Page 3 of Tattooed Cowboy
I tell myself it’s nothing. Just nerves, memory, sunlight on metal. But my pulse knows better.
My grandfather’s words rush back over me, so many warnings, like breathing could be dangerous.The mountain steals thoughts.
“Twelve!” she exclaims. “I was twelve the last time I saw you.”
I nod, try to keep it together. More of my grandfather’s words slam into me.Never let them know.I remove my white hat, run my hand through my hair, never meeting her gaze. “Yep, been a minute.”
She shakes her head, eyes narrowing. “But you … you haven’t changed one bit. It’s downright uncanny.”
“Now, Mel,” Martin scolds. “You know how Mav’s people are. Don’t age much, don’t talk much, but they work like the devil’s on their heels.”
My eyes find hers again. Pure electricity. Strange impressions wash over me. Like they’re not my own. A sprawling green campus, students with backpacks reclining on the lawn.
“Tell her yourself,” Martin repeats.
Melody’s forehead knits, a contagious smile on her lips. “Tell me what?”
“What you already know,” I drawl, looking off into the distance. “What I tell anyone passing through,” I emphasize the last part, reminding myself that her visit is only temporary. “Stay off the government land. Nothing good comes from going up there.”
“But I’m planning on an extended photo essay of the range. Backpacking there for at least a week.”
My jaw drops.
She giggles, waves away my words. “Just joking. This place is my home, too. I already know what to avoid.”
“Alright then," I say, pressing my knees into Winnie’s sides, urging her away.
Melody calls after me. “Youarecoming for dinner tonight, right, Mav?”
I shouldn’t look back. I never do. But the sound of my name on her lips drags me down like gravity itself.
My eyes lock with hers. Pricks of electricity sting the air. They sizzle against my skin, ignite the air until I gasp for a lungful. I open my mouth to refuse. But another look at her face, her warm eyes, and I’m a goner.
The sun hits her skin, waking the gold in it. Hinting at Paiute sun and something older still. Her complexion carries the color of the high desert—dust and starlight in her veins.
“Sure thing,” I say, tilting the brim of my hat. For heaven’s sake.What in the hell am I doing?
The clouds hang lower over the Starborn Range, like they’re listening. Even the wind changes key when it crosses that boundary.
This time, I ride away. From her, from the mountains, hellbent on putting distance between me and the things making my soul vibrate.
But some distances aren’t meant to hold.
Chapter
Two
MELODY
The wide, sun-bleached valley stretches to rugged mountains. Every scrap of flat land belongs to my grandparents or Maveryk. Heat curls low at thoughts of the rugged neighbor.
Never been into older men. Certainly, notthatmuch older. Though the way he’s aged—not at all—is next level. He could pass for thirty, a really good thirty, serious zaddy material. The kind my roommates back at college would jump in a heartbeat.
Not for me, though. I’ve known him too long for thoughts like this to be anything but awkward.
I turn up the country music, singing along to Lainey Wilson’s “Wildflowers and Wild Horses.” I let the music sink in, feel it in my bones, eyes devouring the distant Starborn Range. Always lush, pristine. Always sinister and foreboding. The wind hums through the open window. Dust motes shimmer like static in a tempest.
Suddenly, white noise cuts through. Strange, distant sounds and crackles, like an unknown code. Then, back to the song, though more distant, hazy. Memory washes over me. Of Mom complaining,Never can get a good signal through here.
