Page 74 of The Cowboy and the Stray

He looked the same as always. Tall, perfect hair, blue eyes that never smiled. He wore a gray shirt and jeans, both crisp, and boots. His hands were empty, but he didn’t need a weapon to hurt me.

He didn’t wave, didn’t move. Just watched.

I backed up until I hit Ash, who steadied me.

“You good?” she asked.

I shook my head. “We have to go. Now.”

She didn’t question it, just nodded and grabbed my elbow.

We got to Calder’s truck in record time. I yanked open the door and climbed in, shoving Sloane ahead of me. Ash slammed the back door and Calder started the engine. The ranch hands loaded into their truck, rowdy and rowdier, but I kept my head down.

He knows. He saw the truck. He knows where I am.

I tried to speak, but my throat closed up.

Calder reached over, his hand hovering above my leg. “You sure you’re okay?”

I lied. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t buy it, but he didn’t push.

We drove out of the lot, tires spitting gravel. I glanced back once, just to check. Lance was gone.

But he wasn’t. He never was. I'd never be rid of him.

I’d brought this down on all of them. The ranch name was on the side of the truck, clear as day. Even if I left now, even if I ran tonight, it wouldn’t matter. He would find me, and now he’d find them.

How could I have been so stupid? I’d been happy for half a second and let my guard down. Idiot!

Lance was too smart to make a scene. He’d wait, scope out the place, maybe bring help. If I could leave before he did that, and he realized I was gone, maybe I could keep them safe.

36. TESS

When we pulled up to the house, the porch light was on, and the bugs circled it like crazy. I said I needed to lie down. “Too much to drink,” I lied, and faked a smile. Calder grinned back, looking puzzled. He likely knew I hadn't actually drunk all that much.

“Get some sleep, Twitchy,” he said, and touched the brim of his hat, all gentlemanly. “Don’t puke in your boots.”

I managed a laugh, but it stuck halfway up my throat. I got out of the truck before he could see my hands shaking. The second I hit the stairs, I could hear the other truck coming up the drive.

I went to my room and shut the door but didn’t bother with the light. I already knew where everything was, down to the exact inch. My go-bag was under the bed, the one I'd kept packed since the first week I got here. Not just out of paranoia, but because if I ever stopped being ready, that’s when it would all catch up to me. I couldn't outrun the past, but I could at least put my shoes by the door.

I waited, counting down the minutes, listening to the clatter in the kitchen below. Sloane’s laugh, low and mean. Ash arguing about ice cream flavors. Calder’s boots on the porch, creaking the same board twice. All of it felt like a memory I was already losing.

When the noise died and the house finally started to snore, I put on my old jeans, the ones with the bleach stain on the thigh, and a hoodie I’d stolen from the mudroom. I slung the go-bag over my shoulder, then hesitated. It was so hard to leave now.

I crept down the stairs, every nerve on fire. Midge had hung a rack of keys by the back door, all color-coded with labels. I grabbed the one marked “MIDGE” and bit my lip so I wouldn’t cry. They'd been so good to me, and I was stealing one of their vehicles. It was probably the cheapest one, so hopefully whatever bit of money I'd earned that they hadn't given me could go toward the cost of it.

That's what I told myself to keep the guilt from overwhelming me.

I paused at the threshold. The kitchen was still and dark, but the smell of coffee lingered. I scanned the room, saying a quiet goodbye.

Outside, the little sedan sat in the shadow of the barn, barely visible, and that’s half the reason I picked it. The guys all drove giant trucks with mufflers that roared at startup. Midge’s car could sneak up on you, and that’s what I needed.

I unlocked it, tossed the bag in the back seat, and whispered another lame apology to the universe for stealing from the only people who made me feel like I wasn’t a walking disaster. I slid into the driver’s seat and fired up the engine. The dome light popped on for a second, blinding me, and I panicked, thinking I’d already blown it. But nothing happened. No footsteps, no angry shouts. Just the gentle click of the engine settling into idle.

I eased out onto the driveway, headlights off, letting the car coast down the slope until I was out of sight of the house. Then I punched it, and the wheels spat gravel behind me, and I was gone.