Page 76 of The Guy Who Stole My Ranch

Where would they bury me? Next to Max, the dog we’d had as kids?

That was dumb, my dad had bought cemetery plots in Whitehill for the whole family when mom had died.

Although, maybe I’d rather be buried on the ranch. Was that legal?

My mind spiraled as the scene around me slowed.

Hooves kicked up dirt from all sides.

The sound of mooing filled my ears.

The snake wiggled, just like a cat ready to pounce.

Okay, maybe that was my imagination, but I’d always remember it that way.

This was it. I wasn’t going to have to worry about the ranch, or anything else, anymore.

Then, something truly insane happened.

William and Betsy came to my rescue.

I’d loved the Disney cartoonMulansince I was a kid. There’s a moment in it when Mulan’s black horse tramples the little red dragon, Mushu.

That happened.

Only it was Betsy and William who came and took out the snake.

That rotten reptile had no idea what hit it. Betsy’s hoofs giddily flattened the poisonous creature. She even let out an indignant whinny.

The cows finally managed to get turned away from me, and they ran farther onto my property.

Stupid cows.

This left me sitting on my butt with my arms around my legs. I closed my eyes and ordered myself to breathe.

Which is when I noticed the unmistakable scent of fresh manure.

I really hate cows.

The wicked snake had literally scared the crap out of a dumb bovine, and guess who had fallen in it?

That’s right. Me.

My hands were sticky. And too warm. So was one ear. I raised my head but didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t want to know how bad it was. Maybe William would hose me off with the pressure washer, and we’d never speak of this again.

I expected an “Are you okay?” from William. Instead, he said, “I feel violated.”

My eyes shot open, and my gaze fell on him, Betsy, and the frisky bull who was back to sowing his seeds with the wrong species. William now looked annoyed at the bull.

I got to my feet, wincing when I saw the extent of my manure problem. Let’s just say that I was going to have to toss everything I was wearing before hosing off. Then I grinned, held out my hand to William, and said, “Give a girl a lift?” I barely managed to keep from flinching as my wrist throbbed. I must have twisted it when I’d landed.

William wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think so.”

Betsy let out a huff, took a few steps forward—once again leaving the bull hanging—and then kicked at the creature with both of her hind legs like a donkey.

It mooed in frustration.

William patted her neck. “Good girl.”

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