Page 84 of For Fillies and Monsters

I’ll give you extra treats.

Boots’ dark black ears swivel, her eyes pinballing around as if, for a second, she just might hear me. But Gus leans over, patting the mare’s neck, cooing at her, and the horse quickly settles. Not for the first time, I’m impressed with Gus’s gentleness toward horses.

I face forward once more, gripping the saddle horn and reins in a punishing fist, my teeth nearly ground into powder in my mouth. I know I’m acting borderline hysterical, and the way Winston starts prancing, I’m doing a shit job of hiding it.

“Are you going to ignore me all day?” I hiss, glancing at Gus from the corner of my eyes, unwilling to face him again only to be ignored. I have more self-preservation than that. He still doesn’t respond. “Why did you come, then?”

At that, I glimpse a small smirk trickle across his stubble-flecked face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

“Are you going to keep running and hiding?” Gus finally asks, his voice gruff. I involuntarily stiffen, my grip bordering on pain around the reins.

He can’t be fucking serious. I’m the one hiding? I’m the one being closed off?

“I’m right here,” I state dryly between clenched teeth and roll my eyes in his direction.Honestly, the hypocrisy of it all.

“And yet, you’re still hiding from the truth.” His words cut through me—a hot blade through my withering composure. It’s enough to make me consider tackling him to the ground, right here off our saddles, just to wipe that smug look off his stupidly, perfect face.

“And what’s the truth, Gus? Please, do enlighten me,” I hiss.

He doesn’t even turn to look at me as he continues. “You finally need someone. Me, to be exact.” He punches a rough finger into his muscled chest, beforeslowly turning his gaze to meet my own. I don’t look away—couldn’t even if I wanted to.“And you’re so afraid of needing me that you’d rather be alone than allow yourself to be happy.”

“It has nothing to do with you.”It has everything to do with him.Just not the way he thinks. Is he really this blind?

“It has everything to do with me,” he growls, as if reading my mind. “You are mine.”

My eyes flare at that.His? What am I? A prized mare?

Yanking on the reins, Winston comes to a screeching halt, eliciting a stomp and whiney. Gus, noticing my oncoming tantrum, stops as well, his eyes burning into my own. There’s challenge in his gaze, the kind that scorches through your morals in the most devastating kind of way. So, I let them burn—preparing to expose the deepest, charred parts of my soul to him, to this man who has the power to crush me the way no one else can. Because I’m tired of hiding.

“I am no one’s. Never have been, never will be. I’ve been alone my entire life because I am damn good at it. Because it’s safe. Because I’m the only person capable of taking care of me.” My chest heaves with the effort it takes to get the bitter words out, but once they’re free, I feel better—lighter. Gus stares at me for several moments, his eyes wandering over my features, and then, like the flip of a switch, his face grows impossibly darker, his pupils consuming the brown around them.

“You’ve never been alone. You’ve always been mine.”

Before I have a breath to argue, he kicks Boots in the ribs, the sleek mare bolting into a sudden gallop, leaving me in a cloud of dust and questions.

I come to a skidding halt, Gus kneeling in the red sand near a fence line. Or rather, where a fence line should be. The grass is trampled, boot imprints, cattle hoof prints, and tire tracks litter the area. The wire is cut, rolled, and pulled back to make a gaping hole. And the cattle—my remaining hundred pairs, are gone.

The panic punches through me, the weight of the ranch and my never-ending list of failures knocking the air from my lungs.This can’t be happening.

I want to scream as I jump from Winston’s back, swinging the reins over his head to keep ahold of him. The horse tugs on the leather, obviously sensing my angry temperament, but I don’t let go.

“What the fuck?” I ask, coming to a stop behind Gus’s back.

“Cattle rustlers, if I have to bet.” His voice is flat, a menacing hiss lacing each word. I look around frantically, desperate to see any signs that he’s wrong.

Am I being punked? Why is this happening? How is this happening?

“I don’t understand. That’s only in old Western movies.”

“Happens more often than you think. Especially this close to the border,” he states, still inspecting the layers of tracks in the sand.

Needing safety, I reach for my phone, dialing the number without even looking at the screen. It rings only twice before she picks up.

“Hey, Stet, what’s up?”

“Dale.” I whisper her name because it is the only thing I can think to do. No matter how hard I work, and how much success I make for myself, there’s always a force greater against me.

Something pushing me to the brink of no return. This time, I don’t know how I will make it out intact.

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