Page 25 of Dirty Cowboys
Mercy.
The word echoes in my mind as I finally make my way inside, and I realize that for the first time since this started, I will need to use it.
I pace the small living room like a caged animal, my mind racing through every interaction I’ve had since arriving in Copper Creek.
Wyatt. It has to be Wyatt. He was there the first night at the bar when I talked to Marge about my fantasies. He must have heard everything. About myblog, being called names during sex, all the things I desired.
God, how could I have been so stupid? Of course, he would have told his friends. They probably laughed about the desperate city girl who moved to their little town looking for cowboys to fulfill her dirty fantasies. Then they gave me exactly what I asked for. My cheeks burn with embarrassment. Wyatt is barely eighteen, and I was begging him for it. The thought makes my stomach churn.
I stop pacing and lean against the kitchen counter, trying to catch my breath. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Wyatt’s confidence around me, the way he invited me to watch his first bull ride, how comfortable he was when we were taking pictures. He wasn’t being friendly; he was learning what I liked so he could use it against me later.
And his friends—maybe even some of the ones I met at the ranch—were in on the joke. All of them knew exactly who they were playing with, while I thought I was living out some anonymous fantasy.
My phone buzzes with a text from Sarah Beth.
Sarah Beth
Hope you’re feeling better! Wyatt was asking about you after you left.
I bet he was probably wondering if I’d figuredit out, if their little game was over. No, I need to get out of here. I can’t think straight with these thoughts spinning through my head. Maybe some fresh air and photography will help clear my mind—help me figure out what to do next.
I grab my phone and head outside, not caring where I end up. My feet automatically carry me toward the back of the property, the place where everything started. Where I first saw those glowing masks and thought I’d found something with these men.
The irony isn’t lost on me. Here I am, walking right back to the scene of my humiliation, like I can’t help myself. Maybe I can’t. Maybe I’m exactly as pathetic as they think I am.
The sky is getting darker as the clouds roll in fast. Hopefully, I’ll get to experience my first storm, but I’m too busy rehearsing what I’ll say if they show up tonight to note how fast they are actually moving.
I know who you are, Wyatt.
Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out?
The game’s over.
Even as I practice the words, I feel doubt creeping in.
What if I’m wrong? What if it’s not Wyatt after all, and I’m about to destroy something real because of a coincidence? The bull’s name could mean nothing.Maybe I’m overthinking because I’m scared of how much last night meant.
I reach the spot where they usually appear and pause, looking toward the tree line. Part of me hopes they’ll show up, so I can end this uncertainty one way or another. Part of me hopes they won’t because I’m terrified of what I’ll see when those masks come off.
The first raindrops hit my face, startling me from my thoughts. I look up to see the storm clouds much closer than they were minutes ago. The wind picks up, making the trees sway. I should head back to the house, but something keeps me rooted in place. If they’re coming tonight, they’ll be here soon. I can wait a little longer to face whatever truth is waiting for me.
The rain changes quickly, going from small drops to a downpour in the span of seconds. I curse myself for not bringing a jacket, but it’s too late now. I’m soaked through.
Lightning flashes across the sky, followed immediately by a roll of thunder so loud it seems to shake the ground beneath me. I need shelter, and fast. The farmhouse is too far away now, but there’s an old equipment shed closer to the tree line. I run toward it as the wind whips around me, my wet hair slapping across my face and making it hard to see.
The shed door is unlocked, thank god, and I stumble inside as another bolt of lightning splits thesky. The small space smells like motor oil and old hay, but it’s dry and solid. I lean against the wall, breathing hard and trying to wring the water from my shirt.
Through the single grimy window, I can see the storm. The trees are bending at impossible angles, and debris flies like missiles. I don’t know how long this dingy little shed will hold up, but I’m concerned about the noises it’s already making. My phone has no signal, so I can’t even check the weather alerts. All I can do is wait it out and hope the shed doesn’t fall apart on me.
The wind gets stronger, and the wood creaks under the stress. Through the rain-soaked glass, I watch the large trees near the property line. I know I should move away from the window. A nearby tree leans precariously, branches snapping and falling, crashing to the ground with sounds like gunshots. I press myself against the far wall of the shed, finally understanding I might not be as safe as I thought.
That’s when I hear it, so much louder than before. I watch in horrified fascination as the tree loses its battle with the storm and topples, seeming to fall in slow motion toward the shed. I have just enough time to realize what’s about to happen before everything goes black.
Chapter Ten
Duke
I stand in the middle of Main Street watching Indie’s car disappear around the corner, her words rattling in my head. “Wyatt’s bull. It’s called Mercy.” The pieces click together, and now I understand why she looked like she’d seen a ghost. Fuck.
