Page 7 of Dirty Cowboys
“You’ve been watching her,” Nash says, but there’s no judgment in his tone.
“Yes,” I admit. “She posts everything online. Her followers might not know where she is, but I know this town.”
Nash suddenly jumps up from the couch. “I’ll be right back,” he says, heading for the door.
Walker and I exchange a look. Who knows what thought just entered his brain, but he is always like this, and it’s something we’re used to. He returns tenminutes later carrying a black duffel bag, grinning like he’s just solved the mystery of life.
“What’s in the bag?” Walker asks. Knowing Nash, it could be anything, and sometimes you’re better off not knowing.
“Remember the rave gear from last year?” Nash unzips the bag to reveal three glow masks.
“You kept those?” I stare at him in disbelief.
“I keep everything that might be useful someday,” Nash replies, pulling out the masks one by one.
“She’ll be able to see us coming,” I say, still trying to accept anyone could be into what she has written. While I won’t kink shame—you can like what you like—I would much rather command her to her knees.
“Exactly,” Nash says. “We want her to know she’s being hunted.”
“Tonight?” Walker only has to utter the one word to reveal he’s keen.
I consider it. Indie’s been in town for a few days, and we have barely had any interaction. I doubt she would suspect it’s us.
“Tonight we let her know she’s being watched,” I confirm.
Nash nods, but I can see the excitement in his eyes.
“Rules. We move as a unit. No one acts without the others. We keep our distance until we’re sure she wants this,” I insist.
“And if she runs?” Walker asks.
“Then we let her run,” I say. “But we follow. Part of her fantasy is the chase.”
Nash is already pulling on his mask, adjusting the settings until it glows with a soft brown light.
Both Walker and I take our masks, and we spend the next thirty minutes going over the plan.
“She usually starts her walk around seven.” I check my watch. “That gives us an hour to get ready. Find old boots, and things you no longer wear.”
By the time we’re ready to head out, the sun is partly below the horizon. Indie has been in the back paddock taking pictures for almost an hour, as she likes to walk back in the dark. If this wasn’t Copper Creek it could be dangerous, but deep down Indie must love that fear. The adrenaline that comes with not knowing what’s hiding in the shadows.
Well, tonight it’s us.
“It’s time to saddle up,” I say, and we head to the barn.
We ready our horses, then mount up, masks secured but turned off. Excitement fills my bones. We have never spoken about bringing a girl into our relationship before, or even so much as shared one. We still fuck women, but normally when rodeos bring strangers into town—women who will warm your bed for a night and leave the next day. I tried a relationship once, butthe long days and workload left her needing more than I could give.
“Remember,” I say, “we’re going out there to get consent.”
The ride to the property line doesn’t take long, and by the time we reach the trees that mark the boundary between my land and the Patterson place, the sky has darkened. She should be just about ready to head back to the farmhouse.
I raise my hand, signaling Nash and Walker to halt. From this position, we have a clear view of the farmhouse and the path that winds through the paddock behind it. As we predicted, Indie turns and starts to walk before stopping for a moment. She looks our way, but we are hidden, and she won’t be able to see us at this distance.
“There she is,” Nash whispers, his voice slightly distorted by the mask even though he hasn’t turned it on yet.
Indie moves along her usual route, stopping every few feet to capture pictures of the stars. I guess in the city they wouldn’t look so perfect.
She’s wearing the same perfectly new jeans and boots she wore at the rodeo. My cock stiffens as I take in the hat she has on. She may need to do some hard work to break in her boots, but a girl in a Stetson—damn.
