Page 3 of Running to the Cowboy

Unfortunately, my long nightgown is thoroughly stuck.

Voices break through the silence.

Someone is coming.

In the distance, back where I came from, several pinpricks of light move through the darkness. Flashlights. Three of them.And dogs barking. Someone must have seen me on a security camera feed. Gosh, I hate them so much.

There’s only so much I can do before the elders catch me.

I peel off my dress over my head, the barbs scoring my skin. Like a caged animal suddenly free, I sprint away, stumbling downhill and landing on a sheet of ice.

The creek! I remember hearing some of the brothers talking about the creek that separates the compound’s property and the ranches and farms on either side.

I just have to keep…

As I scramble for purchase, the ice beneath me cracks open, and suddenly, I’m sitting in icy water up to my torso.

So, this is how I die.

No, no, no! This can’t be how it ends.

Must. Keep moving.

I made the dumbass decision to go it alone, so now I have to deal with the consequences.

I just have to find some other people to get help.

Human contact. Just one human contact, that’s all I need. I know the Prophet warns us from the pulpit every Sunday that the outside world is full of “evildoers” waiting to prey on our innocence, but I’ve never believed it. No human beings outside could be worse than some of the people inside the compound. Besides, my granddad used to live in the outside world, and he was a good man who came from, by his account, good people. Sure, he ended up converting to a church that taught polygamy.But the church became something different in the last few years. He wanted me to leave, but I refused to abandon him.

Now that he’s gone, I have no choice. He would want me to go and get help.

So I keep going.

As if Granddad is watching over me, my blurry vision spots a faint bluish light in the distance, and I head in that direction. The light becomes clearer over the minutes, and I soon realize it’s a security light outside of a barn. I’ve seen these bluish lights on chaperoned drives through the country whenever I’m sent to town to shop for groceries. I know this barn. I know this ranch. I don’t know the people who live here because I’m not allowed to speak to outsiders, but I have to believe that a good person lives here.

Eventually, I reach the barn, and I’m able to squeeze through an opening in the sliding door.

The place smells like horses—that familiar earthy combination of straw and hay and dirt. Seven long faces with curious eyes appear over seven stall doors to witness the commotion. I’m in a horse stable, sure enough. I sigh in relief, just to be around these majestic creatures. Even if they are suspicious of me.

I take a moment to breathe and appreciate the relative warmth here compared to the outside.

I speak calmly to the horses as I walk down the center aisle, reading the names on each stall. “Ramsay, hello. Nigella, you’re so pretty. Ainsley. Julia. Marcus. Oliver. Puck.”

The eighth stall has no activity, and I stumble toward it. Finding no animals occupying that one, I make myself at home.

If “home” means stealing a bale of straw and making a bed, then so be it.

I just need to rest for a bit.

I close my eyes and let exhaustion take hold. If I die, at least I’ll die a free woman.

Chapter Two

Wylie

The sunrise shadows fall differently over the valley now that those weirdos are here.

The ugly, whitewashed cinder block buildings stick out like a prison compound against the flawless Montana vistas.

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