Page 53 of Hold Me Before You Go

I’d heard that name before. My head snapped over to the blond man, and that was when it hit me.

That wasMason Langston. He was one of the best bull riders in the world. Even if you didn’t watch PBR, you knew who Mason Langston was. My lips parted as I stared at him.

Mason’s head tilted to the side, a small smirk forming. “There it is,” he muttered.

Harmony swatted at his chest. “Quit being cocky,” she scolded softly, giving me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, my husband is…something.”

Mason looked down at her, grinning. “Something, huh?”

“You both are something,” Denver muttered under his breath as I looked back to him.

He gestured to my feet. “Mind if I take a look?”

On instinct, I pulled my legs in, my feet covered once more as I shook my head. “Please don’t touch me,” I rasped.

I expected him to argue with me and voice his concerns about frostbite. I expected him to do it anyway, like they did at the rehab. They always touched me, even when I begged them not to. Surprise slammed into me as the cowboy raised his hands immediately and slowly rose to his full, towering height. He was a few inches taller than Grayson, at least. “I won’t touch you,” he promised me.

“Someone has to check her out,” Mason said.

“Taking her into town would be a risk,” Harmony noted and looked at me, her eyes soft.

“No one is going to touch her unless she gives us her consent,” the jagged voice clipped, and I found myself looking around for the owner again.Who was that?

Then, Denver turned to the side, his face turned away from me as he shot back. “Well, of course not.”

“When I brought her in, the gloves fell off and the coloring looked fine,” the jagged voice explained.

I looked to Mason and Harmony to find them looking in the same direction as Denver. I leaned over, trying to peek around Denver’s frame, and saw half a body, a broad shoulder and a thick arm covered by a white and black flannel, and a strong, long leg covered by dirty jeans.

“As I said before, leave her be,” the jagged voice growled, the tone lower than before. I heard something creak, like a chair or something, and then the half body moved, rising. I leaned back to my original position as this man came to stand beside Denver.

I was frozen in place.

I’d been describing Denver as a dark cowboy, but this man, the owner of the jagged voice, was one too.

The only difference between Denver and him was he was also atorturedcowboy.

I’d never seen so much pain in someone’s eyes before.

He was tall, almost as tall as the Langston's. He wore a black cowboy hat, and his dark hair stretched down to his shoulders, wild and untamed. Dark scruff covered his strong jaw, and his nose was slightly crooked, reminding me of Grayson’s.

Grayson had told me his nose was crooked because of a bar fight he’d gotten into while he was in the Marines. Maybe this cowboy’s nose had been broken before too. The cowboy was staring down at me, his dark eyes filled with regret, shame, and most of all,pain.

He looked like he’d been sentenced to serve a lifetime in hell.

“I’m going back out,” the unnamed cowboy announced, looking over to Harmony and Mason. “Stay here with her for another hour or so, yeah?” He looked to Denver. “Go back up to the house. Valerie needs you there during this storm.”

Then, he moved, heading for the door and nabbing a thick, brown coat off the wall before sliding it over his shoulders.

“What about the radio?” Mason asked, and my eyes slid over to him, a spark of hope igniting in my chest.

A radio?

They had a radio?

“We could try to get a message out to Chase,” Harmony added, hope in her raspy voice.

The tortured cowboy was finished buttoning up his coat and reached for the keys on the next hook before looking over his shoulder. “Even if we did get a message to the sheriff, what would that do?”

---