Page 11 of Running to the Cowboy

“This is Olivia,” I say, passing the rolls to my brother Ennis, who’s eyeing our houseguest.

“Yeah, she said that already, genius,” Jake says.

Ennis takes the rolls. “Olivia what?”

“Mind your business,” I mutter, but I’m drowned out when Olivia perkily announces, “Olivia Moffat.”

At this, everyone exchanges loaded glances around the table.

Jake rudely talks with a mouth full of meatloaf. “Ain’t that the name of those people next door?”

Olivia nods. “That’s the name of the Prophet, yes. He’s my uncle.”

“Prophet Moffat. That rhymes,” Ennis snorts.

Olivia covers her mouth. “I never realized that before. That’s funny.”

I shouldn’t be jealous that my idiot brother made Olivia laugh. Yet here I am.

“I’m Ennis, and this is Curly and Jake. I see by what you’re wearing, you’re well acquainted with Wylie.”

I kick him under the table. He instantly apologizes.

“Oh, excuse me. I didn’t mean anything by that,” Ennis says.

“Ennis doesn’t think before he opens his mouth,” I say. “And you should be resting.”

Jake lifts his eyebrows, and I know what he’s thinking. His mind is always in the gutter.

“She’s injured,” I say. Curly’s fatherly instincts kick in. “Injured?”

Olivia pushes her green beans around her plate. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” I say, because I’m tired of my patient minimizing her problems. “Your side’s all cut up and you nearly caught your death running away like that.”

A pin drop could be heard in this room. Olivia sets down her fork and meets everyone’s wary gaze one by one.

Chapter Five

Olivia

I might as well spill the whole truth. I’ve got nothing to hide.

Even though Wylie’s glaring at me for some reason, I figure the more people who know about my situation, the better.

“What Wylie says is true. I’m a runaway. I ran away from The Celestial Order of the Covenant Kinship. Today was supposed to be my wedding to Brother Nevyn Hatch, but I don’t care for that man one little bit. It was time to go. Wylie found me sleeping in the barn this morning. I’m much obliged for the food and shelter and medicine, but I’m feeling much better now. My aim is to help my sisters get out. Now, if I can trouble you all for one more act of neighborliness, I wonder if you might be able to point me in the direction of a job to help me make some money?”

With that, I stab a large chunk of meatloaf and shove the delicious morsel of food into my mouth. It might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

I give questioning looks around the table, and the three purportedly hungry and hard-working cowboys and the cook have barely touched a bite since I started spilling my story.

“What’s eating all of you?” I ask, surveying each one of them. Four pairs of eyes are exchanging looks with each other. The four men are having a silent conversation that doesn’t include me. Well, that’s fine. I’m just going to keep eating my meat and potatoes, feeling mighty grateful for food that I didn’t have to cook myself, and warm clothes.

Curly looks thoughtful.

Wylie says, “I don’t think you’re ready for the outside world. Have you ever lived outside of that church?”

His voice is chocolatey and deep, stirring up all kinds of wrong things in my belly.

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