Page 28 of Ride Me Cowboy

I stare at him like he’s got three heads. “In this weather?”

Beau looks toward the window. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s hot, Beau. Real hot. And she’s not from here.”

“Yeah, but she does have more than two brain cells, you know. I’m sure if she gets out there and swelters, she’ll come right on back.”

I grind my teeth. His easy arrogance is really starting to rile me up.

“What were you doing with her, anyway?”

I can tell he wants to say something smart ass, but to my relief, he curtails his first instinct and actually gives me a straight answer.

“I just bumped into her; it wasn’t like we planned to meet up. I asked her to come meet the horses, then tried to twist her arm into going for a ride with me. That’s all. We just walked around a bit, talked.”

Something opens up inside of me. An emptiness that really fucking aches, because yet again, Beau makes everything sound so simple and easy. So straight forward. Does he have any idea how much I’d love to be able to just walk around and talk to Beth?

For a start, she’s not even looking at me. But even before the other night, when she kissed me, she was cold as ice when I was near her. No, not exactly cold, but reserved. Hesitant. It’s only Beau that seems able to set everyone at ease. I’ve never been like that.

I bet she’s real grateful I didn’t kiss her back. Relieved. The best thing I can do is put her right out of my head. And even when that’s not possible, at least act like I have. Nothing good can come from lusting after Beth Tasker, ‘specially not if she’s set her sights on Beau. I need to let this go—for all our sakes. Starting right now, she’s nothing but the bookkeeper, and that’s final.

Beth

It’s way too hot to run but I need to get out of the house. Away from Cole. I mean, I’ve done a pretty good job of avoiding him since that morning but at some point, my luck’s going to run out, and I’ll come face to face with him. And given the X-rated direction of my dreams (and thoughts) lately, I can’t trust that I won’t do something really, really stupid, like try to kiss him all over again.

Besides, running is as good a way as any to use up some of that restless energy. I tack away from the house, careful on the uneven ground of the fields, before reaching the dusty tracks that trail like veins across the ranch. Beau told me these are used for transporting the cows from field to field, so you also have to be mindful for cow patties. I keep my head down, eyes on the road, and just run until I’m hot and exhausted and can barely think straight.

I cover at least two miles of ranch tracks before I double back and take a slightly different route, confident that the house’s location, high on a hill of this land, means I’ll be able to find my way there eventually. I’m wearing a small water bottle backpack. I reach for the hose and take a sip, pausing to put my hands on my hips and turn, taking in the sweeping views and the way the late afternoon sun lands on the mountains, casting them in a magical sort of golden light.

It is beautiful out here; so much more so than I’d imagined. But it’s more than that. It’s the fragrance in the air of summer blossoms, the flowers that cover the fields like joyous bursts of color and sweetness. It’s the light that hits the land, at times jarringly bright, but still beautiful, at others like something outof a fairytale. It’s the openness, the wilderness, the history, the feeling that in being here, I’m stepping into something big and important.

It's a sense of freedom that’s building inside me, day by day. A putting back together ofme—not the woman I was once was, she’s gone forever—but of someone new. Someone who’s grown out of the shadows of Christopher. Who’s better and stronger for having survived him and might one day be ready to let go of the hurt and fear that our marriage smothered me in, day by day, by awful day.

I start to run again, turning left at a huge pine and almost jumping out of my skin at the sight of cows. Lots of cows. At first, I think they’re right in front of me, but I realize after I calm my jittery nerves that there’s a barbed wire fence between them and me. They’re just going about their somewhat stately business, chewing on grass, all big, dark and majestic. I stop running again, walking toward the fence to get a better look. It’s the closest I’ve ever been to a cow, which seems kind of ridiculous given I’ve been here for almost two weeks now.

One of them lifts their head and looks in my direction, those eyes, so dark, like liquid velvet, so I feel the weight of the soul in that face. Beautiful.

“Evenin’,” I pretend to tip my hat and do my best cowgirl impression, then, smiling, begin to run once more. A few more cows lazily lift their heads as I pass by, and I watch them until I’m away from the herd, then turn back to the view in front of me. I run for another half hour or so, before turning for the ranch house. The breeze has picked up a little—a nice, cool whisper of air that makes it easier to fill my lungs.

I thought it would take a long time to get my fitness back up, but the body can be incredible with what it remembers, and running has always been a hobby of mine. The fact Christopher took it away from me for so long is unforgivable. But that I’m taking it back? I’m so wrapped up in my feelings of triumph that at first, I don’t notice the house.

For even with the roof smashed in, and hastily repaired with tarpaulins, it’s clearly an adorably quaint, very old cottage.

Feeling like Goldilocks, I walk lightly toward it, past an overgrown hedge that at one point might have been neatly tended to delineate the place from the property. A timber gate is off its hinges, peeling white paint flaking onto the stone path that leads to the porch. There are ceramic plant pots, but only the hardiest geranium has survived in one. Whatever sat in the others in no more: just dry, dusty dirt, waiting to be tended and brought back to life.

I wrinkle my nose, because I’m no green thumb, so that won’t be done by me. But surely someone around here could fix this garden up? I’ve seen staff coming and going all week. Ranch hands and the like. One of them most know a thing or two about construction and landscaping.

I know I shouldn’t go in, but curiosity has me pressing on the door, just to see if it opens. Like the gate, the paint is flaking off, and I can see the various iterations in the color play. A muted gray now, beneath it there’s a bright red, and under that a yellow, so at some point, the door was lovely and sunny, a welcome to passers by. Beyond the door, is a corridor…A stretching, wide corridor, just inviting me in.

Who could say no? I peer in first—I’m not stupid—just to make sure there are no signs of coyotes or God knows what else theyhave out here that could rip your head off. Or falling beams and broken windows. Having spent the last few years fearing for my life, I’m not about to be reckless with it.

Still, I know this isn’t without risk, but I can’t help myself. I step across the threshold and breathe in. It smells old and musty, and a bit like a forest.

There are four bedrooms, all still with their furniture in place. Two of them escaped any damage when the roof came down and they look good enough to sleep in. There are two bathrooms, and a charming, old kitchen—or what would have been, when the roof was intact. It’s big and open plan, with a dining table for twelve and a brick fireplace that looks like the kind of place kids would have sat around, once upon a time, to let their hair dry after being washed.

The ranch house is its own kind of charm, but this place is what I think of when I imagine living out here. It’s old and beautiful and I can just imagine the happiness of the people who’ve inhabited this space over the years.

I don’t know how long I spend wandering through the house, examining the artefacts of a long-ago life, but when I step out, the sun has dipped lower and the breeze has picked up, so the run back to the main house is a hell of a lot nicer than when I set out earlier, with the sun still beating down.

---