Page 81 of Cowboy Heat
He stumbles over a gnarled tree root, lets go of my hand, and hits the ground hard. I’ve been known to roll my eyes at some mishaps in action movies, but falling down a hill covered in underbrush and natural debris? Not going to be one of them in the future that I laugh at as movie buffoonery.
Beau gets to sliding down the hill like he’s got a sled under him and nothing but snow and ice ahead.
It creates distance between us.
Fast.
He’s grunting, I’m breathing hard, and I can hear one of the men yelling behind us.
And I’m not sticking around to see what they’re going on about.
I take a leap toward the still-moving Beau and manage to make it several steps before I’ve run into bad luck like him. My shoulder hits the dirt first, then I’m on my back for a while.
One could almost take the open sky moving above and past us as a sign to maybe make different life choices in the future.
But I sure don’t have that time to reflect.
“Kissy, you okay?”
Large hands surround me. One takes my hip, the other my shoulder. Beau lifts me up, helping my limbs do something other than go along for the ride.
I nod.
There’s some pain, but it’s not important now. Getting the heck out of Dodge is.
A sentiment Beau shares.
We’re up and looking around our new surroundings only for a split second before Beau has us dashing through more trees to our right. If Grant and his friend are following, they haven’t made it to the top of the hill we’ve just ridden down. I see nothing but more trees and the impact marks our bodies made across the dirt up there.
“We need—we need to hide,” Beau huffs out. “Can we do it past the water?”
I’m not sure what he’s talking about for a second. Then I remember I’m a damn local of this place, and I know exactly where we are and where to go next.
This time it’s me taking his hand. “I know a—a place.”
At least, I think I know a place.
I run us through the trees until I hear the water. It’s a creek, an old one. More mud than rock, more rock than water.
I’m glad to see it hasn’t changed since I’ve crossed its path farther upstream.
“There’s an old foreclosure thataway about maybe half a mile?” I say, stopping us within the last of the tree line.
“Anyone living in it or near it?”
I shake my head, take a breath, then answer. “It’s secluded with a terrible road leading in. That’s why it hasn’t sold in about five years.”
Beau slouches a little.
I’ve never noticed his scar as much as I notice it now searching his face.
He nods. “Let’s go.”
So we do.
We drop hands to make sure we’re navigating over the open space as quickly and efficiently as possible. Or, at least, that’s how I’m thinking as I watch my steps through the ankle-deep water and mud on either side. Unlike the woods we just left, the trees don’t start thickening up until a few yards in the direction were heading.
Once we’re in their cover, Beau doesn’t slow.
