enough to kick up dust as his long legs cover the distance almost as quickly as the bull's.
Two gray eyes—filled with equal parts fear and fury—tangle with mine across the distance. A shock of recognition rips through me, shaking me all the way to my core. This isn't just any half-naked man coming to my rescue. It's Cord.
Before I can even process that fact, he slams into me like a brick wall, flinging me off my feet.
He hits me so hard I expect to go flying across the pasture…
except I don't. Two strong arms surround me, pulling me up against his broad, sweaty chest. I smell leather and hay and him.
He's bright sunshine and rich earth, leather and brandy.
We hit the ground in a tangle of limbs. Well, he hits the ground.
I land squarely on top of him. Yay for me. Also…wow.
He's hard everywhere, his body a thick slab of hewn muscle.
"Jesus Christ," he growls, rolling us until I'm sprawled in the grass and dirt beneath him. Only then does it occur to me that the bull stopped trying to murder me when he told it too…and that he called it Hamburger.
"You named your bull Hamburger?"