Page 9 of Rope Me, Cowboys

“Okay.”

“I work in the garden and clean up in the big house,” she said. “They don’t let me go into the cabins. Say they’re private.”

She looked like she was waiting for me to dish up some gossip, but I’d barely gotten out of bed. And I wouldn’t be contradicting my stepbrothers, anyway. If they didn’t want her snooping around, I certainly wasn’t going to invite her in. Holden had told me I could go anywhere, but I didn’t figure I should mention that to Mrs. Grimes.

Instead, I told her I was going out for a walk, and I left her in the driveway. Shaking off the odd encounter, I headed along a narrow dirt road that was nothing more than two tire tracks worn in the grass.

I was on a ranch. In Wyoming. A week ago, my life had been totally normal. Now I had to keep reminding myself it was real.

I almost squealed with delight when I saw my first cow. Wishing Haley was there to share the experience, I whipped out my phone and snapped a pic, but it was so far away that it didn’t look much different from a dog. Sighing, I put my phone in the jacket pocket, absently fingering the gloves I found there. The thought of not sharing this moment with Haley made my eyes feel all salty. Suddenly, I missed her painfully. She would totally get me right now, and we’d forever laugh about the pic I sent her of real-life cow.

I had to get a picture. Pressing my lips together in determination, I stepped forward. The barbed wires of the fence were strung just close enough that I wasn’t sure I could slip through. That was the one thing Holden had warned me about, so I figured it was pretty important. I walked along the fence a little way, trying to find a good spot. Further along, I saw a section where the wires were bent a little, making them about two feet apart instead of eighteen inches.

“Okay, Haley,” I muttered under my breath. “I’m going in.”

Preparation was key. I looked to see if anyone was around to stop me. Nope. I zipped the canvas jacket so the zipper wouldn’t fall against the wire and electrocute me. I pulled on the gloves in case they would protect me from cow dung if I accidentally had to put a hand down for balance. I put up the jacket’s hood so it wouldn’t catch on the wire above me. And I dove the for opening.

Okay, I didn’t really dive. I carefully bent and lifted one leg, then put it back down, not sure I had good enough balance to slip through the wires not using my hands. Bent over like that, lifting one leg in the air, I probably looked like a dog stopping to pee on a bush in the park. Good thing there was no one around to see me.

Gathering my courage, I channeled my inner ballerina. It was all about balance. My mom had put me in dance classes for a few years, before it became clear that I was hopelessly uncoordinated and about as competitive as a cow.

A cow that I’m now going to take a picture of.

Slowly, I lifted one leg and extended it over the wire. Not too bad. I eased my body over and set my foot down. Now I had a hot barbed wire between my legs. But I had no intention of touching it, so it didn’t matter one bit. I eased my body through, bending my knee and sliding my body sideways like a ninja master. I even remembered to duck my head.

When I lifted my other foot off the ground, though, my balance wobbled. Instead of trying to catch it, I dove sideways, through the fence, and landed in the grass. The wire was rippling from where my boot had hit it, but it either hadn’t been long enough to convey a shock, or the thick soles of my boots had protected me.

Thanks to the resurgence of 90’s fashion trends, my boot soles were probably thick enough to protect me from the shock of an electric chair. Which is probably where my mother would send me if I got kicked off Coyote Ranch on my first day for trespassing in a cow pasture.

Picking myself up, I examined the borrowed jacket, looking for signs of cow dung. I didn’t see much on it but some bits of dry grass and dirt, though there was something suspect near my foot. It looked like a wrinkled, grey pancake, but I wasn’t taking chances, so I skirted around it and headed for the cows.

Holy hellions, I’d done it! I’d navigated an electrocution device, and I was going to get a picture for my bestie. Wyoming was going to be awesome.

9

Amber

One Week Before

My head was lying next to a toilet. My mouth tasted like I might have drunk toilet water. My neck was cramped, my shoulder ached, and my whole body was stiff with cold from lying on a tile floor in just my underwear and bra.

I sat up. I had no idea where I was. This was bad, even for me. Sure, I liked to party and pretend to be a bad girl back in high school, but four whole months had passed since then. I was reformed. Or at least, I had learned to control my drinking. And I’d wanted to get laid, but this had not been part of the plan. I tried to cover myself with my hands, as if some perv might be watching me through a camera.

The truth was, I’d never been as bad as I pretended. I was a huge faker. I didn’t do drugs, though I had to pretend to keep up my image. Sure, I liked a fruity cocktail, but who didn’t? The things tasted like heaven, and who could resist those cute little umbrellas that looked like they belonged in Barbie’s beach house?

Okay, so I wasn’t perfect, but we all had to do what we could to survive high school. And despite my poor decision-making skills, I had always had Charlie there to deliver me safely home before dawn with nothing more than a chaste kiss. When I went out without him, Haley and I had a strict stick-together policy.

Stumbling to my feet, fear quaked through me. Where was Haley? Was she okay? Had we been drugged and kidnapped? Or worse? And where the hell were my clothes? I remembered telling her I was going to get laid, and I remembered arriving at a bar, and taking tequila shots, and dancing… I guessed from my state of undress that I’d succeeded in my mission, though like my infamous first attempt at getting laid, I had no memory of it.

I reached between my legs. My panties were dry, and I wasn’t sore. A flash of memory jolted through my mind—Charlie looking up at me from the street. There was no way I’d let him out of this one, even to prove that I could give him what those girls had. Or had I? And where the hell was I?

Groping the walls, I stumbled from the bathroom into a hallway with abstract art prints on the wall and heavy, Oriental rugs that did not match the paintings at all. “Haley?” I whispered. Clearing my throat, I called again. “Haley!”

“Miss Durant,” said a disapproving voice behind me. I turned to see a man in uniform—a servant. My hands flew to cover myself before I saw that he was holding a folded towel with my clothes laid over the top. “I’ve washed your things. Your mother requests your presence when you’ve cleaned yourself up.”

My mother?

Nodding mutely, I grabbed the clothes and dashed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. This wasn’t my mother’s house, or her brownstone. So it must be…Senator Westling’s. As I dressed, dread clung to my every move. Way to make an impression on my mom’s new husband. Oh my god. Was I going to have to call him Dad?