Page 120 of Dirty Cowboy

I curl my fingers tighter around the urn. The truth is, I failed him. I failed them all.

I should have never used the farm’s money to pay off Huntz.

I should have refused to lie to Emma.

But then, she never would have been here…

I never should have let her go.

My breath catches as I glance at Annabelle. Her eyes are red, her hands balled into fists as she watches the casket lower into the ground. She’s always been strong, but this… This breaks something in her, too. And I can’t do anything to fix it.

The auction was canceled—but not because we paid off our debts—because Grandpa’s estate hasn’t transferred yet. We’re in limbo, clinging to land that could be taken from us any second. The ranch is barely holding on. Just like me.

After the preacher says amen, everyone filters through the garden, laying flowers by the oak tree or placing a hand on my shoulder. One by one, they drift toward their trucks. I stand there, still clutching the urn, staring at the soil.

And then I see her.

Caroline. She invited herself, of course. Because nothing assuages grief like an unannounced snake slithering into your backyard.

Her heels crunch across the gravel path as her lips curl into a smirk that turns my stomach. She shouldn’t be here.

“Eric, I’m so sorry for your loss,” she says, her voice thick with manufactured sympathy. She holds an envelope in her perfectly manicured hand. “But we need to talk. I have something you should see.”

I don’t move. I don’t acknowledge her. I just keep my eyes on the ground, jaw clenched so tightly it aches.

“Not now, Caroline.” My voice is low, filled with a warning, but she steps closer.

“Oh, I think now is the perfect time. Unless you want this little problem of ours to become everyone’s problem.”

She lets the edge of a photograph slip free. I know exactly what’s inside. The same goddamn photos she’s been holding over me for years.

“You have no decency,” I mutter, finally turning to glare at her.

“It’s just business, Eric. You know how these things work.”

When I don’t engage, she huffs and stalks off toward the barn—because of course she wouldn’t just leave quietly.

I follow a few minutes later, needing a moment alone with the horses—and maybe to make sure she doesn’t steal anything or light a match.

Inside the barn, the scent of hay and leather grounds me for a moment. I find her near the feed room, arms folded, waiting like some gothic villain.

“This ranch means something to you,” she says. “I could ruin that. You know I could.”

I say nothing.

She steps closer, holding out the envelope again. “One word from me?—”

And that’s when karma steps in.

She doesn’t see the slick spot by the open stall. One step back and—splat.

Her heel skids on the edge of the pitchfork handle, and she tumbles straight into the dunghill behind her with a shriek that echoes off the rafters.

The smell hits before the silence does.

“Eric!” she screeches, arms flailing, half-submerged in the worst pile of shit on the property. “Help me!”

For a moment, I don’t move, just enjoying the sight. Then, I walk over, bend down, and pluck the envelope from where it fell. The top polaroid is already smudged with manure.

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