Page 92 of Christmas with Three Cowboys

Melissa

I’m sick to my stomach before the trunk lid opens again.

It’s still light outside, and after maybe an hour spent in the darkness, it smashes into me. I’m temporarily blind as my nose registers a slew of different smells, my brain trying to learn as much about my surroundings as possible in the shortest span of time.

“Get out,” Jake says as he forcibly pulls me out.

“Jake, what the hell are you doing?”

When my boots hit the ground and I wobble in a desperate attempt to remain upright, I realize we’re far away from Long Pine. It’s some kind of abandoned farm by the looks of it. Heaps of brambles and unkempt bushes sit under heavy layers of hardened snow. There’s a rickety old farmhouse with broken windows and a crumbling roof and miles and miles of empty land. It’s all white and there’s nothing else in sight, except for a few patches of naked trees here and there.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“Move. We’re going inside,” Jake shoves me, and I stumble forward.

I’m shaking like a leaf, damn near close to fainting as I slowly regain my focus and self-awareness. I’m okay. I’m alive and breathing. I can still do something about this situation. First, however, I need to understand what Jake’s play is here.

He pushes me again. “Come on, move!”

“I’m going!” I snap and trudge up the creaky wooden stairs.

I push the door open. For a moment, I worry it might fall off its hinges as threads of snow and dust fall into the semi-darkness. No one has lived here for a long time. The windows are cracked and too filthy to see through. There’s grime and dirt everywhere, and years’ worth of dust mites must be hiding in the old sofa—one of the few pieces of furniture left in this place.

The fireplace has dull embers in it, though. There’s a hint of warmth lingering about it. I notice the footprints through the dust on the floor and the crumpled sleeping bag next to the fireplace. An empty coffee mug is on the table. There’s a duffel bag on a chair in a corner.

“You’ve been squatting here,” I mutter, my eyes darting and registering every possible detail. “Jake, what the hell is going on?”

“What’s going on is you’re not doing your part, and now the cartel’s after me for not following through on my promise,” Jake hisses and slams the front door.

He takes deep breaths and pulls a flask out of his coat pocket. He sets the gun on the windowsill, watching me like a hawk as he unscrews the cap and takes a swig. The smell of cheap whiskeyand sweat and fear hits me. All I can do is shake my head slowly.

“I told you to get the money out of your rancher fuckboy,” Jake says. “That’s all you had to do. Cry a little, explain what’s at stake. I know they have it.”

“If they pay the cartel on my behalf, it changes nothing,” I reply. “You know it, and I know it. They’re still going to kill me.”

“Like I give two shits about what happens to you!” he snarls. “This is about me! Aboutmysurvival! If you pay them off, I can move on. I can’t even leave the fucking state. They’re always following me around, always figuring out where to find me.”

“Are you hearing yourself?” I gasp, trying so hard not to laugh in his face. His audacity is unbelievable, and I’m starting to think he has slipped into some kind of psychotic delusion. “You blamed everything on me. You had me thrown in prison to serve a sentence meant for you. You told the cartel that I stole their drugs, and now you’re mad because I won’t pay you back for the drugs you had me transporting, unbeknownst to me? Are you insane?”

He shakes his head, chuckling bitterly. “It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way. I had a plan.”

“Tough titties, Jake. You’re in this mess because of you and you alone.”

“You’re gonna stay here until the Averys pay me two million dollars,” Jake replies. “I’ll make sure they get that message, loud and clear. And if they don’t come through for you, I’m gonna have to kill you myself. If I kill you, at least the truth will die with you.”

My blood runs cold, but I can’t let him see my fear. I cannot show him the slightest hint of vulnerability, especially in my condition. “Are you hearing yourself, Jake?”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve thought about it a lot. These are my only options,” he says, staring out the window for a moment. “The ranchers pay, and I get to walk out of this mess without the cartel coming after me for not going harder on you.” He faces me. “’Cause I promised them, Melissa. I promised them I would get the money out of you, one way or another.”

“Right, because they think I stole those drugs.”

He rolls his eyes. “Again, with that. It doesn’t matter anymore. Point is, I can’t have you walking around, playing the victim, and giving anybody enough information to revisit your arrest. The last thing I need is the cartel suspecting I might’ve lied to them.”

“Might’ve,” I scoff.

Jake grabs the gun and points it at me. “I swear to God I’m gonna shoot you right now if you don’t stop talking.”

“Your lack of self-awareness is truly spectacular,” I reply, my stomach tight, my heart pounding with dread. “This is what it’s come to, huh? After such an elaborate ploy to have me take the fall for you—”

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