Page 5 of Rusty

Janice almost jumped out of her skin, slapping her hand over her mouth so that she didn’t make a noise.

She stood frozen to the spot, watching the shadows around her, wondering what on earth had just made that noise. She hadvisions of mountain lions or even real lions coming to eat her, but finally, in the shadows, she spotted the silhouette of a horse. She watched it for a moment, until it thumped it's hooves into something, making that clang again.

“Okay,” she whispered, “I won’t be sharing a pasture with that horse tonight. I’ll take my chances in the barn.”

She darted over a stack of wooden crates, keeping her eyes fixed on the horse as she moved, making sure it didn’t try charging at her.

The soft creak of the barn door opening sent a shudder down Janice's spine as she slipped inside, her breath caught in her throat. The dim moonlight filtered through the cracks in the wooden walls, casting eerie shadows on the dusty floor. A pungent smell of hay and animals filled her nostrils, both familiar and comforting.

“Let’s hope the animals in the barn are a little friendlier than the one outside,” she whispered.

Her eyes scanned the space, seeking out the perfect hiding spot.

"Over there," she whispered to her stuffie, nodding toward a tall stack of hay bales tucked away in a corner. "That looks safe and cozy, doesn't it?"

Creeping through the barn with cautious steps, Janice avoided the patches of light that streamed through the cracks. Her heart hammered in her chest as she imagined someone discovering her intrusion at any moment. But she couldn't let fear derail her now—not when safety was within reach.

"Okay, Little Miss Giggles," she said softly as they reached the hay bales. "We just need to be quiet and invisible."

Janice carefully arranged the hay bales to create a small nook for herself, ensuring that she remained concealed from view. She winced as she accidentally pressed her injured arm against the rough straw, but pushed through the pain. Once satisfied withher makeshift hideout, she settled into the bed she’d made for herself, pulling Little Miss Giggles close to her chest.

"Finally," she sighed, her body sagging with exhaustion. "I know we should stay awake to keep watch, but I'm so tired . . ."

Her mind raced with thoughts of being discovered, of having her secret identity exposed once more. Yet, despite the fear gnawing at her insides, she couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of relief that washed over her. Here, hidden in the darkness of the barn, she felt closer to finding sanctuary than ever before.

"Maybe tomorrow will be the start of a new chapter for us," she murmured to Little Miss Giggles, her eyelids growing heavy. "But for tonight, let's just rest."

As Janice's body succumbed to fatigue, her mind continued to churn with thoughts of Littlecreek Ranch and her hope of finding sanctuary here. Her wounded arm throbbed, a reminder of the risks she had taken to reach this point. She knew that she should find a way to clean and dress the wound, but her exhaustion rendered her powerless.

"Tomorrow," she repeated, her voice barely audible as sleep began to claim her. "We'll . . . we'll figure everything out tomorrow . . ."

With that final thought, Janice drifted off into a fitful slumber, cradling Little Miss Giggles close, while the shadows of the barn enveloped her like a protective cloak.

CHAPTER THREE

Rusty

In life, there weregood sleeps and bad sleeps, and last night was definitely one of the bad ones.

Rusty kicked off his worn quilt and swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his hazel eyes in an effort to clear the fog of sleep. With salt and pepper hair tousled from a night of tossing and turning, Rusty let out a heavy sigh before making his way to the kitchen of his wooden cabin.

This place was a tribute to his love for the land and its history. Books on ranching and horse training lined the shelves alongside family heirlooms and weathered souvenirs from long-forgotten rodeos and antlers from hunts.

His favorite part of the cabin was the kitchen. It bore the marks of a well-lived life, with a cast-iron skillet hanging above the stove and a collection of mismatched mugs lining the shelves. Rusty loved to cook for people, though it had been a long time since he’d had anyone special to cook for. Sometimes he cooked for his brothers, but they were normally so hungrythey’d wolf down a whole chicken with all the feathers on if it was served to them on a plate.

He grabbed a mug and put a pot of coffee on the stove.

"Damn dreams," he muttered under his breath. It felt like he’d dreamed about Janice all night long. He’d dreamed about the day they met, when they were just teenagers at a barn dance. Janice had worn this lemon yellow dress with puffy sleeves and she was the prettiest damn thing fifteen-year-old Rusty had ever laid eyes on.

And then he’d heard her laugh. Oh man, her laugh. It drove him nuts. It was the cutest little giggle, and her eyes crinkled up into half-moons when she did it. She laughed like nobody was watching, truly, like the laughter was bubbling up straight out of her soul. It was beautiful.

In his dream last night, she hadn’t laughed. In her dream, she had just kinda . . . hovered. She had followed Rusty everywhere he went, grim-faced and silent, like a specter.

He glanced around his cabin now, as if expecting his ghostly dream-version of Janice to be there, watching him. Thankfully, of course, he was alone.

He poured his coffee and downed it in just a few gulps. The bitter liquid jolted him awake, and soon enough, he was pulling on his boots and hat, ready to start his day.

"Morning, Midnight," Rusty greeted his trusty stallion, patting the horse's strong neck affectionately. The dark horse whinnied softly, nuzzling Rusty's hand for a quick scratch behind the ears. Together, they set out to inspect the ranch's perimeter like usual.

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