Page 101 of Dirty Cowboy

"Christ, sweetheart," Eric murmurs, holding me up like I might crumble. "Are you alright?"

No. I’m not alright.

My body aches, my pride is in shambles, and my stomach just waged war against Caroline’s boots in front of half the damn town.

But the worst part? Eric is seeing me likethis.

I push against his chest, trying to untangle myself from his arms. "I don’t want you seeing me this way," I mumble, my voice raw. "Just… give me a second to clean up."

His grip tightens, like he doesn’t want to let me go, but after a hesitant beat, he nods.

I slip from his hold, my ankle protesting every step as I limp toward the back door. "I’ll be right back," I toss over my shoulder, though I’m not sure I believe it myself.

Misty and Annabelle follow without a word, flanking me on either side like bodyguards as we slip into the cold night air. The bite of frost stings against my overheated skin, burning through the haze of humiliation. The crisp scent of firewood lingers in the air, mixing with the distant sounds of laughter and music from inside the pub.

Each step sends fresh agony through my ankle, but I grit my teeth and keep moving. Misty guides me toward a water hose. "Don’t let that wench get to you," Annabelle says, cutting the water as I rinse my mouth and splash my face. "You’ll get another shot. She’s not worth it."

I straighten, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "It’s not her," I mutter.

Misty snorts. "Youdidpuke on her, though. I gotta say, that was the highlight of my night."

A small, tired smile tugs at my lips. "Not my finest moment."

Annabelle huffs. "The ride wasn’t fair, Emma. Marty cranked Thor up to full speed. Probably aCaroline specialfor services rendered."

My stomach churns again, though this time, it’s not from the beer.

"Youwouldhave won if the power hadn’t gone out," Misty chimes in, looping her arm under mine.

I nod, but my mind is elsewhere. "It’s not just the bull riding. It’s…" I hesitate, the words tangling in my throat. "I think I saw him."

Misty and Annabelle exchange a look.

"Saw who?" Annabelle asks, voice cautious.

"There was an old man in the crowd," I say, my heart hammering as the memory resurfaces. "He looked at me like heknewme."

Annabelle’s grip on my arm tightens. "What did he look like?"

I close my eyes, trying to summon the image. "Older. Hollow eyes. Bushy brows. Sunken cheeks. Long earlobes.Slimy." My stomach twists. "I think it was Huntz."

Misty’s face pales.

Annabelle exhales sharply. "After we set up the barn today, I thought I was being followed. And I constantly feel like I’m being watched."

Misty shakes her head. "Huntzneverstays in town. He picks up his mail and disappears. But if he’s still here…"

A shiver runs down my spine, my blood turning to ice. "Whynow?" My voice trembles.

Annabelle swallows hard. "Tomorrow’s the anniversary of our kidnapping."

A sick, foreboding weight presses into my chest.

He’s stalking us.

The distant sounds of the festival feel a million miles away, the warm glow of the pub suddenly foreign and untouchable. The night stretches around us, filled with unseen dangers and old ghosts.

"Back home, we’d call the police for this shit," I mutter. "Can you imagine the sheriff going after Huntz?"

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