Page 149 of Double Bucked

RANSOM

Well, this is a crock of shit.

I’m trapped in the barn. Stuck with nothing but the smell of horse and barn animal.

Everett’s gone. I’m left with one security guard.

“Stay put,” he says.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll break your fucking legs.”

“Yep. That’d do it.”

I pull my legs in, sitting cross-legged.

He scowls at me. Big, bulldog face. Then he leaves me tied up and goes around to the front of the barn. He steps outside, and I hear him talking to someone on the phone.

I look around the stables. Nothing but animals on either side of me. Down on the end of the stable, there’s a second doorway, wide open. I can see the mountains and the setting sun in the distance. I shift, twisting my wrists. I reach as far as I can and brush my fingers over the rope. I feel her curves, mapping out the knot in my mind’s eye. It’s a tight one. I’m not getting out of here anytime soon.

The sound of a horse huffing draws my attention.

Hold on…

I know that grumpy huff.

“Tssst!” I hiss, half whispering. “Chaucer! That you?”

Down the back of the stables, I watch as Chaucer slowly steps into view, craning his neck. His head swivels left to right as he chews the dandelions.

“What the hell’re you doing here?”

He startles at my voice, taking a couple of steps backward. Like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Hey—no. C’mere. Quick about it.”

He hesitates, suspicious. Then, slowly, he clips through the stable and walks over to me. He seems confused by me being on the ground. He pushes his nose around my hair, and I feel his hot breath as he huffs, nibbling affectionately.

“Hey, buddy. Boy, am I glad to see you.”

I tilt my head against his snout. God bless.

I chance a quick glance toward the front. The guard hasn’t noticed us.

“Listen. Chaucer. I need your help.”

He looks down at me and flicks his ear. He’s listening.

“Beer me.”

His ears perk up. He knows that command. Loves that command. Usually means there’s a carrot in it for him. He jerks his head, grabs the nearest object—a hat sitting on the railing—and tosses it at me.

Nope. That’s not going to help. “Beer me.”

An exasperated huff. He goes, picks up a rake, and throws it at me.

Still not helpful. Actively trying to kill me now. “Beer me. Something useful.”

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